Right into the bridge wing of the USS Farragut.
21
Plug saw the smoke first.
“What is that?”
Caveman looked up from the tactical display. “What the…?”
It reminded Plug of a volcano. Or maybe more like the footage of all those oil wells burning in the Iraqi desert. A deep black smoke billowed up into the sky, and trailing off to the east.
“You hear from the ship yet?” Plug asked.
“No. I’ll call again.” Caveman switched to the UHF external frequency that he would be able to reach the ship on.
“Farragut Control, Cutlass 476, how do you read?”
Nothing.
The single column of smoke became two. Then four. Plug made a call to the other helicopter. “Boss, you seeing this?”
“Affirm.” Her voice sounded strained. “We keep heading there for now.”
Plug could see the ships now. A sickening feeling formed in his stomach. The way they sat in the water was all wrong. He counted four ships, each tilted at an odd and deeply disturbing angle.
“Oh my God.”
Plug aimed his nose at the closest warship. The bow protruded up out of the water. Violent whitewater foamed and bubbled around it as the innards of the hull traded air for seawater. A scatter of lifeboats gathered around it. Frantic, shocked crew looked up at the helicopter as it flew overhead, tilting in a turn.
The FUEL LOW light illuminated on the helicopter’s master caution panel. Plug was expecting it. But the feeling of dread only increased.
“Anybody see Farragut yet?”
AW2 Ross, their aircrewman, said, “I don’t see her, sir. I only count four. Maybe she got outta here before…?”
Caveman replied, “Or she sank already. Plug, we might want to think about—”
“The needle just swung.” He nodded towards the TACAN needle on the digital compass readout. It was tuned to their ship. It was now picking up the navigational beacon from Farragut.
“Nine miles. Coming right to three-one-zero. Thank God. I really didn’t want to have to ditch this far out.”
“You see that FUEL LOW light, right?” Caveman asked.
Plug turned and looked at him, lifting up his visor so the junior pilot could see his expression.
“Just checking.”
Plug made the call to the other helo. “Boss, we’re picking up Mom on TACAN. Nine miles on a heading of three-one-zero.”
“Roger, we’ve got her on FLIR,” came Victoria’s response. “She looks like she’s going pretty fast, and has damage near the bridge. We’ll keep trying to reach her. You land first and get off deck. We’ll drop our pax off after you, then I’ll let you land and stuff the bird in the hangar.”
Plug could see the USS Farragut now. “Boss, we’re at five hundred and fifty pounds of fuel. You can’t be much better.”
“Plug, no arguments, please.”
Plug said, “Ma’am, we’re not going to have time to shut down and fold and stuff one of us in the hangar.”
“Yes, you will, Lieutenant. That’s going to be the plan.”
Lieutenant. She had never called him that before. Aviators went by first names and call signs. She wanted to emphasize that she was in charge. Plug realized that she was afraid he might come up with his own plan.
That got him thinking.
Caveman said, “Two miles, conducting landing checks. Jones, everyone okay back there?”
“Aside from the bleeding, fine, sir.”
“Roger.” He flipped a few switches and then said, “Landing checks complete.”
Plug kept the aircraft at one hundred and twenty knots until a half mile. He didn’t look at any of his instruments. He just used feel. The site picture of the ship. The rate of closure of the deck. A grey smoke drifted overhead, and it smelled like burnt rubber and chemicals. His hands were slippery with sweat, but the leather gloves gripped onto the controls well.
“Farragut Control, Cutlass 476, declaring an emergency. We’re low fuel and have not been able to get you on comms. We’ll be landing and dropping off pax. Some need medical attention.”
He was slow now. Just fifty knots indicated. But with the ship going so fast, it felt much slower.
“Over the deck.”
“Roger.” He kept the helicopter drifting forward in a gentle hover. The flight deck rolled underneath, but he didn’t wait. He knew that the other aircraft was burning fuel above them. Every second longer he took meant a little bit less of a chance that they would survive.
The helicopter dropped into the center of the flight deck with a crunching jolt.
“Whew! That was ugly. Jones, Caveman, get everyone in the hangar. I’ve got the controls. Don’t bother waiting for chocks and chains.”
One of the hangar doors opened up, and one of his mechanics waved at them, his mouth open as he saw the aircrewman carrying a wounded soldier toward the hangar.
Moments later, Plug was alone in the aircraft, rolling side to side with the ship, the rotors turning. The fuel gauge was now less than five hundred pounds. He knew that he would only have a moment. He pulled in power and slid the aircraft up and aft. Then he pedal-turned to the left and nosed it forward.
“Boss, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to disobey you here.”
“Stay near the ship, Plug. You’ll land after I drop off my pax.”
“I’ll try, but I’ll probably need you guys to drop a smoke or—”
“Plug, you listen to me. Keep airborne. I will drop off my pax and then let you get fuel.”
“Not enough time, boss. You know it. One of us is going in the drink. Just do me a favor and pull me out after you guys refuel, okay? I promise I’ll get you one of those girly drinks you like next time we’re in Panama.”
There was only silence for a moment. Then she came on with a quick, resigned reply. “Remember your training.”
He smiled. She was such a machine. He knew how much she cared about her men. It drove Plug crazy that she was unable to express it. I mean, life isn’t hard. You love someone, you say it. You hate someone, you punch them in the face. You work hard, you play hard. Plug had done both.
Life had been fun while it lasted. His heart was beating faster. Shit…
He found himself talking out loud. “Well, better get this over with.”
He turned off the radar altitude hold and slowed his aircraft to a crawl about a mile to the port side of the ship.
“One hundred feet. Ditching checklist. Windows — jettison.”
He pulled the red-and-yellow handle, breaking the safety wire. Then he punched the Plexiglas and let it fall to the sea. He looked at the other helicopter. They were on short final now. Just coming over the deck. Good. That meant they would make it. He hoped that this was all worth it.
He was just about to bring the aircraft into a five-knot forward hover when he ran out of fuel.
The noise level decreased dramatically as the number one engine flamed out. His left hand instinctively dropped down the collective lever to preserve the rotational energy of the rotor, and get closer to the ground before the number two engine…
Ah. There it went. Total flameout.
The digital cubes that told him the status of his engines plummeted. He let the helicopter fall, holding the nose slightly forward to retain his forward speed.
It was the quickest autorotation of his life.
“Fifty feet. Flare.” He gritted his teeth and clenched his stomach and he brought the nose up, trading off his airspeed for rotor turns — this slowed his rate of descent.