Flash Point (34 page)

“I’m not really sure,” Woods replied, removing his oxygen mask and breathing deeply. They reached the end of the runway and taxied to the right, as instructed. He pulled his oxygen mask over his mouth again to talk. “The Major said to taxi off to the right, and everything would be obvious. The only thing that’s obvious to me is how conspicuous we are here. One guy with a camera on this base and we’re
dead
.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Wink said, the implications chilling him. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”

“I don’t
know
,” Woods said, exasperated. “Wait, here comes a truck.”

A camouflage truck raced toward the taxiing Tomcats and stopped in front of them. It changed directions with a quick turn, and headed back down the taxiway in the direction they had been traveling.

“Guess we’re supposed to follow him,” Woods said, watching the driver motion him with his arm, like a cowboy in the front of a posse.

“Where are we going?”

“I think we’re about to find out.”

Woods eyed his clock and drew in a short breath. The next launch from the
Washington
was in ten minutes. They were supposed to be overhead in the pattern now, preparing to recover at the earliest possible moment after the last airplane of the next launch was airborne. We’ll never make it, Woods thought, feeling a sense of panic. He looked around for the ground personnel the Major had said would be waiting for them. He didn’t see anyone. There were F-15s, F-16s, and F-4s everywhere getting refueled and rearmed. The camouflage truck continued past the main section of the airfield, nearly to the end of the taxiway, right by the end of the runway where they had just touched down. Then Woods saw them. A man was waving at them from a spot off the taxiway in front of the hangars. Woods stepped on the left rudder to steer the Tomcat to the left with nosewheel steering and they followed the truck into a small cul-de-sac behind the last hangar. There were several men in white uniforms with large orange Vs on their chests waiting for them with two trailers next to them. Big followed as they taxied faster than was safe, but necessary under the circumstances.

Woods spun the Tomcat around and pointed parallel to the runway. A soldier walked in front of the plane and raised his hands. Woods stopped hard, and put on the parking brake. The soldier looked over the Tomcat and gave him a thumbs-up. There were eight other men standing by one of the trailers. They stood at parade rest with sound protectors over their ears. The soldier nodded to them. They ran to the Tomcat, examined the missile rails and wing pylons, then backed away to the truck. The leader of the eight nodded to the soldier in front of the Tomcat. He put his arms up as if signaling a touchdown. Woods and Wink put their arms on the air conditioning rails so their hands could be clearly seen. The eight men turned up the canvas flaps on the trailer. Missiles were stacked on racks on both sides, Sidewinders and Sparrows.

Woods would have smiled if he had been able. As it was, he was so concerned about their time and being found out, nothing was even remotely amusing, appealing, or satisfying. Every second made them later and more anxious. Wink watched the men line up underneath a Sparrow and lift it easily off the rack. They moved toward the Tomcat, sitting there with both its engines turning. “I sure hope these guys know what they’re doing,” Wink commented as the one in front moved closer to the jet intake. “I’d hate to suck one of them down the intake. You have any idea how hard it would be to explain
that
?”

“If that happens, I’m just going to shut it down, walk west until I hit the Med, and keep walking,” Woods replied, trying not to think of how many things could still go wrong.

Wink, on the other hand, was reflecting for a long time on each little thing that could go wrong, rolling each around in his mind, like a new candy, wondering what was inside, dwelling on each potential catastrophe with a detachment that he found refreshing.

Wink took off his oxygen mask again and breathed deeply of the Israeli air. He wiped the sweat from his face, and took off his helmet. His skull cap fell into his lap as he scratched his head. He put the skull cap and yellow helmet with white skull and bones on it back on, and reconnected his oxygen mask. He watched as the Israeli ordnancemen loaded new missiles on the rails. “You sure these are the same missiles we carry?”

“Yep. AIM-9M Sidewinders, and AIM-7M Sparrows. Same exactly.”

“No difference?”

“I sure hope not. If there are, as long as they can load them on, the Gunner can take care of anything else.”

“I hope we don’t have scorch marks all over from the rocket motors.”

Woods suddenly sat up. “I didn’t even think of that,” he said, looking around. He glanced quickly at Big’s plane sitting fifty feet to their right, and studied it for marks. He could see black carbon where the Sidewinder had fired off the rail. “It’s noticeable, but looks mostly like dirt. I don’t think anyone will notice. The Sparrow didn’t leave any marks. They don’t fire until they eject clear.”

