airman put both hands on her hips and leaned forward, standing close and
screaming in the senior petty officer’s ear to be heard over the noise. The
Yellow Shirt shrugged, then nodded. Bird dog saw his lips move as he spoke
with someone on the flight deck circuit. Finally, he looked back up at Bird
Dog and shook his head from side to side.
Enraged, Bird Dog began demanding answers. “Your aircraft is down,” the
Handler replied. “You might have a control surface problem–we want to get it
checked out. You need to move back off the cat.”
“Damn it, this aircraft is fine!” Bird Dog yelled. “It feels fine!
Don’t you think I’d know if I had a control surface problem? Look!” He
cycled the stick again.
“Off the cat, mister,” the Air Boss snapped. “You want to argue, you
come up here and see me!”
Bird Dog swore and backed the Tomcat off the catapult. He taxied back to
the spot and shut down. He jammed the canopy back and vaulted out of the
aircraft, ignoring the steps and welcoming the hard shock of hitting the deck.
“What the hell are you doing!” he swore at the plane captain. “This your
idea of revenge? You just bought your ass another trip to Captain’s Mast!”
Airman Shaughnessy ignored him. From the handler’s shack, Chief Franklin
came over at a trot and interposed himself between the pilot and the plane
captain. Bird Dog tried to get around him, but the chief grabbed Bird Dog’s
shoulder and slammed him up against a buffer, shouting, “Hold still, you
arrogant son of a bitch!”
Bird Dog watched Shaughnessy pop one panel open, then another. She
hauled herself up to the fuselage, and the upper portion of her torso
disappeared into the airframe, leaving only her legs sticking out. For the
briefest second, Bird Dog remembered how Alvarez had looked as he disappeared
into the sucking maw of the jet engine. He shuddered, part of his anger
dissipated by the horrendous memory.
Gator stood by the half-visible airman, talking to her as she rummaged
around in the guts of the hydraulics system, electrical lines, and avionics
that controlled the Tomcat. Finally, even over the shriek of the flight deck
noise, Bird Dog heard her exclaim, “Got it!” Her butt wiggled as she backed
herself out of the airframe. Gator caught her waist and helped her lower
herself gently down to the deck.
Her eyes shining with triumph, Shaughnessy held up her prize. Clutched
in her left hand was a wrench. “It was jammed up next to the actuator,
Chief!” she said excitedly. “When I saw 205 cycling on the cat, something
looked funny to me. You know how it is, you get familiar with how your birds
look. Just as the surface dropped, I thought I saw a little hitch. Kind of a
bobble, just like a second or two when it wasn’t traveling smoothly.”
The chief nodded. “Couldn’t have caught it in your preflight, though.
And if that bird had launched with it, there’s a damned good chance those
control surfaces wouldn’t have responded when the lieutenant tried to level
out after his climb. He would have been stuck at full flaps–rolled over on
his back, and come right back down onto the flight deck!”
And, sir,” he added, meeting Bird Dog’s eyes with open challenge on his
face, “you probably wouldn’t have gotten out.”
Bird Dog turned pale as the full implication of Shaughnessy’s find sunk
in. “I didn’t know,” he said finally.
Gator put one hand on the airman’s shoulder. “That was damned fine work,
and one of the sharpest problem catches I’ve ever seen. Thanks. You made a
big difference today.”
Shaughnessy nodded, her eyes suddenly bright. “It’s my bird most of the
time, sir,” she said to the RIO, carefully avoiding looking at the pilot.
“It’s only yours when it’s in the air.”
“True enough. Would you please preflight this turkey again so we can get
back onto the cat?” Gator asked.
“Sure thing, sir. It’s your bird in five minutes.” She darted off to
get another MAF.
“And you,” Gator said, turning to Bird Dog, “really screwed the pooch