Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

As he strode past sailors and over the knee-knockers, his mind raced. Blind? How? Where? How do we get him back? Can Annie find him? Can we bring him aboard hands-off?

Wilson opened the hatch to Air Ops and stepped inside the darkened space, relieved to find CAG and Lieutenant Commander Mike “Rat” Fink, the air wing Landing Signal Officer, conversing with Commander Chris Maher, the Air Ops Officer. CAG saw Wilson approach.

“Flip, what’s the story?”

Unsure himself, Wilson responded. “Sir, I’ve just learned one of my guys is blind. What’s going on down here?” Maher answered for CAG.

“ Strike is in contact with James about 60 miles south and vectoring Schofield in three-zero-five to intercept him. How much gas do you think he has left?” All of them knew the answer to this question would narrow the options available.

Wilson glanced at the digital clock mounted on the bulkhead “Little over an hour. Maybe. Has he reported a fuel state?”

“ Strike says he can’t read it to tell them,” CAG replied, then turned resolute.

“Okay, I’m going to call the Captain and recommend we scrub this launch and pull all the jets forward. We need to get three-zero-two aboard ASAP. Chris, suggest you get the alert tanker airborne as a backup and recommend you get with Strike to bring everyone airborne back now . I think we have less than an hour for Annie to find him, guide him back if she can, and set him up for a hands-off approach. Do you have your best approach controller ready to go?”

“Yes, sir,” Maher replied.

CAG then turned to Wilson. “Flip, what was he doing?”

“Sir, he was on a post-maintenance check flight — flight control actuator. Routine, and Trench is experienced.” CAG nodded his acknowledgement.

“Sir,” Wilson said. “I want to talk with him, or at least listen to what’s going on over Strike frequency.”

“Yeah, let’s go over to CDC,” agreed CAG. When Olive entered the room, Wilson motioned her over.

“Olive, we’re going over to Combat. Hang out here, and help Commander Maher with his questions. We should be back shortly.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” she replied.

Combat Decision Center was another cool and dark room located in an adjacent space forward. The ship’s command center, it was filled with digital displays of the air and water space around Coral Sea. Shadowy figures wearing jackets and sweaters sat in cushioned chairs bolted to the deck in front of a maze of tactical displays.

“Where’s three-zero-two?” CAG asked as he rounded a console to meet the Watch Officer. CAG and Wilson sought to find Trench themselves on the big display.

Pointing at the display, the Watch Officer responded. “He’s here sir, and three-zero-five is here , about twenty miles away on the join-up.” The two pilots watched the blips slowly converge, one of them flashing an emergency code. About fifty miles out, Wilson surmised. Just then he recognized Annie on the radio speaker.

“ Strike, Ridgeline three-zero-five. Contact one-four-five, eighteen miles, angels eight. ”

Wilson heard the sailor on the console speak into his lip mike. “ Ridgeline , that contact is three-zero-two.”

Wilson stood over the controller’s shoulder and watched his scope. The radar blips signified that Annie and Big Jake were tracking east-southeast in an effort to rendezvous on Trench who was heading north.

All knew that a “Mode One” hands-off approach was the only way to get 302 aboard. The aircraft had an automatic throttle control (ATC) that kept the jet at the proper landing airspeed once the gear and flaps were down. It also had a fly-by-wire flight control system that could be “coupled” to respond to commands sent via data link from the ship. For things to work properly, 302 needed the ATC, flight control computers, and data link to be operational; any single malfunction was a showstopper.

The ship’s final control radar needed to work, too. At least the weather conditions were not a factor. CAG put in a call to the Captain.

“Rick, Tim down in CDC. We’ve got Annie Schofield joining on three-oh-two. They are about fifty miles south. What are you thinking?”

Wilson watched CAG nod and tried to decipher the conversation. CAG Matson continued.

“Okay, great, if Annie can get him back here in a position to couple-up, we’ll have a chance. I’ve got Flip Wilson standing next to me, and he’ll check with his people on the aircraft status. Rat is here, too, and I’m sending him up to the platform now. Roger, thanks.”

CAG turned to Wilson and filled him in on the plan. “Okay, once Annie can talk him into a position behind the ship, we’re going to bring him aboard. Right now the airborne aircraft are being recalled, and they are going to do an emergency pull-forward on the roof to make a ready deck. We’ll recover what we can until three-zero-two is ready to come aboard. After we trap him, we’ll get the rest of the airwing. Call down to your maintenance and see if three-zero-two’s systems are up for a Mode One.”

“ Yessir, ” Wilson answered.

From the flight deck above them, they heard the voice of the Air Boss over the 5MC loudspeaker as he commanded his sailors to carry out the orders passed down from Coral Sea ’s brain trust.

“ On the flight deck, emergency pull-forward! Emergency pull-forward! We’ve got an incapacitated pilot in Firebird three-zero-two! Chop chop! ”

Against a backdrop of white cumulus clouds, Annie saw the “dot” in the middle of the green target designation box on her Heads Up Display. Inside that dot was Trench.

Moving from right to left off her nose, he was heading north, about 300 knots of airspeed, at 8,000 feet. She keyed the mike. “Trench, we’ve got a visual on you. Maintain your heading and airspeed. You are about angels eight.”

“Roger,” he replied.

She turned a few degrees left to sweeten the intercept as the familiar outline of Trench’s Hornet began to take shape. She checked her fuel and her clock—20 minutes to recovery time. But the recovery for Trench would not begin until after the airplanes on deck were launched. It could be 40 minutes before Trench got an attempt to land, if they could coax him into a position behind the ship and if all the black boxes worked properly.

Inside two miles she allowed Trench to drift left on her canopy, and, after checking to see that Big Jake was clear, she pulled hard into him to intercept the bearing line of his wing. As Annie slid up this imaginary line formed by Trench’s wing, it occurred to her that she needed to start a running commentary, one that wouldn’t end until Trench was aboard the ship.

“OK, Trench, we are on your left bearing line. Hold what you’ve got. Mother is about forty miles off your left nose.”

Annie then switched to the Comm 2 auxiliary frequency.

“Trench, Annie on Comm 2. Can you see anything?”

“Peripheral vision only. It’s like a black ball is right in my face, and I can only see around the edges.”

“What’s your state?”

“Don’t know. When I focus on the fuel indication — or anything — the black ball jumps in the way. I have to look away to even get a sense of anything.”

“What do you think happened?” Annie continued.

“I was rigging a boat. On the second pass I lost sight…. May have been a blinding laser.”

Annie felt a chill as she let this sink in. Lasers … out here.

Word of the recall to Coral Sea was out, and as other air wing aircraft returned to her, they clobbered Strike frequency with their voice calls. If Annie was going to “fly” two airplanes, she had to have a clear radio frequency. She called to Strike .