thirty knots across the deck. Even if he had an aircraft ready to launch,
there was no way they were getting off the deck. Not with that wind.
And where would they go, anyway? The nearest air base was well out of
tactical range, unless the carrier launched tankers to support a divert.
No, he decided, better keep the aircraft on deck.
“Sir. A strange request from Tomcat Two-oh-one,” the operations
specialist said. He pointed toward the air boss’s communication panel.
“Button three, boss.”
The air boss picked up the receiver, acknowledged the call-up, and
listened quietly for a few moments. A slow smile spread across his face.
After a few short comments, he hung up the receiver and turned to his tower
crew. He surveyed them quickly, finally fixing his eyes on Petty Officer
First Class Berkshire. The operations specialist sported an Enlisted
Surface Warfare insignia on his neatly pressed dungaree shirt.
“Berkshire! Get over here,” the air boss said. “Time for you to lay
some of that black shoe magic on me. Here’s what I want to do …”
Thirty minutes later, the enlisted men and women had rigged up a
sound-powered phone circuit between the tower and after-steering, the
auxiliary compartment in the aft end of the ship that housed the rudder
mechanism and alternative steering capabilities.
“With the bridge and Combat out of control, I reckon that makes me
about the senior officer around,” the air boss said. He straightened and
took a deep breath. “But this is a hell of a lot different from flying an
F-14. People, you got any good ideas, I wanna hear them immediately.
Don’t make me look stupid on this.”
Berkshire, now seated in the miniboss’s chair, swallowed nervously.
“Boss, I had to stand some conning officer watches to get my pin, but
that’s been a couple of years.”
The air boss turned and glared at him. “Are you saying you don’t
remember?”
“No, it’s just that … I …”
The technician’s voice trailed off.
Berkshire started to wilt under the air boss’s glare. His hand
reached up involuntarily and touched the ESWS insignia ironed on his shirt.
It did mean something, didn’t it? His mind flashed back to the endless
hours of study, the grueling written exam, and the six-hour oral
examination he had to pass to win his water wings.
Yes, it did, he decided, feeling his confidence return. He’d survived
hours of questioning by the captain, the executive officer, and the senior
enlisted men aboard. They wouldn’t have qualified him if they didn’t
believe in him, didn’t trust him to know his stuff. And now was the time
to prove it.
“Yes, boss, I know what to do,” he said confidently. “The first thing
you want to do is shift the steering to after-steering. We’ve already done
that. Now you’ll want to test your rudder. I’ll relay your orders for you
to after-steering–put ’em in the right language, and make sure we’re not
doing anything, uh-uh-”
“Stupid?” the air boss queried. He nodded sharply. “That’s exactly
what you’re supposed to do, Berkshire. Keep me from doing anything stupid.
And don’t you forget it.”
“Right, then. The first thing you’ll want to do, boss, is order five
degrees right rudder. I’ll pass that on to them, and you watch the
repeater to make sure we change course. Then, we’ll go back the other way.
That way, we know we can maneuver. Make sure the linkages are all set
correctly.”
“Make it so,” the air boss answered, turning to his right so that he
watched the forward part of the ship.
“There’s only one thing that worries me a little, boss,” Berkshire
continued. “Usually, you want to do a visual check on both sides of the
ship to make sure there’s no traffic around you before you turn. We don’t
have a clear look at the right side of the ship, so we’re going to be
working on faith. Not a bad bet in this neck of the ocean, since there’s
not likely to be any traffic around, but it’s something to be aware of.”
“Turn this puppy right five degrees,” the air boss responded. “I’ll
take full responsibility for any mishaps.”