routine flights. And if he couldn’t answer a simple question about
whether or not he was ready, then he deserved what he got.
Seconds later, the aircraft shot off the pointy end and Bird Dog felt
the familiar lurch in the pit of his stomach and his ass floating away
from the seat as the Tomcat lost altitude.
The sea rushed up at him, smooth and glassy.
His balls contracted as a small flash of terror shivered through him.
The first few microseconds after launch, this fight for altitude and
safety, were every pilot’s worst nightmare. If Jefferson lost steam
pressure unexpectedly on the catapult shot, the Tomcat would dribble
off into the ocean. A soft cat shot meant dead aircrews. Moments
later, he felt the G-forces press him back into his seat as the Tomcat
clawed for altitude.
“Good shot,” he announced. “Airborne once more.”
Behind him, he heard Gator groan.
1206 Local (+5 GMT) Hornet 301
“Button three for coordination with tanker,” Rasher said.
“Roger. Got a visual on him. Making my approach.” Thor eased back on
the throttles, slowing the Hornet’s forward speed imperceptibly. Of
all the evolutions a carrier pilot had to master, refueling in midair
was one of the most dangerous, second in his nightmares only to landing
on the carrier deck at night during a storm.
“Hey there, Thor,” the female KA6 tanker pilot’s voice echoed in his
ear. “You dirty-winged?”
“Hell, no. This is a PMFC, not CAP. Why, you want me to kill somebody
for you, sweetheart?”
“Maybe later, big boy. It’s just that there’s a cluster-fuck of MiGs
milling about smartly in the middle of Tanker Alley. Thought we might
sneak off somewhere that we could be alone for a while.”
Thor grinned at the lascivious note in the other pilot’s voice. The
Marine Corps forced him to be politically correct on the ground. In
his estimation, the paranoia that overreacting politicians generated
did more to harm the morale of both men and women than it helped. This
was more like it-the good-natured banter between two pilots who
respected each other. “I’ll follow you anywhere. Striker,” he said,
using her call sign instead of her name. “You got some particular dark
and secluded corner in mind?”
Striker rapped out a quick series of vectors defining a piece of
airspace well away from the MiG herd. She led the way, with Thor
darting around her in his faster fighter. Ten minutes later, they were
in clear airspace.
“Now, how can I make you happy, Thor?” Striker asked finally.
“Five thousand pounds will do it. Burned up some on afterburner, and I
need some legs to play patty-cake with a turkey,” he added, using the
common aviator’s nickname for the Tomcat.
“Cozy on up to momma. Marine. I gots what you be needing.”
Thor focused on the drogue extended in front of him from the back of
the KA6. The basket bobbed and weaved in the air as it streamed out
behind the other aircraft. “Steady, steady,” he muttered, talking
himself through the approach.
If the Tomcat pilots thought tanking was tough, let them try it in a
Hornet without a RIO to act as safety observer for them.
He watched the drogue grow larger and bled off a few more knots of
airspeed. “There,” Thor said, satisfied. He tapped the throttle
forward and increased speed just enough to thump gently forward into
the drogue, seating his probe firmly inside the refueling apparatus.
“Got it first time.”
“Good seal,” Striker agreed. “Ready to pump.”
“Receiving,” Thor reported. “And Striker, it’s only polite to ask was
it good for you, too?” He grinned and waited for the rude reply he
knew he deserved, all the while watching the fuel transfer indicators
for signs of trouble.
The insistent beeping of his ALR-87 threat warning receiver filled the
cockpit. Thor’s head snapped up and he scanned the sky, urgently
trying to find the source of the fire control radar illuminating his
Hornet.
“Settle down back there,” Striker snapped. “What do you think you’re ”
“Emergency breakaway!” Thor throttled the Hornet back, jerking out of
the basket. Raw fuel streamed out of the drogue before the tanker’s
back-pressure sensors terminated the flow. “Striker, get the hell back