by M. L. Maki
FIGHTING HER FATHER’S WAR
FIRST BOOK
OF
THE FIGHTING TOMCATS
M. L. MAKI
ROSE HILL PRESS, OLYMPIA, WASHINGTON
Fighting Her Father’s War is a work of historical fiction and speculation using well-known historical and public figures. All incidents and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Because of the speculative nature of this work, we have changed some timelines of the present, such as the fact that the aircraft carrier battlegroup as described in this book has never existed. Also, we have changed the historical timeline in the present to suit the nature of the work. Any resemblance to persons living or dead who are not historical figures is entirely coincidental.
The views presented are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the DoD or the United States Navy.
DEDICATION
To our amazing fathers, Kenneth Wayne Maki and William Roy Sevedge,
and to all those veterans, past, present, and future, who have served the
the cause of freedom.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Glossary
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
“Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it.”
Winston Churchill - 1948
CHAPTER 1
USS CARL VINSON BATTLE GROUP
WESTERN PACIFIC OCEAN
1742 DECEMBER 19TH, 1990
A F-14 Tomcat sliced the clear blue sky. As Knight 211 rolls into a turn, Lt. Samantha “Spike” Hunt can see the Pacific Ocean far below. The water a darker hue of the blue sky, stretching from horizon to horizon. As the jet rockets past 25,000 feet, she looks back and sees her wingman 500 feet away and smiles, her grey blue eyes alive with the joy of being in the air.
On intercom, “Ok, Puck, we are at waypoint Whiskey. Call it in and remember to watch our back. The XO is out there.”
Lt. JG Eric “Puck” Hawke is the radar intercept officer in the back seat of the big fighter. The dark-haired Sioux says on the radio, “Ghost Rider 201, Knight 211 is 600 knots at flight level 25.” Then on intercom, “Spike, I know my job. Remember, we are supposed to do a 1V1 before relieving the XO. Swede is on his wing and he is fucking good. If we get waxed too easy we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Spike answers, “I got it.”
From the radio, “Knight 211, Ghost Rider. Bandit 60 miles at 050 and flight level 30. Come to 060 and engage.
Puck on the radio, “60 miles, 060 at 30. Knight 211 is in.”
ENS Jose “Speedy” Gonzales, RIO for Knight 212, Lt. Hunt’s wingman, says, “Knight 212 is high cover.” Because the rules of engagement for this action is “one on one”, her wingman has to stay out of the fight. They will engage afterward.
Spike rolls the F-14 on its side and pulls in a tight turn, saying, “Grunt.” Both pilot and RIO repeatedly squeeze their butt and leg muscles to keep blood in their brains as the turn increases the G load on their bodies.
Straightening her plane’s trajectory, Spike says, “Tally-ho.” Another F-14 is closing on her Tomcat head to head. The two fighters close at a combined speed of over 1200 knots as they pass in the merge.
Spike says, “Grunt. Burners on,” and lights the afterburners, pulling into a climb. Sam smiles, “God this is great. The fight is on.”
Puck says, “It’s Book. He’s climbing to meet us. Turn right a bit to clear him.” Spike makes the adjustment, throttles back and extends the air brake briefly, and the other F-14 shoots past them, crossing in a vertical scissors. She has to win this one, but she’s up against LCDR John “Book” Carleton, the executive officer of her squadron, VF-154, the Black Knights, and he’s good. So, she goes to zone 5 afterburner, climbing straight up and spinning the fighter to line up on the other plane. She can tell by his maneuver that he’s playing it safe. By the book.
Puck, breathing hard because of the G’s they’re pulling, says, “Roll and pull to stay inside him.”
“I got it,” Sam grunts. She sees Book invert into a dive and pulls the stick into her gut, looping over in pursuit. She leaves her afterburners on in the dive to gain airspeed, then throttles back to full military as she levels out. She thinks, “Ok, you’re going to scissor, and then I have you.”
