CHAPTER 9
Wilson figured Sponge was good for 25 minutes airborne at low altitude — if he “hung on the blades” at a max conserve power setting. The two desired outcomes of flying an approach to the ship with gear and flaps down or joining up on a hoped-for tanker for a desperate “drink” would burn up more gas. He estimated Sponge really had 20 minutes before a third outcome was required: controlled ejection.
Wilson got O’Shaunessy’s attention. “Sir, he’s got about 20 minutes.”
“I know… He’s been doing good, hasn’t he?” Wilson interpreted his question to be about Sponge’s ability behind the ship.
“Yes, sir, if the deck cooperates, he’ll get aboard.”
Sponge remained on 102, fuel still streaming from the basket. He edged closer to see if he could plug anyway and noted a heavier flow than he first thought. The flow was solid, as if the basket was engaged and fuel was being pumped into an invisible aircraft. If he attempted to plug now, he risked getting the windscreen covered with fuel that could then be ingested into the right engine. That could cause problems he didn’t even want to imagine. When a bolt of lightning from a nearby squall exploded off their right wing, Sponge made up his mind.
“One-zero-two, recommend you stow the basket.”
“Concur,” 102 replied. He retracted the basket almost immediately.
When the prop was secured, Sponge radioed, “Good stow.” After a moment, he added, “Departure, four-zero-six detaching,” as he deflected the stick to the left.
“What’s the story on one-twelve?” O’Shaunessy said to no one, then picked up the phone and asked the Air Boss the same question.
Wilson heard Sponge ask the question. “Departure, tanker posit?”
“Four-zero-six, we have no sweet tankers airborne. Launching alert Texaco, Spartan one-zero-five in five mikes. Your signal is max conserve. Say your angels?”
“Four-zero-six is at angels two.”
“Roger, four-zero-six, take low holding.”
“Four-zero-six… Ah, you want me to go to angels eight?”
“Affirm, four-zero-six.”
With alarm, Wilson shouted from the back row. “Sir! Commander O’Shaunessy!”
Half expecting a vocal blast from the Commander, Wilson noticed that O’Shaunessy was shaken as he put down the receiver. He turned to Wilson as if to a friend who has a solution to his dilemma. “Yeah?”
“Sir, Departure told just told four-oh-six to take angels eight. Recommend you keep him down low so he doesn’t chew up gas in the climb.”
“Concur… because we’re gonna barricade him.”
Wilson stared at O’Shaunessy, not comprehending what he had heard. “Sir?”
“He’s at barricade fuel. We’re gonna catch the tankers and rig the barricade.” O’Shaunessy saw the look of astonishment on Wilson’s face and added, “Captain just made the call.” His eyes remained locked on Wilson, as if to convey he understood but was powerless to overrule the Captain.
Wilson took a breath. “Sir, this is a night pitching deck barricade with a nugget pilot. My recommendation is to bring him aboard. He’s got two more looks right now.”
“What if we don’t catch him?”
“Then a controlled ejection alongside.”
“I thought you said he was good behind the boat.”
“He is for a nugget, but why take the risk in these conditions?”
The Big Unit interjected, “Marty, I would recommend that for any pilot in these conditions.”
O’Shaunessy studied both of their faces. “It’s from the bridge. As soon as we get this Bloodhound aboard, we rig the barricade.” He turned to Metz and gave more orders. “Get four-oh-six ten miles aft, max conserve.”
“Yes, sir,” Metz answered and picked up the phone.
Wilson got up and went to a J-dial phone circuit to call the CAG office. The Ops officer, known as Bucket, answered.
“Yes sir, Flip here in Air Ops. Four-zero-six is low state and the tankers are dry or sour. They’re riggin’ the barricade.”
“Yeah, we just got the word. I’m tryin’ to find CAG… We’ll be right there.”
“I’m tryin’ to find my XO.”
“Is your skipper airborne?”
“Yes, sir… my recommendation is to trap Sponge now or fly alongside and eject.”
“OK, Flip, got it, thanks,” Bucket said as he hung up. Wilson went back to his place next to XO Johnson, aware that the eyes of the other aviators were on him. Wilson dialed Ready 7 and Prince Charming answered. “Ready Seven, Lieutenant Howard.”
“Prince, Flip, where’s the XO?”
“He hasn’t come in yet.”
“Find him and get him to Air Ops now!” Wilson ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him they’re gonna barricade Sponge.”
“Holy shit!”
“Find Dutch and Smoke, maybe they can help the LSOs up there. Break out the premishap plan.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Dutch is up there waving now,” Prince said.
Wilson realized he was powerless to do anything. The Captain had decided to barricade Sponge, and that was that. He looked at Commander O’Shaunessy hunched over his desk with the phone receiver in one ear. He saw the PLAT crosshairs moving slowly relative to the S-3 on glide slope. Cajun is airborne. CAG isn’t here. XO isn’t here. Even if they were, he realized, they couldn’t overturn the Captain’s decision. The book says when a Hornet gets to 2.0 at night, you barricade him. The captain was nothing if by the book. Rig the barricade! Yes, sir! Aye, aye, sir!
The barricade was a nylon web net made of heavy-duty nylon bands that hung down vertically from a steel cable rigged across the landing area. It was held up by two great stanchions that lifted it some 20 feet above the deck. This allowed the aircraft to make a normal carrier approach with the barricade net stopping the aircraft. Typically, the arrestment ended with significant damage, and the pilot had no option to eject once the aircraft was caught. The pilot shut down the engines on LSO command as the aircraft crossed the ramp, which further reduced the scant 10-foot hook-to-ramp clearance. The aircraft had to roll into the net with little drift — drift would cause the aircraft and the net to veer over the side or into the jets parked alongside the foul line. Too high was disaster. If the top loading strap were to snag the hook or landing gear, the aircraft would be slammed to the deck with back-breaking force, and the fiery wreckage would slide down the angle and into the water. And once inside a certain point subjectively determined by the LSO, there was no way to wave-off. It was rare for the Navy to barricade an airplane, maybe once a decade. And when it happened, it was an event felt throughout the fleet. Hey, did ya hear Valley Forge barricaded a Hornet last night?
I can’t believe we are doing this, thought Wilson. Night, dog-squeeze weather, pitching deck barricade! If all works well, if the barricade is rigged in time, if the deck steadies out, if we don’t steam into a squall, if Shakey or Stretch give him the right sugar calls, if Sponge flies a solid pass, everything will be fine. Just trap him! He has one, maybe two looks. If he doesn’t get aboard, then eject alongside.
Wilson wondered if Sponge knew what was happening. He got up from the bench to review the NATOPS manual for barricade procedures when he saw his XO standing at the entrance to the room. Still in his flight gear, Saint scowled at him and cocked his head in a motion to come over. Saint then led them into the back office.