The fuselage began to vibrate, while outside a blinding bolt of lightning cut through the black heavens. This was accompanied by an ear-shattering boom of thunder that all but swallowed the straining whine of the Harrier’s engine.
“Hold on. Commander,” offered the pilot.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit on the rough side. It shouldn’t last long, though.”
Mac’s gut tightened as the airplane smacked into the most unstable air yet encountered. The entire fuselage began to quiver madly and shake with such a violent intensity that he didn’t know how the plane could stay in one piece. He began mentally recreating his hurried instructions in the workings of the Harrier’s ejection system, all the while placing his right hand on the side mounted console where the eject trigger was located.
Like an out-of-control roller coaster, the aircraft plunged downward. Held in place by his shoulder harness, Mac found himself possessed by nausea, and he was thankful that earlier he had passed on the pilot’s offer to share a box lunch.
A resonant crack of lightning split the heavens, and for one chilling moment the entire cockpit seemed to be aglow with a pulsating iridescence.
“It’s St. Elmo’s fire!” cried the excited pilot.
Though he hadn’t been a practicing Catholic since high school, Mac began silently mouthing a frantic Hail Mary. With his left hand he reached up to touch the silver crucifix that still hung from his neck. The cross had been given to him by his grandfather, who surrendered it on his deathbed at the ripe old age of eighty seven.
The plane canted hard on its right side. As another lightning bolt lit up the cockpit, Mac wondered if he’d have the nerve to eject in such a storm if so ordered.
The fourteen-year naval veteran never learned the answer to this disturbing question; the Harrier broke out of the squall line as suddenly as it had entered it.
A sunlit, bright blue sky greeted them. Wiping the sweat from his soaked brow, Mac peered out the plexiglass canopy and spotted a large vessel serenely floating on the blue waters below. Though the ship looked much like an aircraft carrier, Mac knew it was properly classified as an amphibious assault ship; its primary mission was to carry helicopters.
“Harrier one-zulu-alpha,” broke a voice from the intercom.
“This is Iwo Jima control. We have you on visual.
You are clear to land at station number three.”
As the pilot verified these instructions and initiated the landing sequence, Mac’s thoughts returned to his last visit aboard this very same vessel over eighteen months ago. Mac had been working at the Naval Ocean System Command’s laboratory on St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands when the Iwo Jima made port in Charlotte Amalie. While he was in the midst of a routine tour of the ship, it was learned that an F/A-18A Hornet belonging to the aircraft carrier Coral Sea had gone down in the waters north of St. Croix. Since Mac’s expertise was in the field of marine salvage, he was ordered to remain on board the Iwo Jima as it immediately set sail for the crash site.
An exciting week’s worth of work followed. Mac was glad to get out of the stuffy laboratory and enjoyed his brief excursion into the Caribbean Sea. Yet before he knew it, the Hornet was located and pulled from the clear blue depths. This signaled the end of his temporary sea duty, and the last he saw of the Iwo Jima was from the flight deck of a Bell Huey helicopter as he was being whisked back to St. Thomas.
He couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised when Admiral Long mentioned the name of the ship that Mac was to be flown out to this afternoon. Though this was a long way from the Caribbean, it was a sort of homecoming all the same.
A throaty roar filled the cockpit as the pilot adjusted the Harrier’s vectored-thrust engine. The plane had all but stopped its forward movement, and was hovering over the forward flight deck. The banshee-like whine of the engine further increased to an almost deafening crescendo as the AV-8B began gradually losing altitude.
The Harrier landed with a bare jolt. As the engine was switched off, the relief from the persistent roar was immediately noticeable.
“I told you I’d get you here in one piece, Commander,” boasted the pilot lightly.
“That you did,” replied Mac, who managed a relieved grin as the plexiglass canopy was removed. The scent of warm salt air met his nostrils as he added, “Thanks for the lift. Enjoy your date tomorrow night.”
“I certainly will, Commander,” replied the pilot.
“And good luck to you, sir.”
An alert seaman on a portable ladder appeared at Mac’s side and helped him out of his harness. After removing his helmet, Mac stood and gratefully stretched his cramped limbs. He wasted no time exiting the tight confines of the Harrier and climbing down to the deck below. Here he was met by a khaki-clad officer with a tanned face, bright blue, inquisitive eyes, and a full blond moustache.
“Welcome aboard,” shouted Commander William Hunley, the ship’s executive officer.
Mac accepted the XO’s firm handshake.
“It’s good to be back. Is Captain Exman still the CO here?”
“That he is, Commander. The Captain’s waiting for you up on the bridge. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll escort you up there. How was your flight?”
Mac answered while following the XO across the flight deck.
“It was going pretty smooth until we hit that squall line a couple of minutes ago.”
“We just passed through it ourselves,” added the XO, who was leading them toward the large superstructure located amidships starboard.
“I just hope the main body of the storm stays well to the north of us. Even with a displacement of 18,000 tons, the Iwo Jima is no match for a Pacific typhoon.”
Mac noted the puddles of rainwater that still stained the deck. He was also aware of the rolling motion of the ship beneath him. It was apparent that the sea was much rougher than it had appeared from the air. Massive swells were crashing into the carrier’s hull in irregular sets, making the mere act of walking a challenge.
They ducked through a hatch and began their way up a twisting stairway. Two flights up, the XO turned and led them down an open passageway. This afforded Mac an excellent view of the entire flight deck. He briefly halted and watched as the deck crew swarmed around the Harrier.
The XO noted Mac’s interest and offered a brief explanation.
“From what I understand, that flight from Oahu was just about at the limit of the AV-8B’s range.
Our boys will top off those external fuel tanks and make certain that the Harrier is in shape for the flight back to Kaneohe Bay.”
Mac’s line of sight shifted to the collection of large, banana-shaped, dual-rotor helicopters positioned on the forward a deck. Again the XO provided the commentary.
“Those are Boeing-Vertol CH-46 Sea Knights. If I remember correctly, during your last visit with us, the Marines weren’t embarked. We’re presently carrying an entire battalion landing team of approximately 1,700 men. Those helicopters are utilized as assault transport vehicles that can hold up to 25 equipped troops, or 4,000 pounds of cargo each.”
Mac looked on as the massive hydraulically powered platform set directly opposite the superstructure activated.
A single dark green Sikorsky Sea Stallion soon appeared, having been lifted up from the ship’s enclosed hangar bay.
“I believe you’ll be most familiar with that particular helicopter before the day is over,” offered the XO.
Before Mac could get the commander to explain what he meant by this, the man turned for the enclosed bridge. Mac took one last look at the chopper that had just arrived from below deck, shrugged his shoulders, then continued forward.
The Iwo Jima’s bridge was the nerve center of the ship while it was at sea. Mac entered the spacious glassed-in compartment and found it bustling with activity.