Puck says, “He’s rolling and pulling. A diving scissors. Roll right and pull.”
Saying nothing, she whips the 55,000-pound F-14 into a tight barrel roll, then pulls the stick into her belly, “Grunt.” She’s now below and behind the other fighter. “You can’t see me. Got to roll or climb to find me.”
Book pulls up, climbing into a loop. Following him, she becomes visible in the turn. As Book crosses vertical, he does a snap roll, reversing back into a vertical scissors.
Puck says, “He’s back to the vertical scissors. Get on him.” She turns early, trying to stay on Book’s six in the vertical scissors, and for a moment, they can’t see their opponent below their nose. When he doesn’t cross where she expected, she snap rolls and pulls back across vertical, trying to find him.
Puck says, “Spike, he’s on our six. Break right.” She rolls her bird and pulls right. Book follows her turn. She rolls over the top into a dive trying to shake him. Unloading her wings, she snap rolls right and pulls out of the dive in a twisting climb. Through it all he stays on her.
Then they hear Lt. Lyle “Packs” Boxter, Book’s RIO say, “Guns. Guns. Guns. We got you Spike and Puck.”
“Fuck.” Spike grimaces.
Puck on the radio, “Acknowledge guns. Good fight Packs.”
He replies, “Well fought guys.”
Puck answers, “Thank you, sir.”
In Knight 224, Books F-14, he says to his RIO, “We got that fucking bitch. Maybe now she won’t be so full of herself. Stupid cunt belongs in the kitchen of some east fucking Tennessee cabin making babies for Huck Finn.”
Pack shakes his head, “It’s 1V1, boss. It’s not like we won the Super Bowl. Could you clean it up some, boss? You’re doubling my prayer time.”
Calming down, Book replies, “Ok. Ok. Sorry for yelling. I just hate chicks taking up billets guys are supposed to fill. You did good.”
“Knight 212, this is Ghost Rider, B
andit at 050 and angels 35, steer 010 to engage.” Lt. Frank “Thud” Jackson, pilot of Knight 212, responds and turns his F-14 into the fight. In moments he has taken out Books wingman, Lt. Stephan “Swede” Swedenborg. “Damn, that was fast,” says Puck. Then, “Knight 212, 35 and 010 for point X-ray.” Then to Spike, “Thud is high at 7 o’clock,”
“Right,” says Spike, and they settle on course and climb to continue their mission. In a moment, her wingman, “Thud” Jackson is on their wing in loose deuce formation. They fly in silence for a time.
Then, “Puck, I know we’ve only flown together for a month, and we’re fresh out of fighter school. And I know this is your first deployment. I get it, but, in a knife fight tell me where they are, not where to steer. Ok?”
“In RIO school, we are taught to tell the pilot where to go so we can use the weapon system.”
“That’s fine for long range missile attacks, but in a knife fight, I need to fly the plane.”
“I still have to warn you about collisions.”
“Yes, I know. Oh, forget it.”
The sea below fades to a darker blue as the westering sun sets. The two fighters slide gracefully through the air, doing lazy eights at 35,000 feet on far CAP. The engines are just about idling, their vibration a comfortable thrum. As flight leader, Spike’s plane is 200 yards ahead and to the left of her wingman’s. She loves flying the Tomcat. She loved her E-2 Hawkeye radar plane, but when the Navy opened up a few slots for females to transition to fighters, she had to go all in.
The radio crackles to life, “Puck, Speedy, there’s a fishing boat down there dead in the water.” Puck on intercom, “Because it’s fishing?” Then on radio, “How do you know it’s in distress? It could just be fishing?”
Spike asks, “What do you see, Puck?” She straightens out the big jet, making it easier for Puck to track the vessel. “Ok, got it. Yeah, he’s right. It’s dead in the water.” Using the camera mounted under the chin of the F-14, and behind the radar dome, the RIO can see the long distances required for targeting the long-range Phoenix missiles the Tomcat is designed to use. It’s also very useful for other things, like inspecting a fishing boat from 35,000 feet.
