Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  “It’s alright. Anyway, I’ll do what damage control I can tomorrow. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t realize I was. For him to get that angry…well, anyway.”

  “Okay, honey, just work on your inter-personal flirtation skills. I’ll set up a remedial course.”

  “Gloria, go to sleep.”

  CHAPTER 6

  USS CARL VINSON, PRIMARY FLIGHT CONTROL, 0600, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  The early morning quiet is interrupted by a common call, “Flight quarters, flight quarters. All hands, man your flight quarter station.” The flight crews, groggy from a long night working on aircraft and testing systems, wearily drag themselves from their racks, put on their flight deck uniforms, and head out to work. Some swing by the mess decks and grab a bit, for others there’s not even time to eat.

  It’s still dark as the Vinson gently turns into the wind. The rest of the battle group are spread out, searching the destroyer Hewitt. Long Beach closes up behind Vinson as the plane guard. Cables are tightened and aircraft pre-flight inspections are completed as the flight deck slowly comes alive. All of it visible from the lofty heights of PRIFLY. The air boss, Charley Forrester, is normally a friendly and calm man, but when monitoring the flight deck, he’s an absolute tyrant for safety. An aircraft carrier is one of the most dangerous places on earth and only the most brutal discipline keeps the herd of 18 year-olds running around on it safe. “Good morning air department, shake a leg out there and look alive. Shake out the cobwebs and keep your head on a swivel. There were a lot of people on the flight deck last night, so keep a sharp eye out for FOD.” He picks up another handset, “Captain, air boss, I recommend another FOD walkdown.”

  “Order it, Captain out.”

  Changing handsets again, Forrester says, “FOD walkdown, FOD walkdown. All hands not on watch lay to the flight deck for FOD walkdown.” Sucking FOD (Foreign Object Damage) into a jet engine can lead to a bad day for all involved.

  And so, the day’s routine begins.

  SAMANTHA AND GLORIA’S STATEROOM

  There is a loud knock on Sam’s door, “Flight briefing in 10 minutes, Spike.”

  “Got it, thank you.” She drags herself out of her rack and notices Gloria is already up and out. She puts on her flight suit and fills her pocket with flight stuff: granola bars, utility too, folding knife, and spare underwear. Done, she walks to the ready room on the 03-level aft of her stateroom. She can hear a helicopter spooling up on the flight deck above. It will be the plane guard helicopter. Always, a helicopter is the first to take off and the last to land during flight quarters. If any pilot gets in trouble, the helicopter is there to fish them out of the sea.

  When Spike gets to the Black Knights ready room there is already a handful of pilots and RIOs, but she beats Puck in. Odd, he’s always gets in first. Collecting a cup of coffee, she sits in one of the comfortable chairs at the back. Generally, she’s careful with how much coffee she drinks before a flight, but one cup should be okay. Puck walks in, catching her eye. As she nods to him, Speedy and Thud arrive with platters of cookies. The fragrance of chocolate wafts through the room, fresh chocolate chip cookies. There is no faster way to disrupt a briefing.

  “Pappa” Holtz grabs a cookie, “Well, if you’re gonna be late for briefing, this is a perfect excuse.”

  Speedy says, “Late, skipper? We’re just on time.”

  “Okay, okay, just sit down. Now, first mission launches in 30 minutes. Lieutenant Commander Carleton and Lt. Boxter will have that one. I want Swede and Ghandi flying your wing. You will both have TARPS pods. Your mission is to overfly Quenioc Atoll. There is a LORAN station there. The Captain and the Admiral want you to overfly the station, take some good pictures, and figure out if it looks operational. The intel lieutenant here will give you the particulars and pictures of the atoll. You will be carrying a light air-to-air load to give you better legs.” The intel lieutenant hands out the information as the skipper continues.

  “I want everyone to remember, GPS is down. You must actually navigate.” He gives them all a stern look. “The Tomcatters are going to be far CAP to the north and west. There will be a Guardian E-2 up and four flights of S-3s doing a concentric circle search for the Hewitt. I want everybody airborne today to keep their heads on a swivel looking for debris and sailors in the water. Also, in support of that, fly no higher than angels fifteen, clear? Okay, questions?”

