by Unknown
The AWACS will be launching shortly and the Air Boss has been instructed to fit you in whenever you’re ready to go.” Change of Heart
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McGowan and Fredericks stood up.
“We’re ready to go now,” McGowan said.
The deck teemed with activity and the noise of the engines was a deafening roar when they stepped out the hatchway. A vicious wind whipped across the deck and threatened to blow them over the edge. At the far end of the deck, large AWACS planes, what looked like propeller-driven passenger planes with huge rotating disks mounted over the fuselage, were launching from the steam catapults.
Fredericks’ F-14, the only Tomcat on the deck with the skull and crossbones insignia of the Jolly Rogers, was parked on the starboard edge of the deck beside the other F-14’s. Josh and Fredericks walked to it.
Other Tomcat crews were boarding their jets. Along the side of the ship, a massive elevator worked to bring up F-18
Hornets and A-6 Intruders two at a time, each heavily laden with bombs.
Josh stopped to watch an AWAC launch. The propellers turned at top speed, making a dull roar he could hear over the high pitched noise of the jet engines. The catapult fired and launched the plane to the end of the short runway, leaving a trail of steam from the slot in the deck. When it was released, the plane dipped slightly below the deck, then lifted toward the sky.
Fredericks spoke with one of the deck crews while Josh was strapped into his seat. This would be the first time he was shot off the end of a carrier deck. He did not have confidence that this plane, with the weight of the extra fuel, would have enough speed to lift them into the air by the time they reached the end of that short deck. The entire launch would last a little more than a second. In his mind, Josh saw them nosing straight down into the water, with the bow of the ship coming straight up behind them to crush the plane like it was made of paper.
Fredericks started the engines, lowered the canopies and moved the plane into position between an AWACS plane and an escorting F-14. The F-14 pilot and his RIO saluted and Fredericks saluted 62
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back. Josh saluted as well, thinking he should out of courtesy.
They were slotted on the left side of the deck. The nose gear of their plane was locked into the catapult. Beside them was another Tomcat. Josh watched. The pilot and his copilot saluted to someone on the deck on the far side of the plane. They faced straight ahead. He heard the roar of their afterburners through the canopy. Suddenly the jet lurched forward and raced toward the end of the deck, followed by that thin trail of white steam.
From its pair of engine nozzles at the rear was a long tail of blue and yellow flame. The Tomcat was flung off the end of the deck, seemed to hover in space for a moment, then banked to the north and climbed.
Josh’s heart pounded. That Tomcat was only burdened with missiles, a much lighter load than theirs, he was sure, and it still seemed to hesitate before gaining altitude. He craned his neck to try to see over his shoulder to his right. The flame wall that had been raised behind the other Tomcat was being lowered and another F-14 was moving into position beside them. The flame wall was already up behind Josh. He heard the note of their engines rising. He turned to face the front. Fredericks completed his salute to the crewman below and gave them a thumbs up sign.
There was a pause of about a second, a firm thud, and the plane was shoved forward. Josh was mashed back in his seat and his breath was squeezed from his lungs. From the corners of his eyes he saw the deck rush past, then there was only water beneath them. The surge in his back eased and they were sinking toward the surface of the water, which was only seventy five feet below the top of the deck.
Josh pressed his hands against the sides of the tiny compartment, waiting for impact with the water. He was sure he could hear Fredericks begging with the plane, but it was hard to hear anything over the roar of the engines on full afterburners.
Finally, the nose of the plane rose above the horizon and they began to climb. Fredericks pointed it toward the sky. Josh let out a long breath. He had not realized until then how much he was sweating. It was soaked through his flight suit and trickled Change of Heart
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down his back.
A crackle in Josh’s ear startled him.
“No problem,” came Fredericks voice.
Josh detected a slight waver in it, but he was shaking too much himself to even try to reply.
* * * *
Mironov set his fork beside the plate, aligned with the knife, and wiped his mouth with the thick linen napkin. The salt and pepper shakers were aligned on the left side of the plate. He was impressed with the luxuries of these American hotels. The steak he just finished was the best he’d ever eaten and was more than enough of a meal for any man he knew, and yet there was so much more food on the room service cart. The vodka left a bit to be desired, he felt, but the game shows on the television, they were truly enthralling. He was particularly intrigued by the woman who stood in front of the glittering golden wall and displayed the individual letters of the English alphabet.
He glanced at his watch again. Impatience ate away at him and he decided he could wait no longer.
Outside his door was a pair of Secret Service agents. He knew he could go nowhere without either or both accompanying him, if not preventing his movement altogether. He did not care about that; he had no need to go anywhere, yet.
He was certain there were listening devices or even cameras watching the room. He did not care about that, either.
He got up and carried his glass of vodka to the small, round table before the picture window that looked out over the capital city of the United States of America. On the table was a pad of paper and a pen, graciously provided by the hotel. Insignificant items such as these were never left waiting in a Russian hotel.
Mironov pulled out the chair and sat down to write a message. He had been thinking all day of which words he would use to phrase the message, until the entire thing was composed in his mind. As he started to write, the whole thing came out in a minute or two.
