Change of Heart by Jack Allen

by Unknown

“I got a little. I might let you have some.”

  “Always looking to make a deal, right Slip?”

  “Everything is negotiable, Downhill.” There was a short bit of laughter between them, but to Josh it sounded hollow.

  “Hey, Jolly Roger, what do they call you?” came a third voice.

  “Corn Dog,” Fredericks said.

  “Showboat here, Corn Dog. That’s Downhill on your wing.

  Be advised not to ask him about skiing unless you like to hear a lot about it.”

  “Understood.”

  “Wish I could say it was a good day to meet you, Corn Dog,” Downhill said.

  “So do I, Downhill. So do I.”

  “Ok, Corn Dog, you’ve had enough. Who’s next?” Slip said.

  “Tee it up, Slip. We’re sucking fumes back here.” Fredericks eased his plane off to the left and Downhill moved his plane into position behind the A-6.

  “Corn Dog, we hear you’re hauling some government type around. Is that true?” Showboat said.

  “Ask him yourself. He’s got ears.” There was silence for a moment.

  “So talk to us, G-man. What kind of work did they send you all the way out here for?”

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  “I’m with the IRS. We’re auditing fighter pilots. You guys are next on the list.”

  Someone laughed into his mike.

  “That’s a good one, G-man. You should see what Slip keeps in his foot locker.”

  “Shut up about that, Showboat.”

  “Relax, Slip. He’s not really IRS. They don’t come to you.

  They make you come to them.”

  The voice of the Air Boss broke through.

  “Keep it quiet up there. We’re tryin’ to clean up this mess down here and you guys ain’t helpin’.” There was a sudden quiet among the planes, as if the boys had been scolded by their principal.

  “We’re launchin’ another tanker right now,” came the Air Boss again. “Go easy on the gas, guys. We ain’t gonna be able to bring you down for a while and we can’t keep you up there forever.”

  The Tomcats refuelled and circled in silence, except for the occasional brief bit of directions from Slip to the pilots. A second tanker arrived and shared some of its load with Slip, who needed it the most, and the other two Tomcats. All five planes flew in loose circles for more than an hour before they got the clearance to land. Josh checked his watch, using the dim green glow of the radar scope between his legs for light. It was past midnight. It would probably be another hour before they put down on the deck. Josh couldn’t remember the last time he slept in his own bed, even though it was only a few days ago.

  The America’s planes got priority, and the Tomcats went first. Fredericks had plenty of fuel to keep them aloft, so he did not mind waiting. Josh, however, was anxious to complete this mission.

  While they circled they were told the crash was caused by a failed number two arrestor cable. A new one had been installed and Showboat would be the first to test it. They all descended below the cloud layer back into the storm, lining up a mile behind the carrier. One by one they brought their planes in. While Slip 72

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  touched the wheels of his A-6 to the deck and his tailhook grabbed the number three wire, Fredericks already had his Tomcat on the glidepath.

  Slip’s plane was released from the cable and he taxied to the other side of the deck, folding up his wings to park among the other A-6’s. The cables retracted back into position to prepare to receive Frederick’s F-14. As the number three cable was winched back, it dragged a small piece of jagged aluminum across the deck, a tiny piece of the crashed F-18, the remains of which were by then in the hangar deck below the flight deck. In the hectic activity and darkness, this piece was missed by the crews, as was the condition of the number two cable, which winched far too tightly when it was replaced.

  The view through the rain on the canopy was blurry, at best.

  The storm had eased, but not enough to comfort Josh. He leaned forward to see past Fredericks’ helmet. Looking at the carrier deck ahead was enough to make him want to throw up. It rode the massive swells like a rollercoaster. One moment the bow of the carrier pointed down into the trough between the steep waves and they were looking along the edge of the deck, and the next the bow pointed toward the sky and they stared straight down at the top of the deck.

