Kevin Miller - Raven One

“You can do it, Paddles!” CAG said as he hung up.

Shakey took a few steps to the LSO console and picked up the radio transceiver. He felt the eyes of every LSO on the team focus on him as he moved toward the platform wind barricade. As he pressed his back against it to minimize his exposure to the elements, he opened his gouge book, his LSO platform “Cliff Notes,” and quickly scanned the barricade brief.

I must convey confidence. Smile, he thought, and keyed the mike. “Four-zero-six, Paddles!”

“Go ahead,” Sponge replied.

“Hey, Sponge, we’re going to rig the barricade for this next pass. I know you’ve been workin’ hard out there. You flew some solid approaches, but the deck just didn’ cooperate. I’m going to go over the brief with you… Ah, let’s see… What’s yer configuration, approach speed and gross weight?”

“I’m slick. Just punched off the tanks… estimating one-thirty knots and twenty-seven K.”

“Roger that,” Shakey said as he proceeded with the brief. “Deck’s movin’ a little, and I’ll be givin’ ya calls to back up what I’m showin’ ya on the MOVLAS. Don’t chase the deck. We’re workin’ thirty-five knots right now. Line-up is going to be real important, so keep that in your scan. We don’t want any drift at touchdown.”

He took a breath and continued with the checklist.

“Fly it on speed, and fly the ball I’m showing ya. Now, I’ll be talking to you the whole way — advisory calls early, imperative calls in close.” Shakey took another breath. “You can’t execute your own wave-off in close. Jus’ follow my calls, and, at the proper point, I’m going to give you a cut . When I do, shut down the engines and you’ll roll into the barricade. Keep the throttle under control. Don’t get overpowered and drive yourself high. If you do, I’ll be talking to you. Big corrections early, smaaall corrections in close. Got it?”

“Roger, sir.”

“One more thing, the ship’s moving, and it’s gonna generate a Dutch Roll… Fly your needles, and don’t chase line-up at range. After the ball call, it’s meatball, line-up angle of attack.” Shakey paused to let it sink in.

“Roger,” Sponge replied.

“Any questions?”

“Negative.”

Shakey was encouraged by the confidence in Sponge’s voice. He knew he held Sponge’s life in his hands.

CATCC jumped in. “Four-zero-six, turn right zero-eight-zero to intercept the final bearing one-one-six.”

“Four-zero-six,” Sponge said. His mouth was parched with fear as he reached down to set the course line.

“Bingo! Bingo!” sounded Tammy, warning Sponge again of his emergency fuel situation.

Sponge had never been this low on fuel in a Hornet . Breathing through his mouth, Sponge thought he could hear his heartbeat. Even under his mask, he could smell a metallic odor emanating from his person. Adrenaline. Fear. The realization surprised him. You can smell your own fear , he thought, and fought to keep himself under control. It’s bad enough to be on fumes at night. But this is a night pitching deck barricade!

Turning back to the ship, he double-checked the course-line, touched the hook handle to ensure it was down, and fiddled with the HUD intensity. He had any number of minor cockpit tasks to distract him. Night, pitching deck barricade in the middle of fucking nowhere! After his moment of self-pity, he realized he was the only pilot in the airplane. You can do this, he told himself.

As he removed his kneeboard and set it in the map case for a possible ejection, CATCC called again. “Four-zero-six, dirty up.”

“Four-zero-six,” Sponge acknowledged as he slapped the gear handle down and moved the flap switch to half. The aircraft ballooned with the increased lift, and the landing gear caused a dull roar behind him as it extended into the airstream. He countered the increased lift with a nose down bunt and retrimmed the aircraft. He tried to concentrate on flying the airplane so he would not think about the barricade.

A few moments later, though, he glanced at the ship to see if he could see it.

“Tower, one-zero-five, we just lost nose wheel steering.”

“WHAT?! Dammit!! Mother-f…!” Marty O’Shaunessy was not having a good recovery. He needed the alert tanker to launch immediately to get more gas in the air, and instead he gets this. He shook his head in disgust and grabbed for the phone.

“Roger, one-zero-five. Stand by,” the Boss said.

Wilson heard O’Shaunessy plead with the Boss. “Can you put a tractor and tow bar on him? Push him to the Cat! We need that gas airborne!” Wilson knew there was no time even for that desperation measure, maybe not even time for 105 to taxi to the catapult normally.

Sponge was expected at the ramp in minutes.

“ Fuck! ” O’Shaunessy said, as he slammed down the receiver.

When Air Ops next heard the flight deck loudspeaker through the deck, it was the Air Boss. “C’mon! We’ve got a Hornet at five miles! Chop! Chop! ” Things were obviously not going well on the roof.

The Boss was not happy with the barricade progress. The nylon netting was laid out on deck and was attached to the two barricade stanchions embedded into the deck. However, the heavy strands were tangled and bunched together, and some of the plates were not yet in position. The Flight Deck Officer and Bos’n were everywhere. They shouted orders, grabbed sailors, jumped over nylon straps, and checked the connections to the stanchions. While Shakey and the other LSOs watched, they were joined on the platform by a new LSO. It was Stretch.

“Are we havin’ fun, guys?” he said with a grin. Stretch was a perpetual optimist.

“Hey, glad yer here,” Shakey answered. “We’re set. Just briefed him. He’s about one-point-five now… See him out there?”

“Yeah… I’m not night adapted, so you and Dutch wave him. You’ve been doing great out here tonight. And remember, if he’s not set up, pickle him early.”

“Roger that,” Shakey said.

The Air Boss exploded again on the 5MC microphone. “All right, get out of there! Raise the barricade on signal!”

From the platform they heard more shouting as dozens of sailors scurried away into the catwalks and behind the island. Moments later, the Flight Deck Bos’n gave the signal and watched as the barricade assembly rose into the air, carried aloft by the two large stanchions.

In the subdued Air Ops space, Wilson and the others watched the barricade ascend, its heavy vertical nylon straps fluttering in the wind, into the PLAT’s field of view. In the distance, on the left side of the picture was Sponge, represented by the pulsing external lights of an FA-18. Saint was still there in Air Ops and still in his flight gear. He sat off to the side and concentrated on the PLAT.

A radio call from CATCC broke the silence. “Four-zero-six, lock-on six miles, say your needles.”

“Fly up and left,” Sponge replied.

“Concur, fly your needles,” the controller commanded. Wilson recognized the approach controller’s voice and thought, They’ve got their best guy controlling him .

“Four-zero-six, update state.”

“One-point-two.”

Damn, Sponge is cool tonight, Wilson thought as he returned to his place. At least cooler than I feel right now with all these eyes on me. And Saint over there adding zero value. Wilson wished Saint would just leave and watch from the ready room. Was he here because he cared about Sponge, or was he thinking about having to answer questions at the mishap board? That meeting would surely be convened tomorrow morning, no matter what happened right now.