“Can’t help what isn’t here. Maybe the avionics took a hit from the cat
shot.”
“Or maybe it’s ghosts. The way conditions are out here, all that warm,
unstable air, it could be something else. A reflection off a contact miles
away, multipathing through the atmosphere, an air burble, anything.”
“Wouldn’t be unheard of in the South China Sea. Well, whatever it was,
it’s not here now. I guess the Aegis guys were right–if they don’t see it,
it’s not here.”
“Shit,” Bouncer said, disgusted. “Better let the carrier know before
they get all spun up about nothing.”
1426 local (Zulu -7)
Flight Deck
USS Jefferson
Alvarez felt as much as heard the jet wash from the F-14 dissipate. One
moment he was leaning into the blast to stay upright. As it disappeared
abruptly, he fell to his right, the heavy tie-down chains unbalancing him. He
hit the deck hard and felt the nonskid scrape the skin off the back of his
hand. One chain bounced off the deck and landed across his legs, curling
between his ankles. He swore and struggled to his knees, wrapping the
tie-down chain even more tightly around his ankles. He reached back to loosen
the knot and looked forward toward the catapults for the first time.
“Jesus, Bird Dog!” Gator shouted. “Wrong end!”
The Tomcat was now nearly halfway through its 180-degree turn. Bird Dog
was staring at the side of the carrier, trying to increase the rate of turn
through sheer willpower. Two E-2C’s were parked directly in front of him. It
looked like his wingtip Would just barely clear them. For a second, he
wondered if he could fold his wings, decreasing the amount of room the massive
aircraft took up. No, it wouldn’t be necessary, he decided, estimating that
his wing would clear the E-2C’s by at least three feet. He shifted his gaze
down to the end of the flight deck, focusing on the arresting gear, and caught
his first glimpse–and last–of Airman Alvarez.
The F-14 that had been headed for the catapult was now staring straight
at him. Alvarez felt the wind scream by his head, first tugging, then jerking
him off his knees. He screamed and grabbed for a pad-eye inset on the deck,
desperate for something to hold on to to stop his roll toward the catapults
and the F-14. His fingers slid into the pad-eye loop and caught. The tendons
in his wrist and the muscles in his arm flashed into instant agony. The F-14,
now only ten feet away, was generating typhoon-strength winds, the hungry jets
sucking up everything in their path. Alvarez screamed again as the bones in
his first three fingers snapped, and he began rolling back down the nonskid
toward the jet engine intakes.
Bird Dog jerked the throttle back, killing the twin jet engines. He felt
them immediately start to spool down. But for the airman on the deck, it
wasn’t soon enough.
Alvarez’s body lost contact with the ground when the jet was five feet
away. His head hit the edge of the nacelle and was crushed just seconds
before the screaming turbines inside pulverized his body.
The Yellow Shirt who’d been directing Bird Dog onto the catapult was
behind the Tomcat, flat on the deck to avoid the jet wash from the engines.
He caught a glimpse of the airman on the deck in front of the aircraft and had
just enough time to scream a warning out on the flight deck circuit before a
hot red wash of liquid and flesh spat out of the back of the engine nacelle.
The spooling-down whine of the engine changed to a gritty clatter.
CHAPTER 12
Saturday, 29 June
1430 local (Zulu -7)
Niblet 601
The Sikorsky SH-60F Ocean Hawk helicopter hovered forty feet above the
ocean. From beneath its belly, it lowered a large reflective metal ball
toward the surface, the wet end of its Allied Signals (Bendix Oceanics)
AQS-13F dipping sonar. A wire cable connected the ball to the avionics
equipment in the helo, making it appear as though it were tethered to the
ocean. Its auto-hover capabilities enhanced the illusion by making it an
exceptionally stable hovering platform, even with two Mark 46 acoustic homing