Wilson cleaned up, energized the radar, and accelerated ahead of Coral Sea. He couldn’t begin to drop bombs on the wake until the airplanes on the previous event were recovered so he had 30 minutes of time to kill. To the west, he saw the dot of a climbing jet silhouetted against a white cloud and figured it was his friend, Weed. What the hell, Wilson thought. He had some time and decided it would be interesting to follow his former roommate and watch an operational test live.
CHAPTER 14
With his radar in Range-While-Search mode, Wilson elevated the antenna and soon found Weed, about seven miles distant. Above his canopy bow about 30 degrees left of his nose, Wilson could see the speck that signified Weed’s aircraft. He climbed to place himself about 5,000 feet below Weed who appeared to be level around 15,000 feet. Wilson did not “lock” his friend on radar; he did not want to distract him with a radar warning receiver indication. Weed continued west at a moderate 300 knots — no hurry — and Wilson matched him, having fun with his impromptu “tail” as he weaved among the afternoon buildups that drifted like hot-air balloons over the sea.
After 10 minutes of cruising, which took him over 50 miles from Mother, Wilson commanded his radar to scan the surface. He saw nothing. Back in RWS mode, he still couldn’t pick up anything. This surprised him because he figured the Fire Scout UAV Weed was working with on this test must be nearby. Bored, Wilson was about to turn around when he noticed Weed turn right to the northwest and begin a shallow descent. Wilson stayed to investigate.
Taking care to remain hidden behind Weed and among the low clouds, Wilson watched Weed descend toward the surface. Staying under the ragged bottoms, Wilson now picked up a lone Fire Scout. Weed turned west, and Wilson gave both aircraft a wide berth. Struggling to keep sight of them, he held at a max-endurance fuel setting to watch the test from about five miles south.
For a moment, Weed disappeared from view. Using raw radar return, Wilson reacquired him and saw Weed in a dive. A puff on the surface revealed one of Weed’s Mk-76 practice bombs hitting the water, accompanied by its white-smoke spotting charge. Intrigued, Wilson flew closer.
Minutes later, two puffs appeared on the surface. Wilson wondered what Weed was bombing. The Fire Scout orbited nearby. Wilson had no idea what was going on, but could not pull himself away.
Another puff of white smoke shot from the surface. Then, Wilson was surprised to see froth develop as an object appeared on the disturbed water. Commanding his radar to air-to-ground, Wilson locked this new surface contact and bumped his FLIR to it. On his display, it appeared to be a boat, a long raft, very low in the water. The next image astounded him. He detected movement on it.
Lifting his head up from the display, Wilson saw a fiery streak extend from the Fire Scout toward the object. His eyes darted back to the FLIR in time to see the missile hit, followed by a bright explosion. With his naked eyes, Wilson saw the black and gray cloud of the live-weapon explosion hover over the unidentified surface contact. Back on the FLIR display — which Wilson was recording — he saw that the object seemed to have pivoted up in the water.
It now dawned on Wilson. They just hit a drug smuggler submersible or submarine!
Alarmed that he was intruding, Wilson shoved the throttles into burner and departed the scene. Horrified by what he had just witnessed, he looked over his shoulder and saw Weed in a strafing run. White geysers lifted around the area of the missile detonation. He’s finishing them off! Wilson thought. Shocked and sickened that smugglers, albeit criminals but human beings nonetheless, were trying to escape the vessel’s final plunge only to be torn to pieces by Weed’s 20mm cannon rounds. Holy shit! Wilson’s his heart beat faster as he tried to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
He got into the clouds and headed south, darting from cloud to cloud. After twenty miles, he turned east toward the ship and climbed to 10,000 feet. Selecting a max-endurance fuel setting, he undid his mask. He let it hang as he took in lungfuls of air, still shaken by the incident and Weed’s role in it.
Weed. What is he involved with? Murder? Summary execution?
Wilson’s mind raced. The Fire Scout, a new and valuable asset, had a weapons capability he had not known it possessed. What he had seen, and Weed’s involvement in it, was an ominous revelation that signified close coordination with higher authority.
What is this? National Command Authority and an undeclared war? CIA? Who is Weed working with?
The recovery was long complete, and he could now go and drop his bombs on the towed spar in the wake. Still disturbed by the experience and troubled by what it foreshadowed, he decided to make one run on a low-stress delivery. The United States had just crossed a line. And Wilson trembled to know he was witness to it.
He switched up tower frequency and listened while he found the ship on radar. He locked it and saw on the FLIR there were no airplanes buzzing overhead as the carrier turned back to the east. Good, Wilson thought, and set up his switches for his weapons delivery. Willing himself to compartmentalize, he began an easy turn to the northeast.
Rolling out of the turn, Wilson scanned ahead of his flight path and confirmed no aircraft near the ship, which was now less than 15 miles off his nose. Ingrained habit caused him to swivel his head to search for aircraft at his altitude — especially important around the ship. With his head craned to the right, he flinched in surprise and caused the jet to twitch as he tightened his grip on the stick. Next to him, on his right, was a Super Hornet in welded-wing parade formation. Inside the jet, eyes covered by his dark visor and his oxygen mask dangling, was Weed. He was not smiling.
CHAPTER 15
Shock, as strong as an electric charge, coursed through Wilson’s body at the sight of Weed’s jet next to him. Separated by only thirty feet as they cruised at 250 knots, Weed offered no hand signals. Wilson lifted his hands above the canopy rail and shrugged his shoulders to convey What gives? Weed had no reaction at all and continued to fly perfect form on Wilson’s wing. Weed then lifted his arm in salute and pulled up and away. Wilson watched him turn southwest.
As an incredulous Wilson closed the ship and took extra glances behind him to see if Weed reappeared, his mind replayed the scene. What did I just see? What did Weed just do?
It made sense. That’s why we’re down here, he thought. Weed and his “Jedi Knights,” like the weird Mongo, are working with the new Fire Scout drones to attack drug smuggling submersibles. Wilson had heard of such drug-smuggling vessels. He wondered how many the drug runners had, and how did Weed know where to find it? He must have had tipper information but from where, from whom? Is this the kind of “testing” they are doing every day?