Kevin Miller - Raven One

So this is my night in the barrel , he thought, a sea story he could tell at the O-Club just like the heavies did when they held court there. Each story, it seemed, involved a black night, a tanker, and a low-state trap. However, if this was his rite of passage, he would gladly decline. Damn XO! Sponge had seen Saint’s aircraft taxi over the foul line just before Sponge got the wave-off on the first pass. If Saint had gotten out of the gear sooner, Sponge would probably be aboard right now, drinking a cup of water in the ready room. He was thirsty, so he pulled out the plastic canteen from the left pocket of his g-suit and unscrewed the top. He then popped a fitting on his oxygen mask so he could drink.

Just as he took a gulp, the approach controller’s voice filled his headset. “Four-zero-six, fly heading two-one-five. Take angels one-point-two. Stand by for your rep.”

Sponge screwed down the canteen top and shoved it back against the left console. After fumbling for the mask, he brought it to his face and keyed the mike. “Four-zero-six.”

“Four-zero-six, rep,” Wilson called to him.

“Go ahead,” Sponge replied, glad to hear Wilson’s familiar voice. He then adjusted the mask against his face.

“Four-zero-six, the airborne tankers are dry or sour. We’re starting one up on deck but still haven’t been able to get him airborne. We’re rigging the barricade.”

Rigging the barricade. Sponge sat motionless as the message sank in.

“Four-zero-six, you copy?”

“Affirm” Sponge responded. “I’m still headin’ away from mother.”

“Roger, Sponge. Mark your father with state.”

“I’m on the two-six-five for niner, one-point-niner.”

“Roger, we’re gonna hook you in soon, but first I’m goin’ to go over the barricade checklist… Do you have any ordnance?”

“Negative.”

“Roger, OK… We’re gonna punch off the drop tanks. See anything underneath you?”

Sponge dipped his wing to the left, looked below, and saw nothing but black. “Negative,” he said.

“Roger, then emergency jett your tanks. Big switch on the upper left… hold it in till they’re gone. Let me know when you’ve done it.”

Sponge placed his left thumb on the switch, looked at the tank under his left wing, and pushed. He heard a ka-chunk and felt a twitch as small explosive cartridges pushed away the empty 300-gallon drop tanks from stations on the wing and fuselage. He watched the left drop fall and disappear into the darkness.

“I’m clean.”

“Roger, Sponge,” Wilson answered.

The final controller followed immediately and said, “Four-zero-six, turn left fly heading zero-five-zero.”

“Four-zero-six, left to zero-five-zero,” responded Sponge.

Wilson proceeded with the checklist.

“Sponge, Paddles is going to come up in a bit and give you the barricade brief, but as you get lower in fuel, remember, no negative g. You have a fuel low light yet?”

“Not yet.”

“OK, but when you do, the airplane still flies. Just don’t horse it around.”

The amber color of the master caution light suddenly illuminated the cockpit. The impassionate voice of the aural warning tone, which the pilots called Trailer Trash Tammy, sounded a warning in Sponge’s headset. “ Fuel low. Fuel low.”

Sponge’s eyes went to the FUEL LO caution on the left multi-function display. “Jus’ got the fuel low.”

“Roger that. Net’s goin’ up.” Wilson regretted his last comment. The barricade was actually still in its locker, despite the high activity of the crew in the landing area. They were busy making preparations so they could run it across the flight deck. “I should’a been straight with him,” he said under his breath to The Big Unit.

The Commander replied, “He doesn’t need to know. Just tell him everything’s fine here.”

“WHAT?” Lieutenant Commander Russell “Shakey” McDevitt exclaimed to the LSO phone talker on the platform. “Barricade?”

“Yes, sir,” the young sailor replied. Shakey saw the look of concern the sailor couldn’t hide as he relayed the message. “After this Rhino, they gonna rig it for four-zero-six!”

Shakey looked aft at the blinking lights of the Super Hornet some five miles away. “Who’s in four-oh-six again?”

“Jasper,” a young LSO sang out, at the same time Dutch said, “It’s Sponge.”

Sponge , Shakey thought, and immediately his mind spat out a trend analysis: Sponge tends to get overpowered and drive himself high in close and overcorrect to an early wire. He responds to calls, a solid nugget, trainable.

Shakey then turned his attention to the aircraft at one mile. The rain started to pick up again.

As Shakey, with Dutch backing him up, worked to get the Rhino aboard, he fought to keep from thinking of the barricade approach he would wave less than 10 minutes from now. Mercifully, the deck cooperated with the Spartan , and it flew a solid pass. Shakey then walked over to call the tower, picked up the receiver, and dialed.

The call was answered after the first ring. “Air Boss.”

“Boss, Shakey. Are we really going to barricade this guy?”

“Yeah, he couldn’t plug. We’ve got an alert tanker, and we’re shootin’ him now. But we need to get four-oh-six aboard. How’s Jasper been lately?”

“He’s doin’ good, sir. Tends to be overpowered.”

“A few extra for the wife and kids. Nothin’ wrong with that!” he said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then the Boss turned serious. “Can he handle this?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll get him aboard.” Shakey hoped he was right.

“ You ready for this?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got it.”

“Good job, Paddles. We’re workin’ a 28,000 gross… Gotta go.”

“Yes, sir” Shakey said as he hung up.

Seconds later the Boss came over the 5MC. “On the flight deck, we’ve got a low-state Hornet comin’ in. Rig the barricade . Rig the jet barricade for Raven four-zero-six.”

Shakey looked at Dutch, who was still stunned by the news. “You good to go?” he asked.

Dutch looked toward the horizon and back toward Shakey. “Yep, I’m right behind you — unless, of course, you want Stretch up here.”

“No, his eyes aren’t night adapted. You back me up.”

“Roger that,” Dutch replied, and grabbed a radio handset to listen to the CATCC controlling his sqadronmate.

Shakey still couldn’t believe this was happening. He reached up to rub the tension out of his neck. The pain felt like an ice pick digging into the base of his skull. When the phone rang, which was barely audible over the wind and the roar of the Rhino engines up forward, one of the LSOs answered and turned to Shakey. “It’s CAG.”

Shakey walked over toward the console and took the receiver. “Lieutenant Commander McDevitt, sir.”

“Paddles, CAG. Can we get this guy aboard?”

Shakey looked at the dozens of sailors swarming into the landing area to rig the barricade, their shouts audible above the din of the flight deck. “Yes, sir, but I would prefer, and even recommend, a normal arrest. When is that tanker gonna get launched?”

“They’re workin’ on it,” CAG said, and then added, “Paddles, the Captain made the call. It’s going to be a barricade, but if Jasper is not where you want him, pickle him and try again. If he’s not there the next pass, don’t take him out of parameters. If he flames out, he ejects, and we’ll pick him up. Don’t think you have to save the world here.”

“Yes, sir, thanks CAG,” Shakey said.