Colt's Crisis

by Tom Carroll

  The Osprey was the newest aircraft in the fleet, and easily the most unique. The Navy’s first tilt-rotor aircraft, the CMV-22B Osprey, was the maritime version of the Boeing aircraft which was already in service with the Marines and Air Force. The Navy’s version had several enhancements, including improved range and long-distance communications capabilities. Ospreys combined the vertical take-off and landing ability of a conventional helicopter with the high speed and long-range capability of fixed-wing aircraft. The features making all this possible were the engines mounted on each wingtip. After the aircraft launched vertically into the air, the engine/transmission nacelles rotated forward through 90 degrees for level flight. Powered by two Rolls Royce Liberty engines, an Osprey could cruise at almost 300 knots with a ceiling of more than 25,000 feet. The Navy was replacing its aging fleet of C-2A Greyhounds with the Osprey, delivering mail, people, and spare parts to aircraft carriers and other ships stationed around the world. The Osprey’s vertical take-off and landing capability also dramatically reduced the carrier manpower needed to launch and recover the aircraft. The C-2A Greyhound required nearly 100 crew to man the various stations required for traditional catapult launch and arrested gear landings.

  In contrast, the Osprey required just the same minimal carrier crew required by traditional helicopter operations. Also, the Osprey could load a spare engine for the F-35C Lighting II while the C-2A could not. The F-35’s large Pratt & Whiney engine power module weighed more than 9,500 pounds in its shipping container, and although the gigantic MH-53 helicopter could lift one, its range was limited to about 50 nautical miles versus 1,000 or more miles for the Osprey. It was an easy decision for the Navy.

  Colt was thrilled to be flying in the Osprey. He had wanted to experience the plane since it had become operational a few years earlier. He sat back in one of the marginally comfortable seats that lined the sides of the cargo bay. A thinly padded fold-down seat with a canvas back, it was a far cry from the nicely upholstered business class seat of the Airbus A350 he had occupied on yesterday’s long flight from Seattle.

  And the in-flight customer service was also just a bit different. After all 10 passengers had boarded and were buckled in their seats, Naval Aircrewman 1st Class Marcus Barkis turned around to face them. “Good morning,” he announced. “I’m Petty Officer Marcus Barkis, and I’m your crew chief. Lieutenant Commander Jennings and Lieutenant Foley are your pilot and co-pilot, and Petty Officer Fry is our flight engineer. In the event of an in-flight emergency, if you notice a large green object, I recommend that you immediately get up and follow it as it will be me, running for the ramp exit, because nobody’s ever survived an Osprey crash! Also, this aircraft has no restrooms,” he said with a wink. “I hope you all took care of business before you left flight operations. There also are no reading lights, air vents, or attendant call buttons near your seat. If you need to get my attention, simply release your safety belt. Your unrestrained and wildly flailing body careening around the aircraft might cause me to look up from my novel.” And with that, he concluded, “Have a nice flight!”

  Up in the cockpit, Lieutenant Commander Sandra Jennings pressed the aircrew-only intercom button. “Very funny, Barkis. You do remember I told you the passenger in the grey suit is the undersecretary of defense? Congratulations! You just joined the Petty Officer for Life club.”

  Colt was excited to be visiting a carrier group again. His last experience had been when he deployed onboard USS Forrestal (CV 59) in the Mediterranean Sea during the mid-1980s. The Forrestal was named for James Forrestal, America’s first secretary of defense. Nicknamed the FID for “first in defense,” the carrier was more widely known as “the forest fire” after a horrific fire killed 134 men in the Gulf of Tonkin during the Vietnam War. Future U.S. Senator John McCain was on board Forrestal during the fire, which was so disastrous the Navy completely reworked its firefighting techniques and training syllabus.

  In addition to the Reagan, Task Force 70 also included three Ticonderoga-class guided-missile cruisers and eight Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyers. Carrier Air Wing 5, the airwing commander, was also embarked on Reagan, along with over 90 aircraft, including four F/A-18 Super Hornet fighter squadrons, an EA-18G Growler electronic attack squadron, an E-2D Hawkeye early warning squadron, a CMV-22B Osprey squadron and two MH-60 Seahawk helicopter squadrons. Various support and logistics ships were also attached, as well as an unseen but ever-present Los Angeles-class attack submarine, dedicated to protecting the surface ships from subsurface and surface threats. All in all, a potent and impressive force, capable of projecting overwhelming power in support of U.S. interests and those of its allies.

