“Holy shit!” Gator screamed over the ICS. “Shit, Bird Dog, get this baby
turned around! Helluva explosion back there!”
“Tell me about it!” Bird Dog said, fighting a blast of turbulence that
shook the aircraft from behind. “Whatever it was, it shook the hell out of
the atmosphere!”
Bird Dog thumbed the switch over to the tactical frequency reserved for
aircraft to combat direction center communications. “Homeplate, Viper 205.
You see that?”
“Roger, Viper 205. Say state?” the Operations Specialist, or OS, on
board USS Jefferson responded. The OS had been monitoring Bird Dog’s mission
continually on the radar on board the carrier.
Reflexively, Bird Dog reeled off his fuel status and then said, “What the
hell was it?”
“We don’t know. Tanker airborne in ten mikes for Viper flight. TAO
requests you swing back over those islands and take a look.”
Bird Dog threw the Tomcat into a tight left turn and said, “Roger, on my
way. I’m gonna need gas in about thirty mikes, sooner if I have to go
buster.”
“On its way now, Tomcat 205.”
What the hell was it? And where did it come from? If it’d been aimed at
us, would we have seen it? Of course we would.
Lost down in the sea clutter, it can’t touch us. It’d have to gain
altitude to reach a Tomcat, and we’d have plenty of time to react. Ain’t
nothing can reach out and touch a Tomcat, nothing!
But if they were so damned invulnerable, why the hell was his stomach
clutched in a knot and his heart beating faster than the thrum of the Tomcat?
And why the hell did he have to pee so bad?
Three minutes later, Bird Dog slowed to three hundred knots, after Gator
assured him that there was no hostile activity in the area. His RIO’s voice
had lost all traces of his earlier good mood and was now flatly cool and
professional. Bird Dog knew Gator’s face would be glued to the soft plastic
hood surrounding the radar screen, his hands moving nimbly by rote over the
different shaped knobs and dials that controlled the display. His own
heartbeat had slowed to almost normal, and he felt the easy invulnerability
he’d always felt flying.
The air caught the aircraft and buffeted it slightly as the Tomcat’s
wings automatically swept forward into the low-speed configuration. The
additional wing area increased lift and enabled the Tomcat to stay aloft at
slower speeds.
“See anything, Bird Dog?” Gator asked. His RIO’s head would stay buried
in the scope until they were certain there were no other contacts around.
“Not me. How about you, Spider?”
“Just the Mischief Reef tree house. Nothing else. That’s the problem.
Five minutes ago, there was another rock out here, one with a T-54 and
Stingers. Damned tough to see anything at this speed, but I know it was
there.” Even at three hundred knots, the surface of the ocean flashed by too
quickly for close observation.
“This is a job for a Viking or a helo,” Bird Dog agreed. “Let’s see what
Mother can scare up for us. Homeplate,” he continued, switching from ICS to
the tactical circuit, “Viper 205. We need a slow-mover out here. Suggest we
tank, and then provide cover for supporting units.”
“Roger, understand. Wait one.” The OS monitoring the two Viper aircraft
fell silent, and the hiss of static filled the circuit. A few moments later,
the distinctive two-tone warble of a secure circuit being activated cut
through the static.
“Viper 205, you’re cleared to tank. Vikings are airborne in fifteen
mikes, along with SAR.”
“SAR? What for?”
A new voice cut in on the circuit. “Viper flight, TAO. The only thing
that could have blown up out there are those rocks. Just in case anyone made
it out, SAR will cover.”
Well, great. What the Tactical Action Officer really meant, Bird Dog
knew, was that since no one had any idea of what had hit the rocks or where
it’d come from, no one could tell him whether there was another one on the
way.
So just to be on the safe side, they’re launching SAR. Just in case they
have to pull my happy little ass out of the drink. Like I don’t know that,