“Let’s go; they’re done,” Wink said hurriedly, noticing the gesturing of the soldier in front of the plane.

Woods lowered his hands and released the parking brake. Big’s crew finished right behind Woods’s.

“Let’s go,” Woods said. He looked at the Israeli ordnancemen, who were smiling. The leader saluted him and Woods returned the honor with a snappy salute of his own. He added throttle and taxied quickly away from the truck. He turned toward the runway to take off and head back to the
Washington
.

They turned left onto the taxiway next to the runway. Israeli fighters were still landing, nearly one every minute. Woods looked around anxiously. They didn’t have time to hang around. No time at all. They had to get back to the ship. They had to go
now
.

Wink broke into his thoughts. “You know how hard it’s going to be to explain why we couldn’t get back to the ship on time when we were supposed to be thirty miles away?”

“We’ll make it,” Woods replied.

“You know that the next launch begins in
five
minutes and we’re in the middle of Israel?”

“And we’re supposed to be the first down,” Woods said as the Tomcat bounced down the taxiway toward the end of the runway, receiving stares from ground crew and pilots alike. “We should be in the overhead pattern right now, circling at two thousand feet, looking cool with our wings back and our tailhooks down.”

“We’re not even off the ground, and we don’t have enough gas to go back very fast. You realize that?”

“We’ll land with a little less gas than usual, Wink.”

“A
little
? We’re
already
below what we usually
land
with,” he said, watching the fuel gauge with horror. “We’ll be lucky to get on the deck before we flame out.”

“I know.”

“You know how hard it’s going to be to explain why we needed to tank before we land, when we’re coming back from a simple air intercept hop?”

“We’ll be okay.”

Woods stopped at the line separating the taxiway from the runway. Big taxied up next to him and stopped. Wink looked at Sedge and gave him the signal to report his fuel state — 4.5. Four thousand five hundred pounds. The amount they should be landing with. Five hundred more pounds than Wink and Woods. “This is gonna be colorful,” Wink muttered.

A section of F-16s landed directly in front of them. Woods looked at the control tower, dying inside. He saw the green light the controller was shining at him and looked quickly left to see if anyone else was landing. Clear. He taxied to the left side and turned to point down the runway, ready to take off. Big taxied to the right side, just behind Woods. Woods turned two fingers quickly next to his ear, and the Tomcats ran up their engines to full military power. They didn’t need afterburner — they were light. They couldn’t afford the gas anyway, no matter how much they’d like to impress the Israelis, which was a lot. Woods didn’t even hesitate. He did a cursory check of his instruments, skipped his usual check of the flight controls, dropped his hand to point forward like signaling a first down, and released his brakes. Big released his as soon as Woods’s jet moved. They rolled down the runway together and lifted off in a formation takeoff after nine hundred feet. They raised their gear and flaps together and turned toward the Med, leveling off at five hundred feet.

Woods looked at his clock — 0845. The second launch of the day was starting. The first plane of the second event on the
Washington
was being shot down the catapult right now. The Air Boss was no doubt leaning over by his window looking up, wondering where the Jolly Roger Tomcats were. All the other planes from the first launch were either in the overhead pattern, or making their way there. Soon, people would notice their absence. He advanced the throttles to full military power and headed straight west.

“What heading?”

“Don’t know,” Wink replied. “We’re too low to pick up the TACAN,” he said watching the needle spin aimlessly on the compass dial. “The only thing I can say is where the boat was when we left. Could be off by twenty miles or more.”

“Use it if it’s all we’ve got,” Woods said.

“Head 265,” Wink said. “We really should head northeast of the ship, so we’re at least coming back in from the right direction when we check in.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Woods said.

Wink watched the airspeed indicator climb through four hundred fifty knots. “We can’t burn gas like this, Trey! We’ll flame out!”

“You got any other ideas? You want to come strolling in after the recovery and answer a lot of questions about where we’ve been?”

“No. We’ll never make it! I sure as hell don’t want to go swimming! You know how much gas we burn at five hundred knots on the deck!”

“We’ll make it. I’m sure.”

