“Pickle him!” Stretch screamed.
Shakey squeezed the wave-off switch and shoved the handle to the bottom. “Wave off! Wave off!” Within the next couple of seconds, the rate of collision between Sponge and the ramp or Sponge and the barricade picked up considerably. He must have been way back on the power! thought Shakey as he screamed, “BURNER! BURNER! BURNER!”
Dutch and Stretch shouted the same into their handsets. As a result, they saw the afterburners stage and the white burner plume leap from the tailpipes as the engine pitch changed to a booming roar. The Hornet continued to settle and the ramp continued to rise, with the red glow from the wave-off lights now reflecting off the bottom of the aircraft. Sponge had stopped his rate of descent and was now safe from collision with the ramp. The LSOs, however, were horrified as they watched the plane head for the top loading strap.
If Sponge hit the strap, the aircraft would smash violently onto the deck. The potential results were ominous: Sponge might be knocked out; the ejection mechanism might be crunched; the aircraft might explode into a mass of twisted metal and fire; or the wreckage, whatever its condition, might slide off the angle into the dark sea.
Shakey froze as he focused on Sponge’s hook point, time seeming to slow as the Hornet thundered over them. Oh, God, please, he prayed, and turned his body left.
Dutch shouted, “Holy shiiit!”
Traveling at over 130 knots, the hook point nicked the top loading strap. The hit started an undulating motion that quickly moved from the heavy steel cable to the stanchions. At that instant the burner plume passed over the barricade and shook it violently, the plume igniting a small grease fire at the top of two nylon bundles.
The LSOs, stunned by what they had just witnessed, watched the small fire struggle with the wind and rain. Sponge climbed out ahead of the ship at a steep angle, burner cans still white.
Dutch had the presence of mind to call “Out of burner!” That would help preserve what remained of Sponge’s fuel.
“Clean up,” added Stretch.
I can’t believe it didn’t break! Shakey thought, as the Boss yelled over the 5MC for sailors to put out the fire on top of the barricade.
Sponge was still climbing ahead of the ship, and CATCC directed him back for another pass. “Four-zero-six, take angels one-point-two. When level, turn to the downwind three-zero-five.”
Shakey knew Sponge didn’t have the gas to turn downwind for even a four-mile hook-in to final.
As the crash and salvage tractor drove out to the centerline to douse the small flames still flickering on the loading strap, he took matters into his own hands. “Four-zero-six, Paddles contact. Turn downwind now. Level off at cherubs six.”
“What’re you doing?” Stretch cried.
“He doesn’t have the fuel. We’ve gotta get him back here now! Watch him, guys!”
CHAPTER 14
Sponge breathed heavily through his mouth and fought the urge to remove his mask. Holy shit! he thought. He had pulled the throttles out of burner when Dutch called to him, but what did Shakey want? Level off and turn downwind?! Another first! A night pitching deck barricade out of a day visual pattern! A look at his fuel, though, confirmed Shakey was right. Five hundred pounds left!
He pushed the nose over and banked left. To keep from becoming disoriented, he concentrated his attention on the instruments. In less than three minutes he was either going to be on that ship or in the water next to it. Sponge took a series of deep breaths to remain calm. One step at a time.
A sudden bolt of lightning in the downwind turn made Sponge flinch. His shoulders ached. They had been under strain for the last 40 minutes, ever since he had pushed out of marshal. And he could smell the adrenaline; the smell was stronger than ever, and it seemed to seep right out of his skin. Concentrate!
Shakey called to him again. “Cherubs six, no lower.”
Sponge was concentrating so hard to maintain his tight turn, he didn’t even answer. He was at 800 feet, and would descend to six once on downwind. As he leveled off, he took a glance at the ship, which looked about level with him to his left. He saw one helo close on the starboard quarter and another nearby. He almost wished the ship would just tell him to punch out. The rain was picking up too, another unwelcome sensory.
“Damn, this sucks!” he shouted into his mask.
Wilson and the others in Air Ops watched the raindrops bounce on the deck in front of the PLAT camera embedded in the centerline. Wilson was incensed. He couldn’t believe that, after witnessing the near catastrophe, the ship was going to attempt another barricade recovery. What else can go wrong tonight? he thought.
O’Shaunessy, who had lost the bubble, was on the phone to somebody but overwhelmed by the crushing demands put on him by the Captain, the elements, the scheduled track, and the air wing tankers. And Shakey had now turned Sponge downwind for a day pattern on a shitty night like this! Saint just stood off to the left and watched the PLAT. He offered no answers whatsoever.
“Sir?” Wilson called to O’Shaunessy.
“Yeah?” When O’Shaunessy looked over his shoulder, Wilson saw the deep circles under his eyes.
Wilson glanced at Saint, who still stared at the PLAT. Damn, he wished the Skipper were here now, but for the moment he was the only Raven representative thinking about Sponge’s well being. He leaned forward on the bench.
“Recommend a controlled ejection alongside, sir.” Wilson said in a measured tone, eyes locked on O’Shaunessy.
Saint “woke up” with a start. “Negative!” he exclaimed. “Barricade him! Mister Wilson, I’ve got it.”
Despite the in extremis condition of 406, O’Shaunessy and the others were astonished by this public display. After a moment, the Air Ops Officer looked to Wilson and said, almost apologetically, “He outranks you.”
Wilson sat still and said nothing, but he felt his blood pressure rising. The silence was broken by Shakey as he talked to the lone Hornet abeam. “Sponge, nice job on that one, the ship jinked for winds, but you did a good job of getting that good start. You’re real light, so keep that right hand under control and make easy glide slope corrections with power. We’re gonna get ‘cha this time… We’ve got a little raindrop here, so check windshield air… What’s yer DME?”
“One-point-four,” Sponge replied.
“Roger that, turn in level, dirty up. CATCC, say final bearing.”
The approach controller, monitoring everything, was on top of it. “Final bearing one-three-seven.”
“Roger that. Sponge, you have bullseye needles?”
“Affirm.”
“OK, use them to help get set up. We’ll show you a ball when you get in the window.”
“Roger, Paddles.”
As Sponge prepared his airplane for approach, however disjointed this one might be, his training took over and he became calm. He went through the checklist by memory: gear — DOWN; flaps — HALF; antiskid — OFF; hook — DOWN; harness — LOCKED. His hand touched each handle and knob to ensure they were all set as required. Keeping a good instrument scan and flying the ball was something Sponge could do. And, in his mind, he had resolved to wave off if one of the engines rolled back due to fuel starvation. He would then take a cut away from the ship — portside — and eject when abeam. He could do that, too.