shape of the carrier was sketchy in the mist. How the hell was he supposed to
spot the Fresnel lens that was supposed to help guide his final approach?
But he finally caught sight of it. “Five-oh-seven, Intruder ball,” he
reported on the radio. “Zero point nine.” Nine hundred pounds of fuel left.
A bolter now would leave him breathing fumes by the time he was ready for
another pass.
“Attitude,” the LSO said quietly. The best LSOs in the fleet were the
ones who avoided too much instruction when they were bringing a plane in to
the deck. Lieutenant George “Hacker” Hackenberg was one of the best.
But Greene, on the other hand, was all too free with advice and
criticism. “Come on, kid,” he amplified. “Your angle’s all wrong! Pull up
the nose, for God’s sake, and line her up!”
Bannon gritted his teeth and corrected more. He was coming down at too
steep an angle …
“Nose up,” the LSO said. “Nose up.”
The controls seemed sluggish, slow to respond. Panic gripped him. He
pulled back … back …
Ahead the red lights around the Fresnel lens lit up suddenly, while the
LSO screamed in his ear. “Wave off! Wave off!” He rammed the throttles
forward just as the wheels touched the deck. The Intruder lifted again, but
too slow … There was something wrong, but he didn’t know what, and he
couldn’t make the airplane respond.
The wheels touched again. Then the Intruder was moving sideways, a
sickening, wrenching motion. Bannon fought the skid, but the plane continued
its uncontrolled slide across the rain-washed deck. He had a confused
impression of a line of parked planes ahead …
“Eject! Eject!” he shouted, his hand already closing on the handle. The
canopy blasted clear and the ejection seat tried to ram his spine through the
top of his head. He was spinning up, up, over the side of the carrier, his
chute blossoming above him. It snagged on some projection just as the
Intruder slammed into a parked Tomcat and exploded.
The fireball blossoming on the deck lit up the overcast sky, and the roar
was deafening. Bannon flinched instinctively from the sound, but the
entangling shroud lines held him fast. He shook his head to clear the ringing
from his ears, and thought he could hear the klaxons on the flight deck
blaring their alarm.
Vaguely, Bannon noticed another chute spread out in the water below him.
So Jolly Green had cleared the side of the carrier. Probably, he thought
bitterly, the veteran wouldn’t allow anything so unheroic as getting caught
dangling over the ocean by his chute to happen to him.
Then he passed out.
He didn’t know how much time passed before he awakened again, but he was
back on deck and being lifted carefully onto a stretcher by a pair of
corpsmen. Through waves of dizziness he heard roaring flames and the shouts
of Damage Control technicians fighting the fire, and over it all the sound of
a Search and Rescue chopper’s rotors.
They were strapping him in to the stretcher when Hackenberg’s worried
face appeared behind the two corpsmen. “What’s the word, Doc?” the lieutenant
asked.
“Looks like he was just shaken up a little,” one of the corpsmen replied,
adjusting the strap across Bannon’s chest.
“How about Commander Greene? Where’s he?” Hackenberg asked.
The other one shook his head. “No joy, Lieutenant. SAR copter couldn’t
get him. He just sank before they could get to him. Sorry.”
Bannon struggled against the straps. It didn’t seem possible … it
wasn’t right. How had he lived when Jolly Green hadn’t?
“Take it easy, sir,” one of the corpsmen said. “Easy. Everything’s
okay.”
But Bannon knew better. Commander Greene was dead … and it was his
fault. All his fault … Darkness claimed him.
CHAPTER 1
Monday, 9 June, 1997
2234 hours Zulu (2034 hours Zone)
Tomcat 109, Mercury Flight
Over the North Atlantic
“Mercury Leader, this is Mercury Two. I’m disengaging now.”
Commander Matthew Magruder, running name “Tombstone,” checked his fuel
gauge and eased back on the Tomcat’s throttle. “Roger that, Two,” he said,
trying to keep the anxious edge out of his voice. “Hope you left some for