  Josh knew what Fredericks had to do, in theory. He never actually saw a pilot do it. Fredericks had to time his landing so that his wheels touched the deck when the carrier was more or less level at the top of a wave. Too soon and the deck would rise up too high and run into them, causing them to literally bounce off it. Too late and it would fall away as they tried to reach it.

  The Tomcat was a strong plane that could take a lot of abuse, but a carrier landing was a controlled crash to begin with. Added variables such as heavy rain and a pitching deck did nothing to increase the odds of a successful landing.

  Josh’s heart pounded. The edge of that deck grew nearer and larger. He tried to force out a deep breath to settle himself down.

  It did not work.

  Fredericks brought his F-14 down perfectly. His slope and Change of Heart

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  touchdown were textbook. He timed his landing so the rear wheels touched the deck when the carrier was at the apogee of the wave. What Fredericks couldn’t control was the number two cable, which was caught by the tailhook. The cable unwinched as Fredericks jammed his throttle to the stops, a standard procedure in case he missed the cables entirely and had to go back up for another try, but the cable only reeled out fourteen feet before it locked up.

  The Tomcat was still traveling at over one hundred fifty miles per hour and accelerating with the throttle on full when the entire tailhook assembly was ripped from the rear of the plane. Josh and Fredericks were thrust against their restraints, then shoved back into their seats as the plane surged forward. Fredericks pulled back on the stick to try to get the nose up before they reached the end of the deck, but it was not soon enough. The number two cable had killed too much of their momentum and the front wheels stayed firmly on the deck, where they rolled over the jagged piece of aluminum, which stood up like the blade of a knife.

  The pair of nosegear tires blew simultaneously. The sound was like a cannon firing. From that point, Fredericks had no control of the plane. It veered to the left, skidding toward the end of the deck at over a hundred miles an hour. Josh stared with wide eyes at the yawning black chasm of water that opened before them.

  He wanted to scream, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

  The plane skidded off the end of the runway deck, seemed to hang in the air over the water for a moment, then slammed into the face of a rising wave. With the engines still running at full throttle, the fuselage twisted and broke in half just ahead of the wings with the loud, horrible sound of wrenching metal. The back half twisted violently to the right. The right wing was bent up at a twenty degree angle. Josh was thrust forward against the restraint belt, knocking the wind out of him. His arms flew forward and his knuckles scraped against the control panel above the radar scope. Both engines sucked up a thousand gallons of water each, which sprayed like a fountain behind the plane, and immediately died.

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  Josh shook his head. Stars flashed in front of his eyes and he was sucking for air. Strangely, the only sound he could hear was the soothing patter of rain on the canopy. His eyesight returned slowly. His lungs ached. The towering hull of the carrier swept past on the right. An immense wave broke over the top of the plane to his left. Instinctively, he covered his head with his arms.

  The wave broke harmlessly over the plane. Josh’s stomach spun as the plane surged upward like a fast elevator ride.

  Josh was concerned about the water. The plane was sinking.

  The water was already up to the bottom edge of the canopy. It was dark, but the glow of the small lights inside the cockpit gav
e Josh enough light to see. He tried to find the locking mechanism for the canopy along the inside edge.

  “Fredericks! Fredericks! Get us out of here!” Josh shouted.

  Fredericks did not answer. How the hell did he get out of this thing?

  Then he remembered how. He could use the ejector seat.

  The mechanism was operated by a pair of large yellow and black striped loops over his head. He reached up and grabbed one and pulled. Nothing happened. He grabbed the other loop and yanked both at the same time with as much strength as he had.

  The loops came down over his head, pulling a cover over his helmet like a window blind. The canopies blew off with a loud pop, followed by the roar of the rockets firing under the seat. The seat jolted to the right, but Josh did not feel any upward thrust.

  He did feel water on his legs. He let go of the ejection handles, shoving the cover out of his face.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  The seats had jammed. Through the cloud of white rocket exhaust smoke that hung over the cockpit he saw water spilling over the sill and swirling around his legs. Another wave swept under them, pushing them up. The plane bobbed like a cork.

