machine down after you popped one of his blades.”
“Army? Shit, what’s the Army doing over here?”
“Damfino. I thought the Canal was just carrying Marines this time. We
don’t have the full story yet, but Ops is working on the theory that we
weren’t given all of the IFF computer recognition codes. .. which would
explain why they registered as a hostile.”
“God.”
Someone rapped on the door, then stuck his head in. It was Lieutenant
Randolph Wojiewski, one of the assistant LSOS. He held a clipboard in
one hand. “Commander Wayne?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, got your scores, sir. Two bolters. Mr. Lassiter says it happens
to the best of us.”
“Right.”
“On your landing pass, you were still a little high, a little tight. You
were showing a tendency to over-correct when the LSO fed you the word.”
Wojiewski continued ticking off the flaws in Batman’s trap. This was a
routine that followed every landing aboard a carrier, and the results
were posted on the big greenie board outside each squadron’s ready room.
It was a way of showing each aviator where he stood with all the others,
and giving him instant feedback that would let him improve his
technique.
“All in all, not too bad, though,” Wojiewski concluded. “Mr. Lassiter’s
giving you a ‘fair.’ Okay?”
Batman scowled, and for a moment Coyote thought he was going to lash out
at the ALSO. In the highly competitive world of carrier aviation, each
landing could receive one of four possible grades. Best of all was
“okay,” and a green square on the greenie board. Next was “fair,” with a
yellow square. “No grade” and no color on the board meant the trap had
been dangerous to people or to aircraft on the deck. Lowest of all was a
red square with the letter “C” marked in, for “cut.” That grade was
reserved for a landing so dangerous it could easily have ended in
disaster.
Batman, Coyote knew, carried a fierce pride in his abilities as an
aviator. It would take a while to wash that yellow from the record book
he kept inside his skull.
“So, what happened?” Coyote pressed him, after Wojiewski had left the
compartment. “What’s your side of the story?”
“Mason happened. Shit, Coyote, I don’t know what went down out there.
The kid IDED the bogey as a Hind. I got weapons clear and went Fox two.
Next thing I know, I’m hearing about a downed American helo over the
radio and I’m being ordered back to the bird farm.” He managed a wry,
drawn grin. “And two bolters to get me down.”
“We all have our day inside the barrel,” Coyote said, using the
expression that referred to an aviator who made pass after pass on the
deck but couldn’t connect with the arresting wire. .. each failure
making the next failure that much more likely. “But this own goal you
scored, that’s serious, even if the crew’s okay. Stoney’s about to go
ballistic. He was over on the Shiloh when word came through, conferring
with Admiral Tarrant. He was not pleased, let me tell you!”
Batman didn’t reply right away but continued changing to his uniform.
“How did you handle it, Will?” he asked after a long moment. “Being
skipper of the squadron, I mean. How did you know when to get tough and
when to go easy?”
Coyote raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if you should cover for
Mason and Garrity?”
“I didn’t say that,” Batman said.
“You want to tell me what happened up there? I mean exactly.”
Batman shrugged. “Dixie was eyeball, I was shooter. He led the way in by
three miles or so. Watch Dog wasn’t picking up IFF on the target.
Neither did we, when we got close. Then Cat reported that they were
being painted by a Zoo, and I guess she was busy turning knobs about
then, because she didn’t see the target. Dixie reported a Hind.
“About that time, Malibu picked up something about the UN flight being
under attack. Since the bogey was trailing UN Two-seven, I assumed, I
mean, it looked like the bogey was after the UN bird, right? Anyway, I