Another three frames forward he found a ladder and trundled down, conscious of his footsteps and the quiet. Continuing forward, he saw the open door to the foc’sle and some of the over 100 Hancock aircrew standing in ranks. As he stepped onto the painted deck, someone yelled, “Attention on deck!” With a single sound of boots thudding together the assembly came to attention. Only Wilson’s footsteps could be heard as he walked with purpose along the starboard anchor chain to address his aviators.
Sensing all eyes on him, Wilson got to the hawsepipe, made a left turn, and stepped to a point in front of Weed. Wilson stopped and made a crisp facing movement toward him. Weed lifted a salute.
“Air Wing Fifteen, formed and ready, sir.”
Wilson returned his salute and in a low tone said, “Thanks, Buddy. Please take your position.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Weed said with a smile and stepped to the left of and behind Wilson, to face the Wing aircrew, still at attention in their squadron clusters.
Wilson assessed his aviators, and then took a breath. “Wolfpack! Fall out and gather up around me!”
The ranks broke up as the aviators shuffled forward between the anchor chains. Wilson motioned them forward, “C’mon, guys, step up. Gather ‘round.” Led by their skippers, the flight-suited pilots and NFOs moved toward him. Mother and his Panthers held back next to the port hawsepipe.
Wilson contemplated the young faces of the group as they surrounded him. He and Weed were years older than any of them. Even COs like Olive were not yet 40. The shuffling motion stopped, and, as the aircrew waited for Wilson to begin, their eyes searched his face. Outside the sea swished against the hull, and the compartment creaked as the carrier’s bow lifted and fell on the sea. Wilson’s piercing stare showed his resolve, and his bare Velcro showed he was ready for combat.
“About ten days ago we got word that USS Cape Esperance, conducting innocent passage in international waters, was attacked with a deadly nerve agent that killed, in minutes, her captain and ninety percent of her crew.” Wilson let his words hang in the air.
“Several days ago a P-8 flying in international airspace was intercepted. Then, either through aggressive maneuvers or inattention, it was rammed, resulting in the loss of all hands.” Wilson again paused, and noted a few heads nodding.
“The People’s Republic of China, through either unprofessional mistakes or on purpose, is responsible for this loss of life. Washington has sent us, Air Wing Fifteen—you—here to hold them responsible for the deaths of our shipmates. Right now, Hancock and the rest of the strike group is conducting a show-of-force to get them to back off in the region. I do not believe that will be enough, but I do believe we are going into combat in days, maybe hours.”
One hundred sets of eyes were glued to him.
“Tomorrow we are going to fly with live ordnance and conduct surface searches and combat air patrols around and ahead of the strike group. We may encounter PRC vessels, and our tasking, right now, is to report them. Depending on what they are, we may bird-dog them, and we need to be smart about staying outside threat envelopes and not acting with hostile intent. If PRC airplanes show up, we are going to escort them. However, if their ships or aircraft, including their merchants and fishermen, show hostile intent, we are going to defend ourselves without a lot of deliberation. You’ve had your ROE briefs in your ready rooms, and I expect them to be followed. It is vital for the United States that we show restraint, but when you are given the order, by me, I expect you to bring the thunder. I also expect you to hold nothing back.
“We are also going to be moving, at full speed, until we get into the Philippine Sea, and probably at full speed after that. Movement is defense, and to keep them off guard, we are going to be fast and unpredictable. That means the ship probably won’t be at your launched position, and the ship reserves the right to not be at the briefed expected recovery position. Plan fuel reserves accordingly.”
Wilson maintained eye contact with the aviators, and then glanced at Mother, who had his head down and arms crossed.
“Now I’m going to talk about EMCON. Radio and radar discipline is paramount; do not radiate when you are not supposed to. You’ve got Link. You’ve got passive sensors. You’ve got wingmen. And you’ve got day and night visual signals. This past week you’ve studied up on signal flags. I expect you’ll use this knowledge in the coming days. The bridge right now is using celestial navigation to backup the GPS readout. Who knows how long we’ll have GPS. Guys, we are going to be operating in the open ocean hundreds of miles from anything, and you’ll have to monitor your navigation using time, distance, heading like our ancestors did.” Wilson noted nods from several more of his aviators.
“Let’s talk about the Chinese. They are not ten feet tall, and they are not combat tested like you guys are. But let’s be frank… we haven’t engaged a blue-water Navy in contested waters either, not since World War II. They have modern ships and airplanes, missiles, satellites, and rockets. They have some stuff. We must not underestimate them. But they don’t have the ‘bench’ we do, and they are not as agile. They should know that and not engage us in a fight, but, if they do, we have to defend, and then we are going to hit them back — and hard, very hard. Honor the threat, expect they know what they are doing, counter it, and defeat them.”
The aircrews nodded again, and Wilson could tell he was connecting with all — except the Marines who mimicked the stance of their CO with crossed arms and contempt on their faces. No doubt Mother had poisoned the well in Ready 8 after the CO’s meeting. He could deal with it later. Wilson had one more thing to say before he dismissed them.
“Guys, you are ready for this. Yes, we are on a new ship with new faces, and we haven’t had any time to really train at a combat tempo. However, we have a reservoir of training and standardization to fall back on. And experience. And capability. It is now up to you to know your aircraft and weapons systems, to plan smart, to brief the plan and fly the brief, and to make decisions on the ROE we’ve been briefed on. Fly the aircraft smart and, when directed, hit them hard. They have built installations in the South China Sea that are there to control the sea lanes and to exploit natural resources — from petroleum to fish. Don’t think they won’t fight for them. We are fighting for our lost shipmates on Cape Esperance, and the Poseidon crew, even John Adams with half her crew detained. And we fight for each other, with good mutual support and escorting damaged aircraft. Washington will manage this, but our job — your job — is to follow our tasking to find and track them and, if they make a wrong move, hit them without remorse. Again guys, your aircraft are going to be armed tomorrow and each one of you has tremendous responsibility. I have full confidence in you and so does the Admiral. And your country. Good hunting out there. That is all.”
A CO sang out, “Attention on deck!” The aircrews popped to attention where they stood. With Weed following, Wilson stepped around the hawsepipe and aft along the starboard anchor chain, the way he had entered.
“Carry on,” said Wilson before leaving the compartment.
Once inside the passageway, he and Weed headed aft toward the Intel spaces to get the latest. “How’d that go?” Wilson asked.