“Puck, Speedy. It’s Japanese, and it looks like they’ve had a fire.”
“Ok, Speedy, I’ll call it in.”
Spike asks, “Can you get a range and bearing?”
Puck grimaces, “Can I give you a range and bearing? Um, gee, we’re tooling around up here in $45 million of the highest tech whiz bang out here.”
“We need to give Gold Eagle its location, not ours. Sorry, Puck”
“22 miles at 272,” says Puck. Then, switching to strike frequency, “Gold Eagle, Knight 211. We have a Japanese fishing boat in distress 22 miles from our position at 272, request permission for a low-speed flyby.”
“Knight 211, Gold Eagle, how do you know it’s in distress? Is the flag upside down?”
Speedy comes on the radio, “Gold Eagle, Knight 212. It’s Japanese. The meatball looks the same both ways.”
“Knight 211, Gold Eagle, send one bird for low-speed flyby, the other stays at angels 35.”
Puck says, “Roger, Gold Eagle, Knight 211 out. Ok, Speedy, you go. We’ve got you on top.”
Turning to the west, she angles the F-14 so she can watch her wingman descend, wings spread to keep it slow. The last rays of the setting sun set Thud’s and Speedy’s plane aglow with crimson and gold against the deepening blue of the sky as they turn on their lights in the encroaching darkness.
A few of minutes later, “Puck, Speedy. Yeah, they’re in distress. They’re signaling with a light and waving their arms. I couldn’t raise them on 16. We best call in the cavalry.”
“Roger, Speedy. Gold Eagle, Knight 211. We have confirmation, the Japanese fishing vessel is in distress. We are at their location and standing by.”
“Understood, Knight 211. We’re sending out a surface unit.”
Thud climbs and returns to Spikes wing. Once again, they’re making lazy eights in the darkening sky.
Puck says, “Spike, did I ever tell you a F-14 is mighty pretty in the setting sun?”
“They are, aren’t they?”
“Speedy, Puck. What’s your fuel state?”
“Still have 15 minutes of loiter, Puck. I’m at 11K.”
“Okay, Speedy. We have 11 decimal 5. Ten more minutes.”
“Gold Eagle, Knight 211. What’s the ETA on the surface unit?”
“Knight 211, Gold Eagle. Hewitt should be in sight, but it’s still 70 minutes out.”
“Roger, Gold Eagle. We have only 10 minutes more on station.”
“Understood, Knight 211. One moment.”
They wait, still doing lazy eights and keeping an eye on the trawler. “Wish we could talk to them, so they knew help is coming,” says Spike.
“Yeah, that would be nice. Fire at sea is terrifying.”
“Knight 211, Gold Eagle. Contact Hewitt on 19 decimal 2 and give them a steer, please.”
“Roger, Gold Eagle, 19 decimal 2.”
“Spike, I found the Hewitt and they’re in a hurry. Good. Switching to 19 decimal 2.”
“Hewitt, Knight 211.”
“Go ahead, Knight 211, this is Hewitt actual,” comes back a female voice.
“Hewitt, Knight 211, come to 242, you are about 50 miles out.”
Spike says, “I know her. Well, I met her in Hawaii.”
“Knight 211, good job spotting the disabled vessel. Most fighter types don’t look down.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It was spotted by our wingman, Knight 212.”
“Do you have time for a flyby?”
Puck says, “Sorry, Hewitt, we’re pretty much bingo fuel. Good luck, and take care, Knight 211 out.”
Changing frequency, “Speedy, Puck. Time to head home.”
“Roger that, Puck.”
They turn, speeding through the twilight, their lights flashing, heading for home. Home for the Black Knight squadron is the USS Carl Vinson, CVN-70, a Nimitz-class nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.
Puck asks, “You said you know her?”