  Ever since the first carrier, USS Langley (CV 1) launched an airplane in 1920, politicians have periodically considered removing them from the fleet, citing fiscal concerns, and evolving war-at-sea tactics and strategies. But when the threat of a crisis surfaces anywhere in the world, it’s no accident that the first question that has come to the lips of every U.S president since Franklin Roosevelt has been, “Where are the carriers?”

  Seated directly across from Colt inside the Osprey was Commander Jen Abrams, Reagan’s intelligence officer and who was Colt’s seatmate during his Delta flight from Seattle to Tokyo. Both Jen and Colt were caught off guard when they were introduced to one another in flight operations prior to boarding the aircraft. Jen was more than a little annoyed that Colt hadn’t fully identified himself on the long flight that night. She felt she might have said something wrong or acted too familiar. Policy wonk, my eye, she thought. He IS policy!

  “Sir,” she said, “I wish you had told me who you were during that flight from Seattle. I could have used the time to brief you on Reagan’s operations and general capabilities.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” Colt replied, “but no worries. I’ve found it’s better not to talk shop when traveling. I’d rather read books and watch old movies to pass the time. I’m sure we’ll have more than enough time to talk about the ship and its capabilities when we get there.”

  In fact, Colt hadn’t immediately recognized Jen when he first saw her inside the military terminal. The starched khaki uniform and black jacket she had on now were dramatically different from the more casual jeans and silky blouse she had been wearing on the flight from Seattle. The only item he did recognize from the night before was the black satchel Pelican case still cuffed to her wrist. Colt had another brief flash of the same stressful memories that had robbed him of sleep on the transpacific flight.

  Seated next to Commander Abrams was NCIS Special Agent Anna DeSantis. Wearing dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a navy blue NCIS windbreaker, she had an efficient look one would expect from a senior field agent.

  How long am I going to have to stay on that “bird farm” and babysit Mr. Policy? she wondered. Personal protection detail? Protection from what? Nearly 5,000 people were on board the Reagan, all with security clearances. Anti-air, anti-surface, and anti-subsurface ships and aircraft created an impenetrable fortress of protection all around them. What more could a 120-pound woman with a .40 caliber pistol do? DeSantis thought to herself. She knew spending time on this detail wasn’t going to do her career any good, not while other special agents were out there conducting counterintelligence operations or arresting felons.

  She had to admit that Colton Garrett seemed like a decent enough guy, not pompous like some of the others she had guarded. His EA, Lenny Wilson, had already briefed her on Garrett’s background and personal habits. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary. Evidently, Garrett’s codename was “PATRIOT.” While most people assumed senior government officials’ codenames were assigned by the Secret Service, they were, in fact, assigned by the White House Communications Agency. Lenny Wilson had confided to Anna, “Garrett thinks his codename refers to his commendable Navy service. Truth is, I suggested the codename to the guys at the White House because he’s a huge fan of the Seattle Seahawks, and he hates my New England Patriots because of our Super
Bowl win in 2015,” Lenny chuckled. “He’ll kill me if he ever finds out!” Now, the more she thought about it, Anna realized Garrett wasn’t a bad guy at all. She decided to accept her fate and see the protection assignment as an all-expense paid three-week pleasure cruise.

  Unbuckling his seat belt, Colt got up, stretched his back, and walked forward to the cockpit to talk with the pilots. He accepted the communications headset offered him.

  “Morning, sir! What can we do for you? Everything okay back there?”

  Lieutenant Commander Sandra Jennings had been working out some fuel consumption calculations on the aircraft’s system computer while co-pilot Lieutenant Steve Foley “had the airplane.” Now Jennings turned around to greet the VIP.

  “The ride’s just fine, Commander, thanks,” Colt said. “I just wanted to find out what you two aviators think about this machine. It’s a new concept for the Navy.”

