Kevin Miller - Raven One

Not a good night at all.

Wilson wondered about the thought processes of the captain on the bridge, the admiral in flag plot, and the CAG in his office. They’ve got all the information I’ve got, and more, he thought , and these guys are still taxiing to the cats. He saw Sponge Bob on Cat 4, with the Viking tanker next to him on Cat 3. Ten minutes to launch.

The sound of an E-2 on Cat 2, two decks above, caused him to switch again to the PLAT. The screen was obscured by water droplets from another rain cloud as the “ Hummer ” extended its wings at a measured pace while its big turboprops kicked up clouds of spray behind it. Clackety, clackety, CLACKETY, CLACKETY, clackety, clackety sounded overhead as the “shuttle,” the above-deck catapult launching mechanism, was retracted aft for hook-up. Underneath the shuttle and below the metal catapult track, two large pistons, the size of a small car, moved into launch position. Once the aircraft was connected to the shuttle, and on signal, superheated high-pressure steam exploded into the piston cylinders to propel the aircraft forward to reach flying speed. The pilots likened it to being flung out of a slingshot.

Wilson exited his stateroom and headed for Ready 7. As he strode aft on the passageway, the noise of the Hummer , although at idle one deck above, surrounded him. He heard the familiar “thunk” as the catapult was placed in tension. That was followed by the increased engine reverberation as the aircraft props changed pitch at full power for launch. Are they really going to shoot these guys? he wondered. They are going to have a tough time getting back aboard in these conditions.

He made a right turn, then a left, as he continued aft to the ready room. He had to cover his ears as the familiar, yet annoying, din from the jet blast deflector pumps and the aircraft at full power pounded into his brain. A thud above and behind signaled the firing of the catapult, and the swift movement of the shuttle made a zziiiiipp sound as it moved forward pulling the E-2 with it. The sound of the E-2 engines also faded away at the instant a THUNK was felt forward on the bow: the sound of the catapult slamming into the water brake as it flung the Hummer into the air.

Just then a loud CLACK, CLACK, CLACK passed from inside the ship on his right side as the shuttle roared along the track. It stopped with a booming THUNK that rattled the ship’s frames. This was followed by a faint whistle sound as the S-3 tanker was launched off the waist. They’re gonna do it. Wilson smiled and shook his head as he stepped over a knee-knocker.

Halfway to the ready room he steadied himself as the ship took a starboard roll. Right after it stopped, the grim-faced Deputy CAG and his Operations Officer, whom he knew as “Bucket,” passed him in a hurry.

“Sir,” Wilson said. The DCAG passed with a barely audible acknowledgement and turned outboard toward the island ladder, shoulders hunched and head down.

As he trailed his boss, Bucket raised his eyebrows at Wilson to convey his thoughts: I don’t know what’s going on .

Wilson wondered where they were headed. The bridge? The tower? Who knows where? He walked past the S-3 and helo ready rooms, pushing off a bulkhead to steady himself as the ship took a roll. It’s getting worse .

When he entered the ready room, Wilson’s eyes were drawn to the Skipper, who was conducting his brief in the front of the ready room. Olive, two Buccaneer pilots and two aircrew from the Sea Owls listened intently. If Cajun Lassiter was concerned about the conditions his squadron pilots — and he — would face that night, he didn’t show it. Too professional for that . But Wilson knew he would brief the aircrew on every contingency and would further brief Olive on pitching deck LSO calls and other heavy weather techniques he had picked up over 17 years of carrier flying.

LT Ramer Howard, known in the squadron as “Prince Charming,” both for his dark good looks and as a sarcastic reference to his disagreeable personality, sat in his khakis at the duty desk. The blank look on his face belied the question they all had as the roar of a jet at full power filled the room. The Skipper raised his voice an octave to be heard above it. It was a Super Hornet in tension on Cat 3, and on the PLAT Wilson could see light rain falling from the low clouds that extended to the horizon. With a dull thud, the Rhino screamed down the deck and kicked up billowing clouds of water drops in its exhaust. The familiar sound of the water brake reverberated through the ship and the Super Hornet ’s WHOOSH served as evidence it had cleared the deck — airborne over 500 feet forward. Wilson glanced at Prince Charming, but his face remained blank.

“Wanna get some food?” Weed asked.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Wilson replied.

JOs Psycho, Smoke, and Guido had just left the ready room, also on their way to the forward wardroom. Before he reached the door, the sound of a strike-fighter in tension caused Wilson to return to the PLAT, with Weed right behind him. They could make out Sponge Bob’s salute to the catapult observer, which was followed by the usual 10-second wait. When the cat fired, the Hornet thundered down the catapult track and into the air, another wake of wind-driven spray behind it.

The pilots proceeded out of the ready room and forward along the passageway. “Gonna be a varsity night,” Weed began.

“Yes, it is,” his roommate responded. “What’s been happening down here?”

“Deputy CAG called about 45 minutes ago. The Skipper talked to him, and I discerned that DCAG wanted to know about Sponge Bob. Skipper said he was a solid pilot. If it were me, I would have asked about the XO instead!”

Wilson decided to keep the fact that he agreed with Weed to himself. “How are your guys doing up there?” he asked, as he glanced at Weed over his left shoulder.

“Drenched and loving it,” Weed chuckled. “Guys are fighting to go topside so they can get some sea salt on their shoulders.”

“Yeah… think that’s what Sponge is thinking right now?” Wilson deadpanned.

“He looked confident as he walked, but the XO was real tense, more than usual.”

After they walked a distance of two football fields over a series of frame knee-knockers, they came to the “dirty shirt” wardroom, which was located below and between the bow catapults. Cat 2 was still firing, and the sound of the shuttle roared through the wardroom overhead. The tremendous crash that came from the water brake, located on the extreme forward part of the flight deck some 200 feet away, shook everything in the room that was not bolted down. The pilots were used to the noises and the shaking and paid little attention — unless there was something unusual about them. Tonight, they noted the increased movement of the ship, well forward of its center of gravity.

Wilson and Weed picked up their trays, drinking glasses and silverware as they got into the already long buffet line. The junior officers were about ten ahead. Everyone in line wore a flight suit.

Wilson had experienced severe pitching deck conditions several times off the Virginia Capes and once near the Azores, but not out here in the IO. Regardless of where it was, the great 100,000-ton ship could bob like a cork in heavy seas. In fact, right now, the ship was creaking as the bow rose and fell in the deep swells. It pitched up and down, often accompanied by what the seamen called a Dutch Roll, a roll induced by the pitching oscillations. Pitching and rolling decks were difficult enough, but the seas could also heave the whole ship, lifting it up and down in the water.