CARRIER 4: FLAME-OUT By Keith Douglass

hear over the hangar deck noise but still somehow tentative and uncertain.

Magruder turned to find himself looking at a young, red-haired lieutenant with

pilot’s wings and an apprehensive look on his freckled face.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” he shouted over the roar of one of the

tractors–a “mule” in flight-deck parlance–hauling an F/A-18 Hornet toward

one of the elevators.

“Sir, CAG told me to talk with you. Said I should see you before …

before I turn in my wings …”

Inwardly, Magruder groaned. What did CAG expect of him, anyway? Once a

pilot decided he’d lost the edge, there wasn’t much point in trying to change

his mind. In fact it could be dangerous. If this youngster had decided that

he wasn’t fit to fly but tried to hide it and stay in the air, he could end up

making mistakes that would kill people. Including himself.

On the other hand, Magruder remembered the times he’d come close himself

to calling it quits. And he’d talked Coyote out of quitting once too. That

had turned out for the best, obviously. Coyote Grant was still on his way up.

“Look, Lieutenant, we can’t talk here!” he yelled. “Come on with me!

We’ll find someplace quieter!”

Someplace quieter turned out to be Tombstone’s quarters. There weren’t

many places even on a boat the size of the Jefferson where privacy was

possible, and if this kid was planning on spilling his guts about his problems

Tombstone didn’t want a lot of witnesses. Whether he turned in his wings or

not, the kid would face a mountain of scorn if he broke the unwritten

aviator’s law that a good flyer never, ever let the pressure make him lose his

cool.

“All right, son,” Magruder said at last as he closed the door. “What’s

your name, first off?”

“Roger Bannon, sir. They call me Banshee.” Bannon hesitated. “I’m with

VA-89.”

Magruder nodded and smiled encouragingly. The wing’s single attack

squadron, the VA-89 “Death Dealers” flew the A-6E Intruders that Magruder was

supposed to be paying special attention to in the days ahead. Perhaps that

was why CAG wanted him to deal with Bannon’s problem, whatever it was. “It’s

a damned good outfit,” he said aloud.

“Yes, sir.” Bannon looked uncomfortable.

“You said you wanted to turn in your wings. Want to tell me about it,

son?” He was surprised at how easily he seemed to fall into the role of the

father figure.

“I-I was the one who crashed the Intruder last week, Mr. Magruder. I

screwed up bad on a landing … missed the wires but didn’t have enough power

to make it a bolter. Skidded … God, I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Bannon closed his eyes as if reliving the moment in his mind. “The planes …

the people who died … it was all my fault.”

“You must’ve been doing pretty good to eject from that mess,” Tombstone

said quietly. “Looks like you came through without a scratch.”

A spasm of pain crossed the young face. “I was … everybody says it was

lucky. I wish now I’d never got clear. My chute opened and snagged on

something, so I didn’t even hit the deck.”

Magruder hesitated before probing further. It looked like it wasn’t so

much fear as guilt that was weighing on Bannon’s mind, but he was no expert in

psychology. He wasn’t sure how to handle the kid. This was really a job for

the chaplain. But chaplains didn’t always understand the way another aviator

did. Tombstone felt he had to try, at least, to help Bannon. “there must

have been an inquiry,” he said.

Bannon nodded. “They said … they said it was an accident, that I could

return to flight status when CAG thought I was ready.” He swallowed. “But it

doesn’t seem right …”

“Look, you can’t be impartial judging yourself over something like this.”

Magruder groped for the right words. “You should … you should trust what

CAG and the Captain had to say about the accident. They’ve had a hell of a

lot more experience than you. When you’ve seen more carrier duty you’ll

realize these things happen. Even if you never go into combat you’re running

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