A nervous Kid answered, breathing through his mouth. “They shut me down at the top of the bow, sir. I came here straight from the flight deck.”
“Okay, did you see Skipper Wilson get out?”
“I think so, sir. Coming off target, I saw a Hornet, lights out, in the teens, heading northeast. I was maybe a mile away from it when we were approaching the coast. It was rolling… weird, like barrel rolls, not jinks. I think it was on fire someplace aft. Then, it started a pretty steep descent, and soon there were two flashes. I think it was breaking up, and there was a trail of fire as it went in.”
Matson nodded, visualizing the ejection seat sequence and the parachute opening. “Sounds like the first flash was the motor of the seat rocket firing and the second the parachute spreader gun. You were on goggles?”
“Yes, sir. I was turning toward it.”
“What altitude was it?” Davies asked.
“I’d say low teens, sir.”
“Where?”
Kid studied at the chart of Venezuela on the planning table and pointed. “We were about here, sir, coasting out feet wet. DCAG led us east around a storm, then north along the line we had to punch through on the ingress.”
“Where you hit by lightning?” DCAG asked him.
“No, sir, but I was on Mikey’s wing, and I think he was. My whole fuckin’ field of view lit up. Ah, sorry, sir!” Kid answered, embarrassed that he let loose with a profanity in front of the admiral.
“No worries,” Davies said as he concentrated on the chart. The area pointed out by the nugget pilot was in a marshy flat covered in mangroves. A little spit of land led into the Columbus Channel, an area full of tiny estuaries. Satellite imagery confirmed it was little more than glorified swampland, and a downed aviator would have a challenge surviving in it, much less evading a determined enemy.
“Let’s see your tape,” CAG said. When Kid retrieved it, Commander Hofmeister took it to a nearby monitor to play for the admiral.
The grainy, green infrared image of San Ramón came into view. Kid’s aimpoint was on the taxiway, and the men watched as he slewed his diamond over it. In the background, they could hear clipped transmissions from the other strikers, including Wilson’s “in” call. The picture built frame by frame, and as the runway complex came into greater focus, they could make out small blips of light crossing the screen left to right — AAA.
“Was the AAA heavy?” CAG asked him.
“Don’t know, sir,” the young pilot replied. “Never seen it before.” His response caused the senior aviators to smile.
The image rotated as the aircraft rolled in, and rows of impact explosions erupted on the runways from the bombs of the Slash 11 and 21 divisions. Runway 28R had three cuts across it, not four. Wilson’s aimpoint was missing, evidence that he didn’t get his bombs off — at least not on target. Minutes passed as they watched the tape. They heard Wilson’s strained MAYDAY call, then nothing. DCAG gave a summary.
“Admiral, I was down the chute behind Flip, and while I was concentrating on my aimpoint, on the pull off he just wasn’t there. No flashes from AAA hits, and no evidence of impacts from his bombs. Kid here saw a Hornet on the egress—”
“Are you sure it was a Hornet?” Davies queried, eyes narrowed.
“Yes, sir. Twin vertical stabs.”
“And you saw him get out?”
“Yes, sir, I think so, right next to a thunder cell. But I couldn’t make out a chute.”
“Have you seen an ejection before? On goggles? Ever?”
Kid held his gaze. “No, sir.”
“Could you have seen an airplane exploding?” Davies continued, unconvinced.
“Could be, sir.”
CAG stepped in. “Kid, thanks. Great job tonight. You get out of your gear, and we’ll see you in the debrief. Thanks.” After the lieutenant departed, he turned to Davies.
“Admiral, we heard Flip on GUARD reporting a total electrical failure and switching to the squadron tactical frequency. While circumstantial, it seems something happened to him over the target area, and he was trying to fly the jet over the water.
“Maybe the frickin’ Venezuelans were spoofing us.”
“Sir, the strikers, including Not-o here, recognized Flip’s voice, and he said he was switching to squadron tac. The enemy isn’t going to know that frequency, not a minute after he goes lights out. We also have a fellow aviator who saw a struggling Hornet on the egress and light patterns that indicate an ejection.”
Davies shot back. “Dammit, Matson, that boy can barely shave!” Matson stood his ground.
“A few hours ago ‘that boy’ was over the beach, sir.” He pointed at the chart. “That beach, a place you and I haven’t been. He’s qualified in my book, and I think Flip got out and is in those mangroves.”
Davies considered the chart, breathing through his nose. “I agree,” he said.
With his fingers, Davies measured the distance from Tobago to San Ramón. He rubbed his chin as hr thought.
“We’ve got two armed Sierras with a squad of SEALs in Tobago, about a hundred miles away. But they need an escort, and we need to find Wilson’s posit before I send them.”
Hofmeister spoke up. “Admiral, national assets will show us where an ejection occurred, which narrows the search. Imagery of the thunderstorm at that time can help, too.”
“Yes, please get it. And my staff will get with the Air Force. Maybe they can help. We’ll send a report to SOUTHCOM.” Davies then turned to CAG.
“Is Wilson married?”
“Yes sir, his wife’s name is Mary. My wife is friends with her. They have two kids.”
Davies nodded. “Okay. Get word to the wing commander in Oceana. It’s midnight in Virginia Beach, but we need to tell her he’s missing. Do not screw this up.”
“We’ll get word to the beach, sir. I’ll contact my wife and give her a heads up.”
“I want him back, CAG. We’ve gotta figure out how.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And give Kid a shot of brandy, or whatever your doc has in his locker. All of the guys that flew tonight deserve it for the recovery alone. And, yes, dammit, I know there is no alcohol allowed on a fucking navy ship. You are authorized. Do it.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” CAG replied with a smile.
Davies then went back to the imagery, thinking about what he would do on the ground. They had to find Jim Wilson, fast.
CHAPTER 55
Annie Schofield surveyed the Firebird officers from the front of the ready room as they sat in their high-backed chairs. With Skipper Wilson missing, the command-by-negation military culture expected her to pick up the flag and lead. Her career had prepared her to lead, but she didn’t want to accept the standard this way.
Although their posture reflected a tight-lipped stoicism, their thoughts wallowed in the irony and the emotion of the situation.
Of all people, the skipper! Shot down!
Or was it an aircraft malfunction?
Either way, he was lost.
Maybe dead!
No contact!
Wilson’s empty chair in the front of the ready room was an unnerving reminder of the unpredictable danger they lived with every day. And, for nuggets like Macho, it hit home. This can really happen. The uncertainty made it worse. If he was shot down, how? Are they waiting to get me, too?