Stephen Coonts - Combat

Harve Rackham and Dana Martin have appeared in two previous novellas, “Pulling Through” from the collection of the same name, and “Vital Signs” which appeared in the science fiction series Destinies .

Wynn Foster, Rick Morgan, George Olmsted, Larry and Janet Pearson, Robert Powell, Dwight Van Horn, Phil Wood, Jack Woodul, Lucy Young, the Skyhawk Association, and Training Squadron Seven.

“Well, now I almost believe it,” exclaimed Michael Ostrewski to his fellow flight instructor from Advanced Training Associates.

“Believe what?” Eric “Psycho” Thaler stood beside him on the flight deck of the former USS Santa Cruz.

Ostrewski pointed about him. “That we’re really going to carqual on this boat. I mean, as long as she was mothballed in Bremerton, she was just an old Forrestal-class carrier. But now that she’s an active ship, here in Long Beach, it looks like we’re in business.”

Thaler, who with “Ozzie” Ostrewski had gone to war aboard one of Santa Cruz ’s sisters, envisioned this flight deck in its glory years: when aircraft carriers were named for battles or historic ships rather than mere politicians. He visualized thirty knots of wind over the deck, steam roiling from the catapults, and dozens of sailors milling in organized chaos as twenty-ton aircraft slammed onto the deck at 130 knots. He asked his colleague, “Did you talk to the navy yard guys yet? I mean, about the old girl’s condition?”

Ostrewski nodded. “Yeah, just a little. One of the engineers was still aboard after the cruise from Bremerton. He says they worked up to twenty-four knots, but they expect to make thirty by the time we start trapping.”

“What about the jobs that weren’t finished there?”

“Well, they concentrated on what we’d need to operate six jets. Besides main plant and electrical, we have two good catapults, the arresting gear, and fuel systems. The condensers aren’t up to speed, so there’ll be limited water, and some of the radars aren’t operational. But the mirror system checks out so the LSOs will be happy.” He flashed two thumbs up.

Thaler looked around the 328-foot-wide deck where American and Chinese military personnel and civilians were busily engaged. “I guess the chinks will have a smaller crew and air wing, huh?”

Ostrewski nodded. “Smaller air wing fershure, dude. They plan on two Flanker squadrons plus a couple of helo outfits for starters. I don’t know how many bodies that means, but a lot less than one of our wings. Probably about two thousand for ship’s company, to start.”

“Oz, I don’t really understand something. This isn’t a commissioned naval vessel yet, and far as I know the Chinese haven’t paid for it in full. Who’s actually responsible for this bird farm? I mean, do they have two captains or what?”

“Yeah, they do. Admiral Rhode at NavAir says the official skipper is Captain Albright, who’s about to retire. He has a Chinese opposite number with an exec and department heads on down the line, and most of them have American supervisors. But a lot of the crew is civilian contract labor because there aren’t enough white hats available after all that ‘right sizing.’”

“They still going to send some talent out from Pensacola?”

Ostrewski nodded. “Yeah, I guess Rocky Rhode and others are nervous about of a bunch of civilians driving a carrier up and down the California coast, and retired guys like us landing on her. We’re getting an instructor from the LSO school and a couple of TraCom instructors to monitor our procedures.”

“Well, I’m glad to see the Chinese are running their part of it.” Thaler waved a hand toward the carrier’s island, where a gutted Flanker airframe was secured to the deck by tie-down chains. Even with its outer-wing panels folded, the sixty-eight-foot-long fighter, with its twin tails reaching eighteen feet high, took up a lot of space. The ATA instructors watched “Flight Deck 101” in progress as Chinese sailors rehearsed aircraft handling and servicing in the unaccustomed carrier environment.

“Think they’ll get the hang of it?” Thaler asked.

“Yeah. This first class is a mix of navy and air force. The sailors handle the basic chores and the blue-suiters do the aircraft maintenance. They already knew the Flanker systems.”

Psycho Thaler was skeptical. “Man, they’re sure jumping in with both feet. I’d hate to have to learn everything they need to in a few weeks.”

Ostrewski pointed to the sailor doing most of the talking. “See the petty officer who’s lecturing? Mr. Wei, our Chinese liaison, told Terry Peters that this bunch started training ashore back in China. They knew all the moves before they got here: the yellow gear, the deck cycle, all that stuff. They even had full-size flight deck and hangar deck mock-ups to practice moving airplanes.” He shook his head in appreciation. “Makes sense when you think about it.”

Deep in thought, Ostrewski toed a tie-down on the nonskid deck surface. “What is it?” Thaler asked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Ozzie looked up again at the bustle around him. “I can’t quite get used to the idea of us selling the Commies an operational carrier, then teaching them how to use it.” He grinned self-consciously. “Even if our company has the contract.”

Thaler nudged his colleague. “Careful — if Terry Peters hears you, it’s bad enough. If Jane hears you …” He allowed himself a grin. “Besides, like we always said in the navy — it’s way above our pay grade. Congress and the administration signed off on it three years ago, so just be thankful that we got the job.” Psycho grinned at his former Langley shipmate. “Besides, how’d you like to watch some other civilian contractor get a sweetheart deal like this?”

Thaler noticed a stocky Caucasian detach himself from the Chinese. “Hey, there’s Igor Gnido. He’s the lead pilot with the Sukhoi transition team.”

The Russian waved at the Americans, and Thaler greeted him. “Hey, Igor.” Ozzie was less effusive; he merely nodded. The Only Polish-American Tomcat Ace respected Gnido’s reputation as an aviator but could not bring himself to like the former Soviet combat pilot.

“Good morning to you,” Gnido ventured with a smile that Thaler took as genuine. The Flanker pilot waved a hand toward the Chinese sailors. “They getting good start on flight deck pro-cee-dures.”

“We were just discussing that,” Thaler replied. He watched as a group of “grapes”—sailors in purple jerseys — moved a fuel hose toward the Sukhoi’s port wing. “Did the factory specially build this airplane to accept American hose fittings? I mean, like they built the nose gear to fit the catapult shuttle?”

Gnido leaned close, trying to ensure that he understood the question. Thaler made a circle with his left thumb and forefinger and a probe of his first two right fingers. The Russian nodded. “Ah, da, da .” He nodded decisively. “Nose gear yes. Fuel fittings, not exactly.” He shook his head. “All Soviet aircraft were being designed to take your hoses, you know?” He hid any edginess in mentioning a NATO — Warsaw Pact conflict. “Plan was, take European airfields and use equipment already there, you know?”

Ostrewski, whose Polish roots ran deep, absorbed that knowledge and worked his professionalism around the ethical thorns. “Well, I guess that makes sense, if you’re going to invade the next country.”

Thaler felt moved to intervene. “Does that cause any problems with maintenance, Igor? I mean, having both English and metric systems in the same airplane.”