  “Any word from Washington, or the rest of the fleet?”

  “No, Book, nothing yet, and that worries me. All of you, I want you to think about what’s going on. We’re not sure why the loss of communications, but the folks upstairs believe it’s foul play. That means we may be at war status and not know it yet. Keep your heads on a swivel. We don’t want to be caught with our pants down. Any more questions?”

  “There is nothing in the briefing papers about radio silence, but you said we may be on a wartime footing. Sir, shouldn’t our flight be under radio silence?”

  “Good question, Swede. I’ll talk to the boss and get back to you guys before you launch. Anything else? Okay then, Spike?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In about 45 minutes, I want you and Thud on ready five. You will be flying bureau number 501 and 626 because your normal birds aren’t ready yet. You will have the normal air-to-air load out; AIM five fours, AIM nines, and AIM sevens. I think they will want you on the bow cats, but I’m not sure yet. Make sure you keep your radios on and pay attention to what’s going on out there so you know what to expect if you’re launched. You’ll be ready five until ten hundred, then the Tomcatters take over. Any questions?”

  “Have we found anything wrong with any of the planes?”

  “Good question, Puck, and no, we have not. At least nothing related to a lightning storm.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go ahead, Spike.”

  “So, we’re not on a wartime footing, but we are preparing just in case. We have to stay sharp, not expect that anyone we encounter is the enemy, but be prepared.”

  “Yes, Spike, that’s about it.”

  “Sir, the point I’m trying to make is that we can’t allow our actions to be over-ridden by disbelief.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have been at peace for a long time, most of us. If we are at war, we need to think like we are at war, not be trigger-happy, but be ready. That’s what I’m trying to say, skipper. It’s a lousy position to be in. An enemy we may face could already know we’re at war and the benefit in reaction time.”

  Book rolls his eyes and smiles at Packs.

  Holtz nods his head, “Unfortunately, the rules of engagement stand as put out by the Admiral at the beginning of the cruise: you cannot initiate hostile action until fired upon, or hostile action is initiated upon you. The Admiral may change the orders, but for now, they stand. Any more questions?”

  “So, the short version, sir, is after they shoot us down, we can shoot back. Got it, sir.”

  “I understand, Speedy. You don’t have to like it, but you do have to do it. Any more gripes? Let’s get it all out.”

  Speedy asks, “Sir, can we get a new inflight movie?”

  “Any real questions? Okay, then, fall out, man your planes.”

  FLIGHT DECK NEAR CAT 1

  Ready five is a kind of pilot coitus interruptus. Your plane is on the flight deck, its pre-flight check done and everything is ready to go, and there you sit. You can’t take off. You can’t go anywhere. You just sit. After a few minutes you begin to pray for World War III to break out, so you have something to do. It’s not like you can play checkers. You can read a small dime novel if you can find a corner of the cockpit to stuff it into should you actually get to take off. After all, you can’t throw the thing over the side of the airplane like a cop would with late-night stake out doughnuts and coffee, because that’s FOD on the deck, which can foul an engine and cost a pilot his life. So, there’s not much of anything you can do, but just sit.

  Of course, F-14 pilots
and RIOs have the lap of luxury. They have someone else to enjoy the prison with them, which is at least someone to talk to. This is the reason why military buddies know everything about each other: their likes and dislikes, little Susie Rottencrotch whom they took to the prom, what their daddy’s farm grows, or doesn’t. Nothing is secret, because, after all, you are bored.

  Spike and Puck walk three quarters the length of the carrier before climbing out onto the flight deck. In the ready room they were polite and cordial, but as they walk in silence, the tension grows. They get to their F-14 near the bow catapults and begin the pre-flight with the help of their plane captain. They inspect the flaps, the fuel, and the myriad things that have to be checked before they are allowed to take off. After they’re in the plane, there’s nothing else to do but sit there.

