Mother looked in the mirror. Fucking coward, he thought. The Navy pussies can fly off this thing at night and you can’t!
He condemned himself, hated himself, for buckling under, wanting now to go back up there. If they could just start him in the middle of the deck, away from the edges, he’d be able to taxi. But the catapult at night… the thought of it made his mouth go dry. What if one of his Marines couldn’t go at night, or turned back on the way to combat? Mother wouldn’t stand for it, and fear returned when he realized what he had to do and the person he had to face.
Mother stepped into the passageway and headed toward CAG Wilson’s stateroom. Upon arriving, he hesitated.
You do not have to do this, he thought, and realized that no, he did. He took a breath and dug deep. He had never done anything like this before.
Wilson heard two knocks on the door. “Enter,” he said. Mother stepped inside. He looked troubled.
“CAG, I need to talk.”
Wilson took his measure. Now what? he thought. More crying about the way he was employing Mother’s Panthers? Wilson’s patience with Mother had worn thin. They were in combat… shut up and fight!
But he sensed something was different. Mother’s tight-lipped and downcast face betrayed him. Something wasn’t right. “Have a seat, Mother. What’s up?”
Mother pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Wilson kept his eyes on him, wondering what this was about.
For several seconds, Mother sat with head bowed. He then lifted his head, mouth open, as if to speak, but he could not. Wilson saw the agony on his face.
“Mother?”
“I can’t,” he said.
“Can’t what? What’s going on?”
Mother lifted his eyes toward Wilson. “CAG, I just came down from the flight deck. The jet…”
Wilson waited, not taking his eyes off the pilot.
“CAG… I’ve been in fear of taxiing to the bow at night ever since my initial CQ as a lieutenant. I can fly daytime, I can land the damn thing at night, I want to go into combat and lead my boys… but my body did not let me taxi tonight.”
Wilson let him continue and noted Mother’s trembling.
“CAG… I’m… I’m scared shitless of night cat shots! I’ve suppressed it and gutted it out, and managed my career to avoid the boat, but when word came down last month… I… I just gritted my teeth. I can’t help it. It’s a phobia. It’s…. I don’t know what it is… but I can’t launch on the night events. I can go day and land at night, no problem, I mean, I’m in control then. I can handle it. My XO can lead the Panthers at night, and, like I said, I can fly at night, but just not the black-ass cat shots.”
Wilson nodded his understanding and didn’t say a word. The silence grew more awkward and troubling to Mother with each passing second.
“Sir, I tried. It was… is… all I can do to go up there at night. I didn’t grow up with this ship stuff, and I forced myself…”
Both struggled with what to say next. Wilson felt compassion for Mother: who was a festering problem, who fought him, and who said who-knew-what behind his back. Wilson and any carrier aviator understood; but understanding and compassion were not leadership, and no single aviator or group of aviators could be allowed to avoid the “bad” of night carrier aviation. Others were more nervous about the night trap, and some struggled with the day pattern, but Mother could not face one more night cat shot, and he wasn’t the first aviator to say no mas. Wilson respected the courage Mother displayed admitting it now, but VMFA-335 needed a CO who faced all the hardships his aviators faced, who led from the front, in this case, Catapult 1.
“Mother, I admire your courage coming to me. It takes guts… especially given our strained relationship.”
“It’s not strained, CAG, I’m…”
Wilson lifted his hand. “Mother, no more bullshit. You haven’t bought into my program, or the Navy’s program. It doesn’t matter. This is not in your comfort zone, and, hey, I’m not comfortable taxiing up there either. It’s good that we’re scared shitless of the night shots. But taking them when it’s our turn is all part of it. I can’t have a CO that doesn’t step up.”
“CAG, I can fly! I can still lead my guys in combat, and it is not that much of a work-around for me to schedule myself.”
“Ray, I hear you, but…”
“It’s not Ray!” Mother raged at Wilson, losing control. “It’s Mother! I’m Mother Tucker, Panther One! I’m still a Fleet Marine Force aviator!”
Mother caught himself, struggling in his new fear of losing his command. He should have known CAG Wilson wouldn’t understand! This outburst would convey his readiness to fight, to lead. He could do it. The enemies were the Chinese, not the bow catapults! He should have just gone to the Ready Room and kept quiet… until the next night.
Wilson looked at Mother in silence, and Mother knew what he was thinking.
“CAG, I’m sorry… but you can’t relieve me. My career… It’s just… we are on the eve of combat with the Pricks and you need strike leads. So, I’m not all that great around the boat… I know, your Navy JOs tell me that all the time, but I can lead my guys into combat. I’m just a dumb Marine, sir! All this boat stuff is new, and it takes an old dog like me longer to pick it up, but once en route to meet the enemy, I’m as good as any you’ve got. Some guys are night guys, and some are day. I’m day, and, hey, it’s going to be easier for the Pricks to fight in the day. I’ll accept that risk and bring my guys—your guys — back.” Mother waited for Wilson to respond, his career, his very being, hanging in the balance.
Wilson’s initial empathy for him was gone. He had been right about Mother all along. “Lieutenant Colonel Tucker,” Wilson said in a measured tone, “you are grounded until further notice.”
Latching his eyes on Wilson, Mother breathed through his nose as he absorbed the message. The men faced each other, neither one blinking, and feelings of betrayal welled up inside Mother.
“CAG, I did the right thing. I admitted it, admitted fear to you. Do you know how hard that was? My body would not let me taxi… so I come in here asking for consideration, for help, prostrate before you, a sniveling worm in your eyes, and you relieve me. Thanks.” Mother’s tight-lipped nod confirmed the sarcasm and contempt that dripped from his words.
Wilson glared back. “You have not been relieved, Colonel. Not yet.”
Mother now knew he was sinking into an area of no recovery. His eyes grew moist, and his subconscious knew it was not an act.
“Please, sir. Please. I’m struggling with this, what I just went through up there. I can’t be on the ship and not be the CO of the Panthers and—”
“Mother, I said you’re not relieved,” Wilson interrupted. “But why can’t you serve your squadron in caring for the jets, in getting your people what they need? Help in the planning cell as a Marine liaison? Stand watches in the tower and Air Ops? There are Navy guys on this ship who had to serve on the ground in Afghanistan ten years ago; talk about fish out of water. Why can’t you serve your squadron and this Air Wing in any number of ways aboard Hancock?”