Sponge’s eyes went to the FUEL LO caution on the left multi-function display. “Jus’ got the fuel low.”
“Roger that. Net’s goin’ up.” Wilson regretted his last comment. The barricade was actually still in its locker, despite the high activity of the crew in the landing area. They were busy making preparations so they could run it across the flight deck. “I should’a been straight with him,” he said under his breath to The Big Unit.
The Commander replied, “He doesn’t need to know. Just tell him everything’s fine here.”
CHAPTER 11
“WHAT?” Lieutenant Commander Russell “Shakey” McDevitt exclaimed to the LSO phone talker on the platform. “Barricade?”
“Yes, sir,” the young sailor replied. Shakey saw the look of concern the sailor couldn’t hide as he relayed the message. “After this Rhino, they gonna rig it for four-zero-six!”
Shakey looked aft at the blinking lights of the Super Hornet some five miles away. “Who’s in four-oh-six again?”
“Jasper,” a young LSO sang out, at the same time Dutch said, “It’s Sponge.”
Sponge, Shakey thought, and immediately his mind spat out a trend analysis: Sponge tends to get overpowered and drive himself high in close and overcorrect to an early wire. He responds to calls, a solid nugget, trainable.
Shakey then turned his attention to the aircraft at one mile. The rain started to pick up again.
As Shakey, with Dutch backing him up, worked to get the Rhino aboard, he fought to keep from thinking of the barricade approach he would wave less than 10 minutes from now. Mercifully, the deck cooperated with the Spartan, and it flew a solid pass. Shakey then walked over to call the tower, picked up the receiver, and dialed.
The call was answered after the first ring. “Air Boss.”
“Boss, Shakey. Are we really going to barricade this guy?”
“Yeah, he couldn’t plug. We’ve got an alert tanker, and we’re shootin’ him now. But we need to get four-oh-six aboard. How’s Jasper been lately?”
“He’s doin’ good, sir. Tends to be overpowered.”
“A few extra for the wife and kids. Nothin’ wrong with that!” he said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then the Boss turned serious. “Can he handle this?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll get him aboard.” Shakey hoped he was right.
“You ready for this?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got it.”
“Good job, Paddles. We’re workin’ a 28,000 gross… Gotta go.”
“Yes, sir” Shakey said as he hung up.
Seconds later the Boss came over the 5MC. “On the flight deck, we’ve got a low-state Hornet comin’ in. Rig the barricade. Rig the jet barricade for Raven four-zero-six.”
Shakey looked at Dutch, who was still stunned by the news. “You good to go?” he asked.
Dutch looked toward the horizon and back toward Shakey. “Yep, I’m right behind you — unless, of course, you want Stretch up here.”
“No, his eyes aren’t night adapted. You back me up.”
“Roger that,” Dutch replied, and grabbed a radio handset to listen to the CATCC controlling his sqadronmate.
Shakey still couldn’t believe this was happening. He reached up to rub the tension out of his neck. The pain felt like an ice pick digging into the base of his skull. When the phone rang, which was barely audible over the wind and the roar of the Rhino engines up forward, one of the LSOs answered and turned to Shakey. “It’s CAG.”
Shakey walked over toward the console and took the receiver. “Lieutenant Commander McDevitt, sir.”
“Paddles, CAG. Can we get this guy aboard?”
Shakey looked at the dozens of sailors swarming into the landing area to rig the barricade, their shouts audible above the din of the flight deck. “Yes, sir, but I would prefer, and even recommend, a normal arrest. When is that tanker gonna get launched?”
“They’re workin’ on it,” CAG said, and then added, “Paddles, the Captain made the call. It’s going to be a barricade, but if Jasper is not where you want him, pickle him and try again. If he’s not there the next pass, don’t take him out of parameters. If he flames out, he ejects, and we’ll pick him up. Don’t think you have to save the world here.”
“Yes, sir, thanks CAG,” Shakey said.
“You can do it, Paddles!” CAG said as he hung up.
Shakey took a few steps to the LSO console and picked up the radio transceiver. He felt the eyes of every LSO on the team focus on him as he moved toward the platform wind barricade. As he pressed his back against it to minimize his exposure to the elements, he opened his gouge book, his LSO platform “Cliff Notes,” and quickly scanned the barricade brief.
I must convey confidence. Smile, he thought, and keyed the mike. “Four-zero-six, Paddles!”
“Go ahead,” Sponge replied.
“Hey, Sponge, we’re going to rig the barricade for this next pass. I know you’ve been workin’ hard out there. You flew some solid approaches, but the deck just didn’ cooperate. I’m going to go over the brief with you… Ah, let’s see… What’s yer configuration, approach speed and gross weight?”
“I’m slick. Just punched off the tanks… estimating one-thirty knots and twenty-seven K.”
“Roger that,” Shakey said as he proceeded with the brief. “Deck’s movin’ a little, and I’ll be givin’ ya calls to back up what I’m showin’ ya on the MOVLAS. Don’t chase the deck. We’re workin’ thirty-five knots right now. Line-up is going to be real important, so keep that in your scan. We don’t want any drift at touchdown.”
He took a breath and continued with the checklist.
“Fly it on speed, and fly the ball I’m showing ya. Now, I’ll be talking to you the whole way — advisory calls early, imperative calls in close.” Shakey took another breath. “You can’t execute your own wave-off in close. Jus’ follow my calls, and, at the proper point, I’m going to give you a cut. When I do, shut down the engines and you’ll roll into the barricade. Keep the throttle under control. Don’t get overpowered and drive yourself high. If you do, I’ll be talking to you. Big corrections early, smaaall corrections in close. Got it?”
“Roger, sir.”
“One more thing, the ship’s moving, and it’s gonna generate a Dutch Roll… Fly your needles, and don’t chase line-up at range. After the ball call, it’s meatball, line-up angle of attack.” Shakey paused to let it sink in.
“Roger,” Sponge replied.
“Any questions?”
“Negative.”
Shakey was encouraged by the confidence in Sponge’s voice. He knew he held Sponge’s life in his hands.
CATCC jumped in. “Four-zero-six, turn right zero-eight-zero to intercept the final bearing one-one-six.”
“Four-zero-six,” Sponge said. His mouth was parched with fear as he reached down to set the course line.
“Bingo! Bingo!” sounded Tammy, warning Sponge again of his emergency fuel situation.
Sponge had never been this low on fuel in a Hornet. Breathing through his mouth, Sponge thought he could hear his heartbeat. Even under his mask, he could smell a metallic odor emanating from his person. Adrenaline. Fear. The realization surprised him. You can smell your own fear, he thought, and fought to keep himself under control. It’s bad enough to be on fumes at night. But this is a night pitching deck barricade!