  “We love it, sir!” she exclaimed. “A year ago, Steve and I were flying Sierras out of Naval Station Norfolk. Now, we’re flying the coolest aircraft in the fleet.” The MH-60S helicopters were conventional helicopters and affectionally known as “Sierras” by the men and women who flew them.

  “Any issues with the plane at all? We need to make certain you’re all getting everything you need to make this program work!”

  Sandra Jennings was a graduate of the Naval Academy, where she had majored in aeronautical engineering. She held a master’s degree in systems analysis from the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California. She was sharp and confident, and she knew how to answer a question from a man who was more than eight miles above her pay grade.

  “It’s an outstanding program, sir, and I’m proud to have been selected for it. We’re just experiencing some of the typical bugs one finds with new airframes.”

  Colt realized he had put the pilot in an awkward position. He smiled at her and replied, “I read you, Commander. And if you ever consider a tour as a defense attaché, just get in touch. We can always use smart people with finely-tuned diplomatic skills.” He disconnected his headset, handed it back to the pilot, and returned to his seat.

  “Nice work, Ma’am!” smirked Lieutenant Foley, as he sharply banked the Osprey and began the setup for vertical flight. He loved this part of the approach best when the Osprey became the world’s largest, most advanced, and most expensive toy transformer.

  Commanding Officer’s Stateroom, VAQ-132 Scorpions, the Reagan

  Commander Thomas Robinson commanded Electronic Attack Squadron 132, home-based at Naval Air Station Whidbey Island. He was responsible for the squadron’s five EA-18G Growlers and the more than 200 men and women it took to fly and support those aircraft. A Naval Flight Officer, his job when flying was to operate the aircraft’s complex electronic warfare systems which protected the battle group when underway and air wing aircraft during strike missions. On the bulkhead above the desk in his stateroom was a framed quotation from his favorite book, The Bridges of Toko-Ri by James Michener:

  Why is America lucky enough to have such men?” it read. “They leave this tiny ship and fly against the enemy. Then they must seek the ship, lost somewhere on the sea. And when they find it, they have to land upon its pitching deck. Where did we get such men?

  Tom Robinson thought the book, and that quote in particular, perfectly described the challenges faced by naval aviators. This morning, Tom (callsign ARROW, as in straight as an arrow) was having a chat with Lieutenant Dan Garrett, one of the most capable and promising young pilots in his squadron. During the squadron’s previous deployment to the Mediterranean, Dan had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for downing a Syrian SU-22 jet that was bombing U.S.-supported Kurdish Militia ground forces.

  Although the DFC plus two Air Medals made him the most decorated pilot in the squadron, Dan was struggling with his decision regarding his next assignment. One of the most important jobs of commanding officers was to lead and mentor their junior officers, so Tom Robinson had scheduled time to help the young pilot work through his options. And he liked this kid.

  “So, what are you thinking, Dan?” asked the commander.

  “Well, Skipper, I really like driving the Growler. I like the mission — you know, protecting others — and I like our ready room. The problem is that this tour is coming to an end, and my next tour is an unassociated shore rotation. I don’t think I’m cut out to leave the cockpit for a desk job just yet.”

  Tom thought for a minute. This was not his first conversation with a pilot making a career decision. “We all have to spend time out of the cockpit, Dan. But we know eventually, we’ll make it back.” He saw the let-down look on Dan’s face and kept talking. “But I can see that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

  The young pilot knew he was putting his skipper on the spot. He held him in high regard and had learned much from him about being a leader; he didn’t want to let him down.

  “I’ll probably just request an NROTC instructor billet and use the opportunity to build up some pilot-in-command hours so I can get my Air Transport Pilot rating. I have about three years left on my commitment to the Navy, and the airlines are going to be hiring lots of pilots to replace the guys hitting 65.”

  It was true: The impending pilot shortage was taking a toll on the ranks of military pilots, and none of the branches had thus far solved the problem. Changes to flight pay and assorted other attempts to reverse the trend weren’t working.

  Tom asked, “Isn’t there anything at all you want to do in the Navy?”

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to be a test pilot, but I don’t have the required technical degree.”