Wink didn’t answer. He knew it was useless. Their speed climbed through five hundred fifty knots. They flashed over the coast highway and the beach, and were quickly over the water, where they were most comfortable.

As soon as he thought it appropriate, Wink called the carrier on the radio, about fifty miles out. “
Gulf November, this is Bright Sword 211, flight of two, 020 for 20 inbound
.”

“Roger, 211, don’t have you, continue inbound, report see me.”

“
Wilco
,” he replied.

“Why don’t you climb to two thousand feet. It’ll put us at our orbit altitude and we can pick up the TACAN sooner.”

Woods pulled back on the stick and the Tomcat climbed quickly to two thousand feet as their airspeed passed through six hundred knots. They flew west, minute after minute, the TACAN needle spinning, heading generally in the direction of the ship. Wink turned his radar on and scanned the sea for the big target and the airplanes above it. But there were a lot of big targets: tankers, cargo ships, and other military ships.

As if on cue, the needle of the TACAN settled and fixed on the carrier, and pointed steadily five degrees to the left. The DME — Distance Measuring Equipment — which showed how far they were from the ship, began to spin, then settled on thirty-three miles. Woods turned left to put the needle directly on the nose, and checked his clock — 0850. The launch was probably half over. The Air Boss had to be wondering where they were by now. If they were much later than
now
, questions would be asked. The officer from VF-103 who had the Pri-Fly watch, standing right behind the Boss in case there were any F-14 emergencies or questions, would be asked some very hard questions about the performance of his squadron mates, which the Boss would order him to pass on to the Commanding Officer of the Jolly Rogers. All very awkward.

“
211, see you
,” Wink transmitted.

“Roger, 211, still don’t have you, switch frequencies.”

“You see the ship?” Woods asked, amazed.

“No, I just didn’t want Strike to be looking for us too hard.”

“I think I see it,” Woods said. “I’m showing fifteen miles, that should be just a couple more minutes,” he said, looking down at his clock. He glanced over at Big, who was flying tight formation on him.

Wink turned on his IFF so the ship would see them. The tower frequency was silent, as it usually was on day recoveries. He looked for other airplanes, but didn’t see any yet.

“I’ve got the ship,” Wink said. “Just to the right. Looks to be heading 300 or so.”

Woods came right, and headed for the carrier, five miles ahead.

“
211, see you
,” Wink transmitted.

“What are you doing?” Woods yelled at Wink.

“Calling Boss, say again?”

Wink knew he had screwed up. “Sorry, Trey. I blew it.” He realized he had called the ship on the Air Boss’s frequency, something you didn’t do. He had lost track. He sat silently hoping the Air Boss would let it pass.

The radio was silent as Woods and Big screamed toward the USS
George Washington
in tight formation. Woods reduced throttle to slow down from six hundred knots to three hundred fifty. They came up the side of the ship and looked at the deck. The last plane for the second event, an S-3 Viking antisubmarine plane taxied onto the bow catapult. The landing area was clear.

Woods glanced at Big, brought his right hand to his mouth like an Italian chef, and kissed him off. He threw the stick hard left and broke in front of the carrier. He pulled hard, five Gs, and took the Tomcat downwind. As they leveled their wings Woods lowered the landing gear and flaps, and went through the landing checklist with Wink.

Wink looked left and saw the S-3 shoot off the bow of the ship, and men scrambling to clear the flight deck for their approach. The white-shirted LSOs were in place, ready to wave them off if their approach was dangerous, or “advise” them if their approach needed correction.

As they flew past the LSO platform a mile away heading the opposite direction from the ship, Woods began a left turn that he would hold until directly behind the ship in the groove. He had done it so many times it was a habit.

Big was right behind them with a perfect interval. Woods rolled his wings level three quarters of a mile behind the ship, lined up with the centerline of the angled deck. The ball, the lens that showed where they were on the glide path, was centered. Woods checked his airspeed, lineup, and angle of attack, and descended steadily toward the flight deck. He made small corrections to stay on the glide path — big corrections would lead to bigger ones later. They landed just behind the three-wire. The hook grabbed the wire, pulled it up off the deck, and held the Tomcat as Woods went to military power. The plane tried its hardest to get airborne again, but the steel cable held it back and finally stopped it fifty feet short of the end of the angled deck.