Maybe we should just punch out and take our chances. Tombstone considered it, even going so far as to raise one hand and close it around the red-and-white striped ejection handle. He could feel the tension on the cables holding it in place, feel the rocket underneath his seat poised and ready to fire.
No. We’ve come this far — I’m taking her home. Carefully, he pulled her into a slow turn, balancing out the thrust from one engine with her control surfaces.
“One zero one, come right to heading one two zero,” the Hawkeye said, taking over the problem of directing the injured Tomcat to the carrier. “Glad to see you’ve taken care of that multiple personality problem, sir. It was getting a bit confusing up here.”
“You should see the other guys,” Tombstone joked.
“We did.”
The Tomcat was responding well for an aircraft flying on one engine, a bit sluggish but responsive. As long as he could take it slow and careful, they should make it.
“One zero one, call the ball,” the tower’s voice said.
“Ball, one zero one,” Tombstone said, the Fresnel lens now in view. “On final, no needles.”
“Roger, sir. You’re looking good, looking good.” The LSO’s voice was calm and confident, intended to reassure an uncertain or nervous pilot. No matter that Tombstone had more time in a carrier’s chow line than the LSO had in the cockpit, the LSO was still in charge of the approach. “Come left a bit, sir. You’re looking good.”
The Tomcat balked at any attempt at fine-tuning the descent. Finally, Tombstone arrived at a compromise of staying roughly on course, reserving his strength and last-minute corrections for attitude and altitude adjustments.
“Three wire,” Tombstone announced, his gaze now focused on the deck. The carrier was looming large, a massive and inhospitable steel cliff.
“You’re on,” Jeremy said.
“Altitude, altitude,” the LSO barked, his voice now sharp. “Sir, you’re too low!”
The roiling air astern of the carrier was taking its toll, as was the speed he was losing.
Should he correct, and risk overshooting if the carrier’s stern dropped back down as he came over her? He didn’t have enough fuel for another try — if he missed this one, she was going in the drink.
But if he didn’t correct, if the carrier stayed stern high, riding up on the wave, there was every chance he’d smash into her ramp like a bug against a windshield. Maybe a compromise — he watched the stern, gauged its movements, and made his decision. He held his attitude and course.
“Oh Jesus,” he heard Jeremy moan behind him. Tombstone ignored it, concentrating on willing the aircraft down onto the deck.
“Stay with her,” Tombstone shouted. If Jeremy panicked and punched out now, there was every chance that Coyote’s worst nightmare would come true, with an out-of-control Tomcat tumbling flaming across the deck. The only way out now was straight through it, bringing her down on deck in one piece. “I’ve got her, I’ve got her!”
Then, suddenly, they were over the deck. Instants later, they slammed down, the nose wheel taking more of the impact than it should, the tail following it. Tombstone knew a brief moment of panic as he waited for the tail hook to catch. The seconds dragged on as he skidded across the deck, still bouncing, waiting for the tail hook to intercept a wire and slam them to a stop.
Finally, it happened. The forward motion stopped abruptly, jolting them against their harnesses. Tombstone immediately increased power, in case of a bolter. All that that would accomplish would be to get them clear of the ship before they punched out.
Seconds ticked by. Finally, the plane captain stepped slowly in front of them and made the signal to reduce power. The fire-fighting team was assembled just outside the flight deck proper, waiting, hoses at the ready to dispense foam if necessary. The giant crane and the yellow gear were also manned, ready to push the Tomcat over the side if she caught fire.
Tombstone eased back on the throttle, reducing power on the remaining engine. The engine speed slowed, then it coughed and quit. The plane captain regarded him with a puzzled expression for a moment, then signaled to the yellow gear. The tow truck raced across the deck and came to a smart halt in front of them. Within moments, the hitch had been affixed to the nose wheel strut and the Tomcat was towed away from the arresting gear.
“I believe you owe me a beer,” Jeremy said, his voice almost completely normal. “Nailed the one wire, didn’t you? And about your attitude — well, the whole landing left a lot to be desired.”
Tombstone laughed out loud. He twisted around to stare back at the younger pilot, who was making such a valiant effort at terminal cool. “You’re some piece of work, Jeremy,” he said.
“Am I? Well, you just wait until the first time our positions are reversed and you have to sit in the backseat during a landing like that.”
TWENTY-TWO
The incoming Forgers were still well outside range of the carrier when the Hornet sponge was finally filled. Thor, the flight leader for Packer flight, and his wingman split off from the pack. “Packer flight, we’ll take the right side,” Thor announced. There had been some discussion while on deck about whether the bomber/fighter composite squadron would maintain its current formation or whether it would split into two independent squadrons, one heading for the mainland and the other dealing with the carrier. So far, it looked like the Russians were electing to deal with one problem at a time.
A chorus of clicks greeted Thor’s command, acknowledging the order. Packer flight peeled off from the sponge, Thor and his new wingman, Marine Captain Jim “Beetle” Bailey, in the lead, the rest spaced out at equal intervals behind them. Thor shoved his Hornet into afterburner, intent on closing the Forgers before the Backfires could come within range. His flight followed suit.
“Packer flight, break,” Thor ordered as they drew within combat range of the enemy fighters. The Hornet fighting pairs immediately broke off, selecting their targets under the direction of the E-2 Hawkeye and boring in for the kill.
“Fox three,” Thor said, toggling off an AMRAAM. They were at max range, but a few missiles inbound might serve to shake up the incoming aircraft. At the very least, they would break them off from their flight plan if they took defensive action, and a good offense was always the best defense. If you just counted numbers, the Hornets were slightly outnumbered, but that didn’t tell the whole story. The training, the armament, and everything else made the odds more than equal.
“Beetle, let’s take the one high. On me,” Thor said, selecting the first victim. One Forger was at a slightly greater altitude than the others, apparently cruising alone. He would be no match for two Hornets.
“Roger,” Beetle agreed. Beetle settled in above and behind Thor in the classic fighting pair formation. As they headed for the solo Forger, the other Forgers apparently noticed. Suddenly, the air around them was lousy with fighters.
“We have a winner,” Thor announced. “This must be the flight leader.”