line up for a trap. While Tombstone and Batman had been over northern
Thailand, other aircraft from their squadron had been patrolling the
skies closer to the Jefferson. Lieutenant Ron “Price” Taggart’s 203
ship had been one of these.
Bumer spoke into his handset. “You’re a little left, Price,” he said.
“Come right a bit.” Taggart’s F-14 corrected. “Good … good … not
too much. Deck’s coming up.”
The Tomcat shrieked onto the deck, engines revving as the wheels
clattered across steel. The arrestor hook caught the number-four wire,
dragging the F-14 to a halt.
“I’ll give him a ‘fair,”” Bumer said, making a notation on a clipboard
in front of him. As squadron LSO, it was Bumer’s job to grade every
landing each pilot made. The possible marks were “okay,” the best
possible; “fair,” which was average and indicated the aviator had made
the proper corrections on time; “no grade,” which meant that there’d
been danger to the plane, the crew, or other personnel; and “cut,”
meaning a real screw-up, one which could have ended in disaster. The
LSO’s grades were a source of intense competition among the aviators,
with each week’s ratings posted on the greenie board off the hangar deck
for everyone to see.
Bumer looked at Tombstone. “That’ it for your squadron, Tombstone. You
come to watch Made It?”
“Is he the last one up?”
“Yup, Air Boss charlied him again a couple of minutes ago. He’s coming
around next.”
Lieutenant Commander “Di Di” Roberts stood at Bumer’s side. He was
VF-97’s LSO this afternoon and responsible for getting Made It down on
the deck. As Bumer handed him the pickle, he was already speaking into
his handset. “A little high.” Light glinted from his sunglasses as he
spoke.
“Power down …”
Tombstone couldn’t hear Bayerly’s reply, but the incoming Tomcat
responded, power dropping, nose rising. Not enough … “Shit-fire,
he’s afraid of the deck now,” someone said behind Tombstone’s back.
“Still high,” Roberts said. He glanced quickly at the PLAT screen, then
back at the F-14. “Power back, just a tad more …”
Bayerly’s aircraft swept in across the roundoff, chasing its own shadow
across the deck, its dangling tailhook sweeping just above the taut
arrestor cables. Roberts triggered the pickle in his hand, and the
bull’s-eye lit up red behind him. “Wave off! Bolter! Bolter!
Bolter!”
The Tomcat’s wheels touched with a grating squeal, and then the noise
was lost in thunder as Bayerly’s engines opened up full. The blue-gray
Tomcat flashed past the LSO platform, setting the air above the deck
shimmering with the heat of its jet wash. Then the aircraft was
dwindling into the sky ahead of the carrier, banking to port.
“That’s okay, Commander,” Roberts said calmly into his radio, “Happens
to us all. Bring her around again. Third time’s the charm, old buddy.”
He released the transmit switch on the handset and looked Craig in the
eye. “He doesn’t sound good, Bumer.”
“Rattled?”
“Something.”
A telephone buzzed on the console, and another officer picked it up.
“Air Boss, Di Di,” he said, holding the receiver. “Captain wants to
know if there’s a problem.”
“No goddamn problem,” Roberts replied. “Just a two-time bolter. He’ll
make it next go-round.”
Tombstone crossed to the deck railing and looked across the waves.
Bayerly’s Tomcat was a tiny silver speck now, gleaming in the sun far
beyond the rescue helo, which was maintaining its position two miles off
Jefferson’s port beam. Each time an aviator pulled a bolter, it shook
his confidence in himself and in his aircraft that much more … making
the next attempt harder.
It had happened to Tombstone more than once, and the feeling was not a
good one. He’d known aviators who had pulled ten or twelve bolters in a
row before finally making a trap. One had passed out cold minutes after
climbing out of his plane; another had walked straight down to the CAG’s
office and turned in his wings. Of all the operations expected of a
Navy fighter pilot, none was more difficult, more out-and-out scary than
landing an aircraft on a carrier’s flight deck.
“Right, Made It,” Roberts was saying into the handset. “You’re lining
up fine. Captain says if he can assist by maneuvering the boat, just