“We’re holding on a passenger, Chief,” he yelled back, looking up. “Conakry HQ says that we’re going to be taking the new TACBOSS out to the Floater.”
Commander Lane. Lieutenant Commander Jeffery Lane it must be. Amanda nodded to herself. This, then, would be the commanding officer of the seafighter squadron. She hadn’t known quite what to expect, and she hadn’t been disappointed.
“The new TACBOSS?” Another voice joined in the conversation and a third figure appeared in the open-side hatch of the seafighter. “Jeez, Steamer, why didn’t you tell me?”
The newcomer was long legged and slim, with a short honey-colored ponytail drawn back at the base of her neck. She looked more like a member of a cheerleading squad than she did a combat crew member. The coppery gleam of a lieutenant junior grade’s bars at her collar put the lie to that concept. Amused bewilderment tugged at the corner of Amanda’s mouth. Lord, had she been that young fourteen years ago?
The hover commander grinned and looked up into the doorway. “Mostly because I only got the word about five minutes ago myself. Besides, what’s the bitch? We’ve got the Queen squared away. Let him come.”
“I’d have liked the chance to get myself squared away too. At least I could have borrowed a decent set of khakis from somebody.”
Like the female enlisted hands, the JG had cut down her own uniform, seeking comfort over military regulation. Amanda found herself envying the younger woman’s bare armed and bare-legged freedom. Her own theoretically summer weight uniform was beginning to feel like a steamed horse blanket.
“No sense in giving this guy any false expectations,” Lane replied confidently. “He’s going to have to find out about the real world sooner or later. Don’t sweat it, Snowy. We’ll larn him.”
There was apparently a great deal Amanda was going to have to “larn,” and rapidly. She stepped out of the tanker’s shade and crossed the ramp to where the squadron commander stood.
“Commander Lane?”
He caught her rank as she approached and came to attention, his fingertips snapping to his brow in a salute. Amanda replied in kind and then extended her hand to shake his.
“My name is Amanda Garrett. I’m your new Tactical Action Group commander.”
The remainder of the introductions were conducted in the scant shade of the hovercraft’s flank.
“Commander Garrett, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Jillian Banks, the Queen’s exec and my copilot.”
Amanda clasped hands with the uneasy young woman. “Snowy Banks?” she inquired smiling. “I’ve never heard of running names being used outside of the aviation wings before.”
“We’re something new, Commander,” Snowy replied shyly, returning the smile. “No one’s exactly decided whether a hovercraft is a truck that can drive on water, a boat that can sail on the land, or an airplane that just flies really low.”
“I use a running name myself, ma’am,” Lane added.
“So I’ve heard.” Amanda nodded. “Steamer Lane. It’s a great surfing beach, but the water’s cold up there near San Francisco.”
“And this is our Ben Tehoa, our senior chief.”
“Of the boat and the squadron both?” Garrett inquired, gripping the CPO’s hand.
“Yes, ma’am,” the Chief replied, his dark eyes meeting hers with quiet confidence. “You’re getting a real good outfit, Commander. One of the best. I guarantee.”
Amanda would be willing to take the big man’s word for it. She could sense the experience and wisdom accrued over years of service and a multitude of cruises. Senior Chief Petty Officer Ben Tehoa was an archetype, a born sailor, one who would have no difficulty in living up to her expectations. In fact, she suspected she’d be kept on her toes living up to his.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she continued, studying the three sober-featured individuals who, in turn, were studying her. “I only wish it were under different circumstances. I know that Captain Emberly has left me a fine outfit, and I’ll try to build on the groundwork he’s set down. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I know next to nothing about hovercraft, and that includes this one.”
She nodded toward the grounded machine that loomed over them. “Commander Lane, Miss Banks, Chief, I need to learn what these vehicles and this squadron can do, and fast. Consider this as the first day of Bonehead Hovercraft 101 and me as the new girl in school.”
Lane, his exec, and the Chief swapped brief, sideways glances. Amanda had seen this phenomenon before. A complete nonverbal conference was taking place in a matter of a few seconds. Opinions stated, options discussed and a conclusion reached. Such things happened only within a team that had become so finely honed that it not only worked together but thought together as well.
The conclusion was apparently favorable. Maybe they found a senior officer who didn’t claim automatic omnipotence refreshing.
Lane flashed a broad grin. “No problem, ma’am. You’ll find there’s not all that much to it. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Commander. How about taking me on the walkaround?”
“You got it, ma’am.”
He reclaimed a ragged wash khaki shirt from the tailgate of a parked HumVee. “Hey, Slim, get Captain Garrett’s gear aboard the Queen. On the double! Ferguson! Get your support rigs clear. We’ll be firing up soon! Snowy, get topside and start the departure checklist.”
“Are all three of the squadron craft named after Civil War gunboats?” Amanda inquired.
“Yes, ma’am. The Queen here, the Carondelet, and the Manassas. There’s the Benton, too, but she’s the class test-bed vehicle back at Camp Pendleton.”
As they started aft along the seafighter’s flank, Amanda caught the opening of a whispered exchange behind her.
“Jeez God, Chief! Do you know who that is?”
“I saw that Time magazine cover too, Miss Banks…”
Amanda suppressed a grin, refocusing her attention on Lane’s words.
“Okay, ma’am, essentially a hovercraft is a giant air pump. Our lift fans force air into the plenum chamber under the vehicle’s belly. This creates a bubble of high pressure that lifts the vehicle off the deck as the air tries to escape the confines of the chamber. This thin, friction-free film of air escaping from under the skirts is what a hovercraft rides on.”
Amanda gave a nod. “I see. A while back, I was a member of a military mission to Sweden to have a look at their experimental Smyge-class stealth Fast Attack Craft. They’re hovercraft too, aren’t they?”
“A close relative, ma’am. The Smyge is a Surface Effects Ship. Her plenum chamber has hard sidewalls that pierce the water’s surface. That makes her a pure-water vehicle, while the Queen here is a true hovercraft. Like the original LCACs, we’re fully amphibious.”
Lane aimed a kick at the folds of heavy rubberized material the hover rested upon. “Our flexible chamber sidewalls allow us to sort of flow over obstacles. We can cross seventy percent of the world’s beaches and, as long as it’s comparatively flat, we can run on any kind of surface: swamps, sand, ice, pavement. Heck, I’ve had the Queen as much as five miles inland on training exercises and she’s taken to it like a champ.”
“Aren’t these soft skirts a point of vulnerability? I’ve heard that was a problem with the hovercraft they experimented with in Vietnam.”
Lane shook his head. “The old PACVs used a nylon finger skirt that was susceptible to battle damage. We use a rubberized multiplex Kevlar. When we’re up on the cushion, rifle caliber gunfire and low-velocity antitank grenades literally bounce off.”