CARRIER 6: COUNTDOWN By Keith Douglass

The pace accelerated as they completed their final pre-flights. He

glanced over at her as she completed the last of her BIT checks, the

built-in test batteries that verified the A-6’s radar and computer

systems were operational.

Screw her. If she wouldn’t even try to be friendly …

“System’s hot,” she said. “Ready to roll.”

“Roger.” A green light was showing from the island as a safety officer

gave a last thumbs-up. Willis was all professional now as he looked out

the cockpit to where the deck officer was standing ready, and gave a

crisp salute.

The officer returned the salute, touched the deck, and Jefferson’s

catapult hurled Willis and Sunshine into the sky.

1635 hours

Flight deck

U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

Seaman Apprentice David James White had been aboard the Jefferson for

less than six weeks. His entire Navy career thus far had Spanned less

than four months, for he’d reported aboard straight out of boot camp at

NTC Great Lakes, with only a ten-days leave in between to say good-bye

to his mom and to his girlfriend Judy back in his home town of Ridgely,

Ohio.

He wasn’t sure yet whether he liked the Navy. At eighteen, the largest

social group he’d ever been a part of was his high school, and he still

felt utterly lost among the miles of gray-painted passageways, the noisy

horde of strange faces filling a vessel that had been described to him

as being as large as an eighty-story building lying on its side. There

were six thousand people aboard the Jefferson; that was twice the

population of Ridgely, far more than he could possibly expect to meet

and get to know personally if he stayed aboard for a full two years of

sea duty. He wasn’t aware of them so much as a vast crowd as he was

aware of them as strange faces. The only time he saw lots of men all at

once was during a flight deck FOD walk-down, but it seemed as though he

would never get to really know anyone.

Upon reporting aboard, White had been assigned to the deck division.

After three weeks of “P school” orientation, where he’d learned the

basics of flight deck theory and been given a course in first aid, he’d

been given a slot with the blue shirts, the chock and chain men who

secured parked aircraft to keep them from rolling. He’d started making

friends … and his initiation into the Ancient and Sacred Order of the

Blue Noses a few days ago had opened up a whole new world to him. Only

now was he beginning to see himself, not as a stranger in this bizarre

and alien world, but as part of something larger than himself.

It had been a good feeling.

Then had come the battle on Friday, and moments of stark terror. And

after that had come the word that some kid named Pellet had hung

himself. Oh, God, how could things like that happen? What had he

gotten himself into? In hours, it seemed, the good feelings of

belonging and being accepted had evaporated. Most of the guys White

knew had withdrawn into themselves somewhat after hearing about Pellet’s

death. The only antidote the officers seemed to know was work … work

and more work. White had forgotten when he’d slept last. He was

exhausted, and the exhaustion dragged at both brain and body like leaden

weights.

He’d been helping a crew unchock the A-6 Intruders parked forward of the

island. Someone handed him the two massive chocks that had immobilized

one Intruder’s wheels, and someone else had pointed across the deck at

the place where they were supposed to be stowed.

Though P school had provided a kind of basic orientation to the flight

deck, White’s actual training so far had been strictly on the job, with

various petty officers telling him what to do even when he had little

understanding of what he was doing or why. Carrying the chocks, he

trotted across the flight deck, toward the waist catapults across from

the island and aft.

The entire flight deck was one great storm of raw noise and swirling

movement. Men in colored jerseys surged back and forth in some