“Yes, I met her on Waikiki. She and Gloria tried to teach me to surf. It wasn’t pretty, but it was fun.”
“Nope. In fact, she looked pretty good in a bikini.”
“Commanders shouldn’t wear bikinis.”
Spike smiles, “Why not?”
“They are senior officers, and…never mind.”
It’s full dark as they approach the carrier and flight operations are wrapping up. The flight deck is lit up with yellow lights, just enough illumination for the deck crews to do their jobs.
“Puck, have Thud land first.”
“Ok.” On radio, “Speedy, Puck. You have the lead.”
“Roger, Puck. We go first. Gold Eagle, Knight 212, request to marshal. Fuel state is 2 decimal 7.”
The controller in the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center (CATCC) says, “Roger, Knight 212, enter your downwind leg at 210. You’ll be landing behind Magic 417.”
Puck says, “Gold Eagle, Knight 211. Request to enter marshal. Fuel state is 2 decimal 5.”
“Roger, Knight 211, Eagle approach. Enter the downwind leg at 210. You’ll be landing behind Knight 212.”
“Roger, Eagle.”
Spike says, “Puck, here we go. Night landings, I so love them.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re at 1, 5 hundred, radar off, board green.”
They watch as Thud and Speedy make the break, a sharp 180 degree turn that lines the aircraft up with the stern of the carrier.
“Ok, Puck. Engines are good, gear and flaps down, making the break.”
Then, “God Eagle, Magic 417 aborting landing. Bird strike.”
“Roger, Magic 417. Do you need to eject?”
Lt. JG Mike “Too Tall” Mohr, pilot of Magic 417 replies, “Negative, Gold Eagle. We’re still flying. Canopy is damaged and covered in crap. The ILS is out. I can’t see much out of the front of the cockpit, and the
wind is a bit intense.”
Knight 212 lands, catching the 3 wire.
“Magic 417, we are in blue water operations. There are no alternative landing fields. If you cannot land, I advise you to eject.”
Listening intently, Sam say, “Abort landing.” She raises the landing gear and trims the plane for flight. “Tell him we’ll fly his wing and guide him down.”
Puck says, “Magic 417, Knight 211. We see you. Keep it straight and level. We’ll come in on your left wing.” Then, “Spike, I’ll keep the spacing and you fly the approach.”
“Got it, Puck. I can do it. Ok, I’ve got him.”
Puck says, “Magic 417, you’re slowly climbing through angels 4. We’ll be on your wing in 15 seconds.”
“Grunt, Puck,” and they make a high G turn to parallel the EA-6B.
“Ok, Spike, I’ve got the spacing, you watch the instruments.”
“Got it, Puck. You have him?”
“Yes, Spike. We’re pulling a bit ahead. They’re 50 feet behind…30…10…ok, got them. Let’s get them down.”
Puck says, “Ok, Magic, can you see me?”
Lt. JG Mohr replies, “Yeah, I got you. I’m Too Tall, ok?”
“Ok, Too Tall, I’m Puck, and my pilot is Spike. Let’s keep it about 50 feet off my wing and we’ll do a gentle turn to the left.”
Gold Eagle breaks in, “Knight 211, Eagle approach. What are your intentions?”
“Gold Eagle, Knight 211. We’ll fly the ball 50 feet to the left and guide him in. Hopefully, he can see well enough to land once he is close.”
“Magic 417, Eagle approach. We advise ejection. What are your intentions?”
“Eagle, Magic 417. Our seats look damaged. I don’t know if they will work. We would like to attempt a landing first. If we can’t set it down, we will bail out.”
“Roger, Magic 417. Do you want the barricade?”
“Negative, Eagle. Knight 211 has to land after us. We will make it, or we won’t.”
“Understood, Magic 417. Knight 211, landing speed for an EA-6B is 110 knots. The deck is yours.”
“Roger, Eagle approach. The deck is ours.”
