“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!”
CHAPTER 26
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.
“Strike, four-zero-five is joined on four-zero-two. We need to get off this freq and over to approach so we can minimize frequency changes.”
Strike approved the plan. “Roger, three-zero-five, go button one.”
“Three-zero-five. Ridgelines go button one.”
Now Annie had to get Trench to change his radio, and if she lost him, it could spell trouble. She called to him on aux. “Trench, on Comm 1… turn the knob two clicks counter-clockwise.” After waiting a few seconds, she called.
“Ridgeline, check Comm 1—”
“Trench is up!” In their cockpits the Firebird pilots let loose a collective sigh of relief that they were still communicating on both radios, their only lifeline.
“Roger,” Annie answered, then called to approach. “Approach, Ridgeline three-zero-five with you on Mother’s one-three-five for thirty, angels eight, low state five-point-oh. We are holding hands with three-zero-two who is incapacitated due to blindness. Need to set up for a Mode One.” The approach controller answered with the plan.
“Roger, Ridgelines, Mother is conducting an emergency pull forward. Expected BRC one-four-zero. You are cleared aft at ten miles. Take angels one-point-two.”
After Annie acknowledged the instructions, she visualized the ship heading southeast. She had to set up behind it, or to the northwest, and to do that Trench had to turn — and descend. Here goes, she thought as she keyed the mike.
“Okay, Trench, we’re gonna turn. Easy turn left.”