“It’s good to hear your voice, Batman. But quite frankly, your timing sucks. I’ve got a couple of situations going on down here, and-“
“I know all about it, old buddy. That’s why the Batman is calling. Think I’ve got something cooked up back here that might be of some small assistance to you.”
Tombstone snorted. “Like what? Another one of those point papers the Pentagon feeds on? Some help that’d be.”
“Better than that. How’d you like to have a couple of hotshot look-down shoot-down aircraft out there?”
“I’ve got Hornets and E-2C’s. Not to mention the Tomcats.”
“Don’t try to con me, Tombstone. Our Tomcats aren’t what you need, not until the next upgrade hits the Fleet. I’ve got something that will outclass even those lawn-dart Hornets. Would you buy a Tomcat with the latest JAST technology?”
“JAST? The Joint Aviation Strike Technology stuff? I thought that was years away from being operational!”
“In production models, yes. But I just happen to have a couple of prototypes hidden out for special occasions. Nothing I’d like better than to see if these airframes can live up to the manufacturer’s warranty.”
“But Batman, we’re not talking about a range exercise out here. Somebody’s doing some real live shooting.”
“All the better. I’d rather see what these turkeys can do in real operating conditions instead of on the range. Listen, Stoney, this is important. Not only for your battle group, but for the Navy as well. With the push on to go joint, JAST is going to be the technology of our next fighter aircraft, and we’ll be living with it for decades. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t, I want to know that now, before we’re committed.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Give me some deck space and berthing. I’ll send you two JAST, plus flight crews and technicians.”
“Who’s gonna fly them?”
There was a moment of silence on the line, and then Batman chuckled. “Oddly enough, there’re only three pilots completely checked out on this bird and her electronics. Unfortunately for the Pentagon, one of them happens to be me.”
“Anything to get out of the Pentagon, huh?”
“It’s not that bad, once you get used to the fact that a full-bird Captain is barely qualified to make coffee around this place. Trade places with you any day.”
“Okay, okay, come on out. I’ll let CAG know his air wing just got a little bigger and stranger.”
“Expect a COD and our airframes in three days. It’ll take a little while to arrange the tanking and refueling, but we’re on our way.”
Tombstone replaced the receiver and stared thoughtfully at it. From what he’d heard of the problems with JAST technology, he wasn’t all that convinced the modified Tomcats would be that much help. But Batman seemed convinced an op-test was essential to evaluating the performance of the aircraft, and Stoney had to agree with him on that. If the Navy was going to be stuck with the aircraft, it might as well make sure they worked first.
JAST was a comprehensive program aimed at building the finest strike force in the world. Its mission was to develop technology and equipment to outfit aviation strike programs for every branch of the service. Key to its requirements were programs related to low observability — the follow-on term for what had initially been called “stealth” technology — and black box avionics that would dramatically increase both attack capabilities and interoperability with other services’ data systems.
Tombstone took the frequent press releases and the JAST announcements on the World Wide Web with a grain of salt. Too many programs over the past twenty years had been touted as the ultimate marriage of man and machine, as the final word in complete integration of all weapons systems.
There were two problems with building the ultimate joint strike system. First, no matter how advanced the technology the United States developed, someone would eventually develop a counter to it. The Aegis seaborne weapons systems were a prime example. Even with a radar as sensitive as the SPY-1 system, the ships still had to be wary of mines and submarines.
Second, there was one factor that developers always seemed to overlook. Clausewitz, the nineteenth-century German general and theorist, had given the most accurate name to the phenomena that plagued every combat force and confounded every tactical decision: the fog of war. No matter how sophisticated, how elegantly planned and calculated, something would always go wrong during a military campaign. War-fighters that relied on the latest technology too much failed to plan for the inevitable foul-ups that were part of life.
Still, he admitted, there were some improvements that could make a great deal of difference in the Tomcat’s capabilities. And if Batman was vouching for the JAST Tomcats, they were worth taking a look at.
Who knows? We might even have a chance to make some suggestions about these queer turkeys before they go into production. A little Fleet testing could make the difference between another Pentagon project that sticks us with a politically correct and technologically screwed-up platform that just won’t work.
He picked up the receiver to the carrier telephone lines and dialed CAG’s number. After all, what was the use of being an admiral if he couldn’t roust a mere Captain out of bed?
CHAPTER 4
Still awake back there?” asked Lieutenant Commander Steve “Rabies” Grills. The Viking S-3B aircraft was at eight thousand feet, her engines droning monotonously.
“Just barely. If you’d turn the vacuum cleaner down a little lower, we could get some sleep,” the TACCO in the backseat complained.
“Awful surly for mere passengers,” the copilot said.
Rabies looked at his copilot and winked. “Regardless of what these fine jet engines sound like, I’ll have you know this jet is not a vacuum cleaner. It is a tactical military jet — and a damned fine acoustic chamber. In fact, since you backseaters are being so uncomplimentary, I may just have to prove it to YOU.”
“Come on, Rabies, no aerobatics. I had the pork chops for lunch,” the TACCO whined.
“I was thinking of singing a few bars of my latest work for you. I call it ‘She Left Me For A Dump Truck, But I Ain’t Dumping You,’” Rabies said gleefully. “And you’re really going to like the second verse. Hell, everybody likes country music — you just don’t know you do yet! By the time this cruise is over, you’ll be begging me to share my music with you.
“Come on, sir, this is officer business!” said AW1 Fred Harness, the enlisted technician in the other backseat. “I was on last cruise with you. Why do I have to suffer, too?”
The Lockheed S-3B ASW aircraft banked into a gentle turn to the left. Originally built during the Cold War era as a submarine hunter-killer, the aircraft had been upgraded into the “B-bird” in the early 80s. In addition to its acoustic processing suite and ESM capabilities, it was a superb surface surveillance and command and control platform. Armed with the APS-137 ISAR radar and Forward Looking Infrared Radar (FLIR), the S-3B could carry Harpoon antiship missiles, Mk-46 torpedoes, and sixty sonobuoys.
Today, Hunter 701 was on an ASW (Anti-Submarine Warfare) mission, with secondary tasking as SUCAP (Surface Carrier Air Patrol). Anything that floated on or under the water was fair game, at least until the carrier could determine what platform had caused the two explosions. Its radar and FLIR were designed to detect snippets of periscopes protruding up from the depths, and the S-3B’s look-down capabilities far exceeded that of the F-14.