end of the carrier, and the quiet, soothing voice of the LSO in his ear.
“A little more altitude, altitude, coming on in, you’ve got it,” the
LSO said, chanting his familiar refrain of orders and encouragement.
Even without the LSO’s comments, Bird Dog knew he had it nailed. He
felt the Tomcat grab for the deck, heard the squeal of rubber meeting
nonskid, and had just a moment to wonder at how gentle first contact had
been when the tailhook caught the arresting wire.
“Three-wire,” Gator crowed from the backseat. “Knew you could do it!”
Bird Dog slammed the throttle forward to full military power, a normal
precaution against the tailhook bouncing free from the wire. Only after
the arresting wire had brought him to full stop, and he received a signal
from the plane captain, did he throttle back, carefully backing out of the
arresting wire, raising his tailhook, and taxiing forward. He followed the
directions of the Yellow Shirt and brought the jet to a stop near the waist
catapult.
“Stay in your aircraft, Two-oh-one,” he heard the air boss order.
He swiveled around to look back at Gator. “What the hell?”
“We’re bringing in a helo, casualties on board,” the air boss
continued, ignoring the comment Bird Dog had inadvertently transmitted over
the flight deck circuit. “You did a good job up there–sit tight for a few
minutes and let us get the injured out of the way, then you can exit the
aircraft.”
Bird Dog twisted further away and saw a helicopter on final approach
to the carrier. It was heading for spot three, midway down the long deck
in the spot closest to the island. He sighed, turned back to face forward,
and slumped in his seat. The events of the last several hours were finally
catching up with him. He shut his eyes and relived it for a moment, seeing
again the landscape disappearing in a white, furious cloud, feeling again
the uncanny sense of certainty and direction he’d gotten just off of the
IP. It was magic when it all worked out, no doubt about it, though how
he’d ever pulled it off, he’d never know.
“Bird Dog, I-” Gator cleared his throat. “What I said earlier, about
trading you in for another pilot. I didn’t mean it, you know.”
Bird Dog hid his grin. Let Gator be the one twisting on the spit for
once. No point in making it easy for him. “I don’t know, Gator,” he said
doubtfully. “it sounded to me like you meant it. Maybe I ought to think
about finding a new RIO, one who’s got some confidence in my airmanship.”
“Anybody who can make the attack you made today, well, I’ll fly with
you anytime, Bird Dog. I mean it.”
Bird Dog turned around in his seat again and eyed his RIO straight on.
Gator had already unsnapped his mask and shoved his helmet back on his
head. A few curls of dark brown hair escaped from the front of it. His
face was shiny with sweat and probably felt as grimy as Bird Dog’s did.
Bird Dog performed a contortion, managing to reach a hand into the
backseat. “We’re a team, Gator. And you ever try to bail on me again, I’m
going to punch you out by yourself over hostile territory.”
1155 Local
Seahawk 601
“I won’t do it.” The pilot stared straight ahead, hands and feet
moving reflexively to keep the helicopter in level flight. “I’m not gonna
be the first pilot in naval aviation history to land terrorists on board a
carrier.”
Rogov took his own weapon and placed the muzzle against the pilot’s
temple. “Are you that eager to die?” he demanded.
The pilot was pale and sweating, and the helicopter started to bob
erratically.
“Easy, Jim,” the copilot said, putting his hands and feet on the
controls and taking over. “Just do what the man says.”
The pilot shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice gaining strength.
“I won’t. And you shouldn’t, either.” The muzzle at the right side of his
head prevented him from looking at the copilot.
Crack! The single shot from the 9mm was clearly audible over the