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He changed a couple of words, then decided it was complete.
The message was in code, of course. The words made up an innocent message to no one in particular, but when decoded by the receiver using the corresponding words of the code, spelled out a completely different message.
Mironov sat back and picked up the glass of vodka, his face set with a smug smile. He would dearly love to see the Director’s face when he received that.
Next, he went to the phone by the bed and called room service for a pot of coffee. When it arrived, a Secret Service agent let the waiter in. Mironov suspected they checked the coffee pot to make sure nothing dangerous was being brought in. It amused him to see how easy this would be. They would never think to check for anything dangerous being taken out.
Mironov turned up the volume on the television. That would take care of any listening devices in the room. He got up and met the waiter in the vestibule, where he was sure any cameras that might be watching the room were unlikely to be pointed.
“Your coffee, sir,” the young waiter said with a cheerful smile.
“Where would you like me to set it?” Mironov pointed to the dresser and the waiter set it there.
When he turned around, Mironov held up the piece of paper with the message.
“Would you do favor, please?” Mironov said, smiling like a used car salesman. “My friends outside door are not in a mood to deliver a telegraph. I am to hope you would.”
“I’ll be glad to send it, sir. We can do it right at the desk downstairs.”
“Wonderful,” Mironov said. From his pocket he took a fifty dollar bill and put it in the waiter’s other hand. “This enough to pay, yes? You keep.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the waiter said, and went out.
Mironov left the coffee pot on the dresser and went back to his bottle of vodka. It was a
ll too easy. He settled back to watch the game shows. The next part, though, that would not be so easy.
Chapter 4
The rest of the trip to Pearl Harbor was uneventful. For the first hour of the flight they followed or were followed by various planes from the carrier enroute to their own destination and a mock confrontation with other similarly equipped aircraft from the USS America, their own final destination. Eventually the carrier squadron turned toward the west and Fredericks and Josh continued on a straight path to the northwest.
Fredericks relaxed and opened up shortly into the flight and even joked with Josh about some of the instructors they shared at the Academy. The sun caught them and they flew high over the Earth with the bright sun directly over their heads and the shimmering surface of the water below. The edges of the world curved away in every direction and there was nothing to see but bright blue sky and deep blue water. To Josh the view was breathtaking.
It was late afternoon when they approached Hawaii. Far to the west Josh noticed dark clouds creeping over the horizon.
They began their descent and the clouds disappeared from view.
Josh forgot about them.
They landed perfectly on the vast expanse of the Hickham Field airstrip at Pearl Harbor. After experiencing a landing on a deck no bigger than a postage stamp in the middle of the ocean, Josh felt he could land this plane himself with his eyes closed on such an enormous stretch of property.
They spent no more than an hour on the ground. Josh never 65
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left his seat. This was his first trip to Hawaii and all he saw of it was the mountains at the end of the runway.
While they refuelled, a crewman brought a sealed envelope for Josh. It was a message from Filmore giving him more detailed instructions on his mission. He was already more than two hours behind. The message confirmed that Ron Finn had the girl and they escaped from Chumikan in a stolen sailboat. A government owned marine exploration ship, complete with sophisticated radar and sonar, was enroute to the Sea of Okhotsk, and Josh was to be transported to this ship by helicopter immediately upon his arrival aboard the USS America. There was no knowledge of whether Finn’s departure was observed or whether they were followed.
Josh folded the message and tucked it inside his flight suit.
A few minutes later, the plane lifted off into the face of a setting sun. The edge of the horizon became obscured with a fringe of dark clouds. When they flew high above them, the rich orange glow of the sun reflected off their surface. They were thick, angry storm clouds. Somewhere beneath them was another tiny carrier waiting to provide a safe perch for their tired plane. Josh hoped they could find it under all that cover.
Fredericks was already in contact with the carrier when he began his slow descent into those clouds. Josh listened to their conversation. The America advised Fredericks to turn back to Pearl because of poor weather conditions, but Fredericks informed him this would not be possible. Josh, too, knew this was not possible, although he wished it was.
Dropping through the cloud layer, they were buffeted by turbulence. Josh held onto the side consoles. All around them was nothing but the dark gray of the clouds streaked with rain that beat against the canopy. The first flash of lightning startled him. It lit up the entire cloud like a giant flash bulb. The plane appeared to be suspended motionless in an eerie, glowing, fea-tureless mist.
When they broke through the bottom of the cloud, much of the turbulence subsided, but they were enveloped in torrential Change of Heart
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rain. Ahead, dimly visible through the rain, were the tiny red, green and white lights of the carrier and her escort ships, which formed a neat circle around the larger central ship. Swarming like bees around the carrier were the flashing red and green lights of a dozen other planes.
After several minutes of silence on the radio the America returned.
“Corn Dog, how much fuel you carryin’?” Fredericks examined his gauges then keyed his mike.
“I estimate approximately thirty minutes worth of fuel.” There was more silence, then some static and the radio operator’s voice.