  The U.S. Naval Test Pilot School was located at Naval Air Station Patuxent River, Maryland, and was considered the very top rung of the aviator profession. “Pax River” was where the best of the best tested every airframe the Navy fielded. Pilots pushed aircraft beyond their designed capabilities, purposely making the aircraft fail. And when they were successful, test pilots earned their pay by recovering the aircraft from disaster and landing them safely. Based on these flights, detailed procedures were developed so that fleet pilots could avoid catastrophic incidents and successfully complete combat missions. Test Pilot School alumni included a who’s who of naval aviation, with graduates including Alan Sheppard, Scott Carpenter, Jim Lovell, Wally Schirra, John Glenn, Pete Conrad, Mark Kelly, Bill McCool, and Jim Stockdale.

  A selection board met every six months to identify up and coming officers to whom they would offer admission to the school. The application announcement message also listed minimum qualifications, which included a hard science undergraduate degree, waivable only under special or extreme circumstances. Dan was an outstanding pilot with rare skills, but he knew it would take something more than skills to get a tech degree waiver.

  “Isn’t your dad a big wheel in the Pentagon?” Tom asked. “Maybe he could pull a few strings for you. Don’t be too proud to ask for his help.”

  Dan laughed. “I don’t think that dog will hunt, sir. Back when he first went to work there, my dad made it very clear he wouldn’t be helping me with my career. He’s kind of a hard-ass about those things.”

  The television monitor mounted on the skipper’s cabin bulkhead suddenly showed a camera’s view of an approaching aircraft. Both men paused to watch the strange airplane transform itself into a helicopter and then gently set down on the flight deck directly opposite the carrier’s superstructure. Neither man was accustomed to seeing the unique airplane operate, so in silence, they continued to watch, captivated, as its two large, black turboprops stopped spinning and the flight deck crew quickly secured the plane with tie-down chains.

  “That is one strange bird!” said Tom as they watched a group of officers approach the Osprey and wait by the tail ramp. “Isn’t that the ship’s C.O., Captain Solari? Why would she be meeting the mail plane?”

  “Beats me, sir,” Dan replied. They watched Captain Solari come to the position of attention and salute a distinguished-look
ing man in a grey suit who came walking down the Osprey’s cargo ramp.

  “I wonder who the hell that is,” remarked Tom.

  The young pilot blinked his eyes as he suddenly realized who he was looking at on the monitor.

  “That, Commander Robinson, is my father!”

  The USS Ronald Reagan, the South China Sea

  Anyone who has been aboard a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier invariably describes the ship as a floating city. At more than 1,000 feet in length, three NFL football games could be played simultaneously on its massive flight deck. The nuclear-powered Reagan could cruise at over 30 knots for several years without refueling its reactor. Her crew numbered upwards of 3,000 Sailors, and when the airwing was embarked, it added an additional 2,500 Sailors, making Reagan indeed a small city with its everyday needs for electrical power, lighting, heating, drinking water, food, air conditioning, and wastewater treatment. Multiple galleys produced 10,000 meals daily, and the ship included a barbershop, fitness center, closed-circuit television station, and a wide range of other services required to operate and maintain the over 90 aircraft embarked.

  Sitting in an overstuffed chair in the well-appointed Flag cabin, drinking coffee, and enjoying fresh blueberry scones, Colt found it strange to think of the Reagan as one of the most powerful weapons of destruction in the world. He, Lenny and Special Agent DeSantis had been escorted up to the Flag Cabin by the Reagan’s commanding officer, Captain Johrita Solari, where they were introduced to Admiral Carlisle and his chief of staff, Captain Gary Winters. After Captain Solari left the cabin and headed for the ship’s bridge, the four men sat in chairs around a low coffee table, while Anna DeSantis remained standing near the cabin’s exterior door. As he sipped his coffee from a fine china cup, Colt glanced subtly around the cabin until his eyes rested on a portrait on the opposite bulkhead. It was a large oil painting of Rear Admiral Carlisle in his full dress blue uniform, complete with medals, sword and white gloves. Colt thought of the countless offices he had visited in the Pentagon and couldn’t recall a single instance where an officer displayed a portrait of themself on a wall. Joe Carlisle was indeed a piece of work.