  They try to relax. Harness straps are off and helmets set aside. The canopy of the plane is fully open, allowing the wind to cool them, at least a little bit. In the tropic temperatures it takes no time at all before they are sweating. The cockpit of an F-14 on ready five is also the most private place two people can talk on the entire ship. With 5,500 crew crammed on board the carrier, privacy is a premium.

  “Puck?”

  “Are we going to talk?”

  “Yes, we should. I’m sorry how I treated you.”

  “Apology accepted, ma’am. I was out of line, as well. For that, I’m sorry.”

  ‘No Puck, you were right, and call me Spike, or Sam, or whatever, not ma’am.”

  “We still haven’t solved the underlying problem.”

  “Explain to me what you mean, please.”

  “You don’t listen to me in the air. I need to be your RIO, not a passenger. We’re only as good as we are together, Spike. That’s the deal. We have to do it together.”

  “I think I understand. What is the right way to do this? My last RIO drove me nuts.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Jerry ‘Butch’ Carter. He kept telling me where to fly like I’m blind. He would scream at me.”

  “Is that how you got your call sign, ‘Butch’ and ‘Spike’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They teach us in RIO school that we are to tell you where to go when we see a threat.”

  “I don’t like it. Just tell me where the threat is and what they’re doing.”

  “Okay, but how do I do that succinctly? That is why they say to give you instructions rather than descriptions. It’s more succinct.”

  “Yeah, I see that, but I know how to fight the aircraft. I can feel what the other guy is doing and outwit him. I just need to know where they are and I will know what they are doing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There are only so many options. The other guy is limited by the same physics we are. If he is diving on us, I pull into it because he can’t turn that fast. When he is climbing, we cross so I can see him in the turn. It’s like that. If I can understand what the other guy is doing, I can beat him. When you give me directions, I can’t feel the fight. I can’t tell what I should do.”

  “You don’t trust me to know? I understand how to fight the plane, too.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t trust you. I just…Puck, I can do this. I beat Dixie two of two when I stopped listening to Butch telling me where to go and just trusted my instincts. Can we at least try to find a language that works?”

  “Yeah. It has to be short, like three or four word.”

  “Okay, let’s start with zones. If it is from the side forward, I probably see it. If you think I don’t, say front, okay?”

  “And if they are coming in from behind, I say, like, ‘High. Right. Diving.”

  “That works. If you give me a disembodied number like ‘five’, I know it is a clock position. If you put an object in front of it, you are giving a number like, ‘Migs, two.’”

  “So, if I say, ‘Mig, high, right, crossing,’ you would know what I mean?”

  “Yes. There is a Mig coming in from the right on a course that crosses ours at a high angle of attack. That would be perfect.”

  “Okay, I can do that. But, if I tell you to break, then it means there is no time to explain.”

  “Fair, I’m good with that. Look, I know I come across as cold. I’m sorry, but I do.”

  “Spike, on the ground, you come across as cold and controlling. In the air, you’re a different person, you come alive. Cold isn’t the problem. The problem is teamwork. We have to work together.”

  “Yes, I want to work together. I’m sorry I come across as bossy and controlling. I don’t want you to think I’m talking down to you.”

  “Is that what people say? They’re idiots. You’re smart and a great pilot. I don’t care if you talk down to me, just talk. Okay?”

  “Okay, and thank you. You’re awesome at your job, too. I also need you to keep a running commentary about where Thud is. With that, and giving me what the enemy is doing, I can fight the plane. If you need something for a missile shot, just say what you want, like ’10 right 5 up for sparrow.’ Something like that.”

  “All right, then. Also, the next time you’re going to do some of your pilot heroics, let me know what you’re going to do, so I can help, if there’s time. We pulled off helping Too Tall land, but it was off the cuff and pure luck. We had enough time to talk about it. We should have talked it over.”

  ‘You’re right, I just threw orders.”

  “Yes, and there is a time for that. One thing you do really well is warn me when you’re about to crank on the G’s. It allows me to reposition myself so I can operate everything without problems.”

