deep concern and outrage carefully pasted on his inscrutable features. Of all
the charges, both false and true, that could be made against the Americans,
that one fact was irrefutable.
Somehow he thought most of the other nations might see it the same way.
1600 local (Zulu -7)
Pri-Fly
USS Jefferson
“Ugly fuckers, aren’t they?” the Air Boss said to his assistant, the Mini
Boss. The two were seated in their large elevated chairs in Pri-Fly on the
0-10 level, directing the careful symphony of actions it took to get any
aircraft on board the carrier. Tensions–and interest–were running high, and
the tower was crowded with looky-loos wanting to get a first glimpse of the
two modified F-14 JAST aircraft.
“Bigot,” replied the Mini Boss mildly. The Air Boss was an F/A-18
driver, and his ribbing almost automatic. “If you flew a real fighter like
the Tomcat, you’d have some basis for comparison. Nothing about your Hornets
that would make any man’s heart beat faster.”
“Ask the MiG pilots about that,” the Air Boss drawled. “Seems to me I
remember bailing out a couple of Tomcats not long ago.”
The Mini Boss studied the aircraft taxiing away from the wire seven decks
below him. The first JAST F-14 had taken one touch and go, and then
gracefully slammed to a stop on the first approach, catching the three-wire
handily. There’d been a moment of concern when the second JAST bird had
boltered its first pass, touching too far down the flight deck to snag a wire.
Still, the pilot had snagged the two-wire on his second pass. Not too
shabby–there wasn’t a pilot in the air wing that hadn’t boltered from time to
time. Even the eminent Carrier Group Commander, Rear Admiral Tombstone
Magruder, had had his share of bad passes.
At first glance, the JAST aircraft looked like any other F-14. A closer
look revealed small but significant differences. First, the radar dome. It
was larger, extended further under the belly of the aircraft. The Mini Boss
squinted and then picked up his binoculars. He followed the aircraft down the
flight deck toward the catapults. “Different antennas, it looks like. And
the pitot tubes look funny–longer, a little skinnier maybe. And the skin.
She looks like she’s rippled, almost.”
“Supposed to be low observability. I read that those shallow-angle
variations reflect radar off in funny directions. Composites just under the
skin absorb some of the radar energy, too. But most of the differences are in
the black boxes. If JAST can do even half of what the contractor claims, it’s
a good deal,” the Air Boss said.
“If it can! They claim the avionics are practically sailorproof.
Maintenance ought to be happy about that.”
“Nothing’s ever been built that a sailor can’t screw with,” the Air Boss
replied. “Besides, I’m pretty happy with the Hornet as it is.”
“It’ll be a great fighter–as soon as they come up with an AVGAS hose
long enough to keep it permanently plugged into a tanker.” The Mini Boss
smirked. The Hornet had a much smaller fuel capacity than the Tomcat. While
the reduced weight gave the Hornet added maneuverability, the constant whining
of Hornet pilots for tankers was a standing joke that the Tomcat drivers
invariably found hysterically funny. The Hornet aviators weren’t as amused.
“We’ll have our chance to check these babies out pretty carefully. If
they can solve this mystery about the cruise missiles, that’ll be enough. My
stereo likes staying dry, and I don’t want to think about what a new cruise
missile can do to our happy little home here.”
“You’re not feeling safe and secure with Aegis nearby?” the Air Boss said
casually.
The Mini Boss shot him a sharp glance. They hadn’t discussed it, but
every senior officer on the ship knew that Rear Admiral Magruder was less than
happy with the Aegis cruiser. Rumor had it that the CO had received a serious
ass-chewing on his last visit to the carrier. Even the mess decks were abuzz
with gossip concerning the disappearance of ice cream from the flag mess.
“If Aegis doesn’t see it, it isn’t there,” the Mini Boss said finally.
“Isn’t that what they claim?”