  With the canopies off he heard the noise of the wind. Over that he heard a chopping sound. He looked at the carrier, sweeping away. A pair of rescue choppers lifted off the deck. The beams Change of Heart

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  of bright lights searched through the darkness. He heard faint voices of men shouting on the deck. Somehow, he didn’t care right then what they were saying.

  The only thing he wanted to know was how to get the belts off. He could not remember what those technicians did to get them on. He tugged and felt for some sort of latch. Nothing happened. The water rose above his waist. Finally, in frustration, he slapped it. The buckle popped open and the belts fell away.

  “Fredericks,” Josh shouted again.

  He floated up on the surface of the water as the plane sunk from beneath him.

  “Corn Dog!”

  There was no response. The whole plane went under. The top of Fredericks’ helmet slipped under, followed by the curved canopy support bar. The cockpit lights still glowed beneath Josh as it sunk.

  The helicopter was directly overhead. The searchlight on the nose of the chopper blinded him. He could barely hear his own voice over the noise.

  Josh threw off the helmet, sucked in a deep breath, and dove. The huge plane appeared to hover just below the surface of the water. Josh pumped his arms and legs to swim down to it.

  Fredericks’ arms floated up like he was signalling a touchdown.

  Tiny air bubbles leaked from his mouth and nose. Josh was sure he was dead.

  It took all his effort to catch the plane. Josh grabbed the edge of the canopy sill and the plane pulled him down. The water got significantly darker as they sunk, making the glowing lights in front of Fredericks appear much brighter.

  Josh slapped the buckle on Fredericks’ belly where the belts joined. The belts released him. Josh grabbed Fredericks by the collar, holding him in place while the plane drifted away beneath them.

  Josh’s lungs burned. He had no more air to get back to the surface, which seemed about a mile away when he looked up. He could see searchlights from above cutting through the black water.

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  What a hell of a way to die. The urge to take a deep breath was overwhelming. If he did, though, he would only fill his lungs with water. He squeezed his lips shut, fighting back the urge.

  A thin cord from Frederick’s uniform floated in front of his face. Josh snickered as he watched it dance, blowing a mouthful of bubbles. He had run out of oxygen. His brain was playing tricks on him. It would only be moments now before he passed out and breathed in water. How could he know that?

  He grabbed the cord and yanked. A life vest around Frederick’s neck inflated automatically. His body was jerked toward the surface, startling Josh. He grabbed for Fredericks as he rushed past and caught his ankle. The lifevest dragged them to the surface so fast it felt like they were waterskiing the wrong way.

  Josh burst out of the water gasping for air. He swallowed a mouthful of saltwater and coughed, but didn’t care as long as he got air with it. Nothing tasted sweeter in his life. He clung to Fredericks as he sucked it into his lungs.

  Fredericks looked dead. His head lay sideways on the inflated vest. Josh felt himself panicking. What had he done? He slapped Fredericks’ face, shouting his name over the noise, but he did not respond. He would never forgive himself if he died.

  The helicopter hovered over them, whipping the water into tiny drops that stung Josh’s face. Josh didn’t care how much it hurt. He was angry that Fredericks wouldn’t respond.

  A Navy diver dropped into the water a few feet to Josh’s left.

  He brought a padded strap connected to the chopper by a cable and winch. Josh helped him fit it over Fredericks’ shoulders and arms, then he was lifted into the chopper. The diver wrapped his arms around Josh to hold him up. Fredericks was pulled into the chopper by two men and the strap was lowered for Josh. The diver helped him slip it over his shoulders and under his arms and he was lifted out of the water.

  Aboard the chopper, another diver in a wet suit and an officer in a khaki uniform were giving Fredericks mouth to mouth.

  Josh was pulled into the chopper by a crewman in a helmet. He freed himself from the strap and it was lowered a third time for Change of Heart

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  the diver.

  “Is he gonna live?” Josh shouted.

  The officer glanced at him but didn’t answer. He was pinching Fredericks’ nose shut and holding his jaw open. He bent over and blew air into his mouth. The man in the wet suit was shouting as he counted and pressed on Fredericks’ chest with both hands.