“Corn Dog, be advised we are in the process of retrievin’
planes. The storm has hindered this operation. Proceed on a vector of two-four-seven degrees to the marshallin’ point. Also be advised we are vectorin’ an A-6 tanker to meet you at the marshallin’ point to gas you up.”
“Roger,” Fredericks said.
The F-14 banked to the left and they flew away from the carrier. They arrived at the marshalling point and circled. A mile or so away, across a rolling sea, was the America. Several planes were lined up behind it waiting to make their landing approaches.
Even from that distance Josh could see the carrier’s deck pitching as it was lifted by one swell then fell into the valley between swells before rising into the face of the next. He did not envy the pilots of those jets who had to deal with that. Of course, it would not be long before they would have to attempt to negotiate a landing on a deck that was more like a shifting hill than a flat surface.
They were greeted by the approaching A-6. Josh twisted in his seat to see it coming up behind them. It settled beside them not more than a few feet from their wingtip. In the growing darkness, little more of the plane was visible than the lighted ends of the wings, except when lightning flashed and Josh could make out the entire plane, including the pilot perched high in the cockpit.
The plane had a bulky appearance, and its single, large intake opening that came forward almost to the tip of the nose made it 68
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look like the open mouth of a full grown bass.
“Greetings, Corn Dog, call me Slip,” came the voice through Josh’s headset.
The pilot of the A-6 spoke with a Texas drawl. Josh imagined him sitting in the cockpit of his plane with a big cowboy hat.
“What say we head up on top of this mess to top off your tanks? And do me a favor, Corn Dog? Turn off your radar before you hook up. I hate guys buzzing up my ass with their radar on.”
“Will do, Slip,” Fredericks replied.
The A-6 banked to the right, leading them away over the carrier. Fredericks waited for him to clear, then banked to follow.
A bright flash of yellow lit up the area around the carrier and died.
“What the hell was that?” Josh said, straining to look back at the circle of ships.
Fredericks was on the radio, already trying to contact the ship. As he watched, Josh could see pockets of fire burning on the deck and on the surface of the water around the carrier.
Through his headset, Josh could hear Slip’s drawl, “Jesus Christ, did you see that?” Then he was shouting, “America?
What happened? What happened?”
Lightning flashed, illuminating the ships and the churning water briefly, giving Josh a good look.
“Oh God,” he whispered.
A huge cloud of black smoke rose over the carrier. On the deck, twisted like a discarded toy, was what was left of a jet. It had skidded across the deck and collided with a pair of parked Tomcats. One hung off the edge of the deck. Everything seemed to be burning. Josh remembered the teeming activity on the deck of the Kennedy. He hated to think of the number of men who might have been crushed under that plane or engulfed in the flames from all the fuel it spilled. Some may have jumped overboard to escape.
Every one of the ships surrounding the carrier broke formation and turned back to the area of the carrier’s wake in a scramble Change of Heart
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of disarray. The planes that had been on glidepaths behind the carrier looped out and circled away in opposite directions.
Josh could hear Slip’s voice shouting over the radio when terse orders came from the ship to continue with the refuelling. They would have to wait until the deck was cleared before they could land planes, and that might take an hour or more. If needed, another tanker would be launched as soon as possib
le. They were ordered to circle until cleared to land.
Abruptly, the radio activity ceased. Ahead, Slip’s A-6 began to climb. Fredericks pulled back on the stick and climbed to keep up. The quiet that followed was solemn.
The night sky above the clouds was startlingly clear. A bright half moon illuminated the topsides of the clouds, giving the appearance of a silvery pool below. The sight took Josh’s breath away. Above from horizon to horizon were a million stars, tiny white specks dusted on a deep blue background.
There was none of the idle chatter between Slip and Fredericks that Josh might have expected. Their mood was somber.
He understood. One of their own was probably dead twenty thousand feet below and if they tried to help they would only get in the way.
Slip’s plane drifted above them. Part of it was outlined against the pale surface of the moon. The lights at the tips of his wings, red on the left and green on the right, grew farther apart as they neared the back of the jet. A small white light flashed at the end of the refuelling hose, about ten feet below the A-6’s tail.
Fredericks aimed the F-14 for it. A refuelling nozzle rose out of the nose of the Tomcat on a rigid, angled arm. At the end of the hose from Slip’s A-6 was a corresponding hookup, with a broad, flared catch net to help guide the nozzle in.
“Almost there,” Fredericks said. Josh heard a low clunk sound. “We’re hooked up. How much can you spare?”
“Ahh, take about a thousand pounds for now. I got a couple more planes to gas up and I need some myself to hang around for a while.”
Slip sounded tired.
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“Roger that.”
While they were refuelling with only the squeal of the jet engines to listen to, a pair of F-14’s rose out of the clouds and approached their position.
“Coming up on your six, Slip,” came a new voice in Josh’s headset.
He turned to watch the two Tomcats rising to meet them on their right. The first one lined up off the right wing and the second lined up outside the first.
“You got some gas to give up?”