  “Well, if I didn’t, I’d end up hurting you, or have you pass out. That’s not an option.”

  “Not an option, but a possibility. Anyway, I had a great instructor when I was learning the RIO trade. He talked about conversations like these with our pilots. I don’t think he ever thought I would be having one with…well, that it would play out the way it has.”

  “Say it, Puck.”

  “Okay…it’s the girl thing. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a great pilot, and I have no issues with women in combat. Thing is, when you start criticizing a woman about inter-personal relations, well, it gets complicated.”

  “You were really pissed last night, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I was too pissed for my own good.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Okay, spell it out. I don’t do subtle.”

  “Now there’s a revelation. Okay, you’re prickly. I know you’re prickly. Hell, everybody knows you’re prickly, but you’re a good pilot. You’ve got skills. Book was way out of line chewing on you like that, then, I piled on like an ass.”

  Spike stays quiet.

  “Spike, if we’re going to make this work, then I need to call you on your shit, AND, you need to call me on mine.”

  “Yes. You’re right. But I’m really going to need your help, because I’m not good at this. Please?” Then she smiles, “So, hear anything on the radio, Puck?”

  “It’s quiet as a tomb.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Book and Swede ought to be over the island, excuse me, atoll, about now.”

  IN THE AIR SOUTH WEST OF THE VINSON BATTLE GROUP, 0755, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Two F-14s soar over the blue gray ocean, wings full forward, idling at their most economical speed. They’re in loose deuce and flying lower than normal, and the low altitude eats up their fuel. But even with that, the F-14 has the range for this trip. Book asks, “You see anything down there, Packs?”

  “No, sir, nothing but rolling ocean. Um, hey sir, Swede is waggling his wings.”

  “Okay, I see him. He’s breaking right. Um, alright then, let’s give him the lead.”

  Swede’s plane spirals toward the ocean.

  “What does he see, Packs? You need to have the sharpest eyes out here, okay?”

  “Understood, sir. I have it now. It looks like a periscope. Yes, sir, a perisco
pe for sure. I’m barely making out the shadow of the submarine, too.”

  “Well, that’s interesting, but not what we’re looking for.”

  Book waggles his wings to get Swede’s attention and gently turns to climb back on course. Swede comes back on his wing and they continue on toward the atoll. As they get closer, the overcast begins to break up and slowly blue skies replace the gray gloom. Ahead and to the right a mass of clouds rises above the others, like an ice cream among fluffy cotton balls. They turn towards the cloud mass knowing that’s the sign of a land mass. The two aircraft slowly orbit the atoll at 1,ooo feet, their Tactical Airborne Reconnaissance Pods (TARPs) turned on. They study the atoll, comparing it to the map they’d been given. “Sir, I’m pretty sure the loran station should be right there on that bit of high ground. That’s the location on the map, but I don’t see the station.”

  “Look closer, Packs. It’s got to be there, even if it’s broke.”

  They circle the atoll again, “Sir, like I said, it just isn’t there. It’s like it was taken apart a long time ago and jungle grew over it. There’s no indication of the road, or the pier.”

  “Okay, I’ll just fly closer, so you can get a better look.”

  “No, sir, it won’t help. I have the camera at its widest angle. I could see a basketball down there. This camera is designed to identify aircraft at 130 miles. It’s just…not there, sir.”

  “Well, we’re about bingo fuel. Let’s head back. We’ll let the intel folks figure this one out.”

  Book waggles his wings to get Swedes attention and climbs to just below the clouds once more for the return flight. They are quiet as they carefully scan the horizon and the ocean below for signs of the Hewitt. Then Swede waggles his wings again and turns west. “What the hell has he seen this time?” asks Book.

  “I’ve no idea, sir, but I’m looking.”

  “Damnit, Packs, I’m tired of them getting the jump on us. It doesn’t look good for the XO to be following some hot shot around the sky.”

  “Understood, sir. I think I see it, it’s a twin-engine prop plane with a large bubble canopy.”