  The first diver was pulled in and the chopper tilted forward to rush back to the carrier. A stretcher was waiting on the deck when they touched down. Fredericks was strapped to it and rushed away in one direction by a group of men in light blue outfits and Josh was pulled in another direction by the officer who had been giving mouth to mouth. For a second, Josh was afraid they were going to arrest him for losing a thirty million dollar jet.

  “Are you hurt?” the officer shouted.

  Josh shook his head, looking past him at the group surrounding Fredericks.

  “I’m fine. Is he gonna live?”

  The officer looked back over his shoulder.

  “He’ll be fine. I’m Commander Gooch, XO on this ship.” He held out his hand. Josh shook it. He was about Josh’s height and build with bushy, black eyebrows and straight, black hair.

  “Josh McGowan.”

  “I know. Captain’s waiting for you.” Gooch led the way across the deck. Josh followed, hunched over against the wind and rain like Gooch, his soaked shoes squishing with each step. Gooch took him into the ship, up a flight of steps and down a hallway to the door of a cabin that was guarded by a Marine in sharp uniform. The Marine saluted and Gooch returned the salute, then knocked on the door. A voice from inside told them to enter. Gooch opened the door and they went in.

  The captain’s cabin was cramped, but ornately decorated. He was seated behind his desk and looked up.

  “Captain Milewski, Lt. Cdr. Joshua McGowan,” Gooch said, saluting.

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  Milewski looked at Josh with a disapproving glare.

  “You been swimming, young man?” he said.

  Josh looked down at his soaked flight suit like he didn’t know he was wearing it.

  “Uh, sorry about the plane, sir.”

  Milewski put his pen down. He was an aging man with thin, white hair.

  “I’ve got good planes, son. I don’t have good pilots. Now don’t get me wrong. My men are the best pilots in the world.

  I just like to keep the ones I’ve got.” He rubbed his tired eyes.

  “Today has not been a good day for my pilots.”

  “N
o, sir,” Josh said.

  “What you did out there was save a good pilot. For that the Navy is in your debt.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Milewski shuffled a few papers.

  “I’m sure you’ve been briefed on the situation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Milewski put on reading glasses and read one of the sheets of paper.

  “I’ve been authorized to update you with as much information as we have up to now. I understand you’ve got a job to do young man, but they wouldn’t tell me what it was when I asked, and that order came from very high up.” He glanced at Josh over the reading glasses, then continued. “Apparently, a man named Ron Finn, I was told you’d know him, has confirmed that he has escaped with the girl, but not without alerting them to their presence.” He looked up at Josh again. “I’m not sure what ‘them’

  means but I’ll bet you do.”

  Milewski’s eyes scanned the page.

  “I have further been instructed to provide you with transportation by helicopter to a marine exploration ship, the Monticello, which we have been tracking, by the way. And this is to take place immediately upon your arrival. You are to receive further instructions upon your arrival aboard this vessel, the Monticello, that is.” He put the paper down. “Do you understand these Change of Heart

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  instructions?”

  “Yes, sir,” Josh said.

  Milewski tossed the sheet of paper aside.

  “Good, because I have no idea what they mean. That, however, is none of my business.” He removed the reading glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “What is my business is that if I in any way impede the progress of your mission I will be facing some serious desk time at the Pentagon. I do not like being threatened, Mr. McGowan, but if this mission of your’s is so important I think we’d better get you on your way.” His eyes examined Josh’s wet outfit.

  “Commander Gooch, see if you can get this man some dry clothes. Then get him on that chopper.”

  “Aye, sir.” He turned and looked Josh over. “You’re about my size. I’ll get you some of my clothes.” In fifteen minutes Josh had showered and changed out of his wet flight suit and the jacket, slacks and shirt he wore underneath into Commander Gooch’s spare khaki shirt and slacks. It felt good to be dry again and wash the salt water out of his hair, but he hated to have to leave a good suit behind, even if it was ruined.