14
CATS BENEATH THE MOON
Dinner was early that evening to accommodate the first tour of the ship. Spencer handed half of them security tags and told them to sign out. As Cain joined the line of cadets he saw the sandy hair of Zuiden ahead.
Then Hunt joined the line in a jumpsuit that fitted her disturbingly. Were they mad?
He dropped back two places to talk to her. ‘Why not give it a miss till tomorrow?’ He flicked his eyes toward Zuiden.
‘I can’t. Vanqua insists I go tonight. Something about things looking right.’
‘Rhonda went along with that?’
She nodded.
‘Then you’d better stay close to me.’
‘She said I had to.’
Great, he thought. Now I’m nurse.
First stop was a tour around the hangar bay conducted by a black chief petty officer. ‘We’ve got two acres in here but as you see we don’t waste space. Ship’s so big no one ever sees all of it and even if you had your own brother on board, you’d be lucky to run across him in a year.’
Beyond the closely parked, chained aircraft was a vast oval in the hull. A rating stood in the middle of it, outlined against moonlit wave-crests, arms spread wide and down, hands pointing to the deck. A klaxon sounded twice then kept on sounding as a plane with ugly splayed landing gear descended on a huge exterior platform.
‘Deck-edge elevator, one of four,’ the petty officer yelled. ‘Can strike down aircraft in 30 seconds. He pointed out features of the bay. ‘Refuelling outlets over there. Hangar control. Bomb-proof doors. Conflag station up near the overhead. Fire control’s a big deal here, when you consider all the go-juice and ordinance…’
Cain stared at drop tanks cradled in racks far above. He’d noticed that the cadets glanced at him admiringly and found it disconcerting. Hunt stayed by him. Fortunately Zuiden was still up front.
‘This is a Tomcat…’
The group stopped to examine the fighter which was being maintained by blue-shirted mechanics on a work stand. As questions started Cain walked around the dirty-looking plane, reading instructions written on it. COOLANT ELECTRICAL DISCONNECT. ADAPTOR INSTL. UMBILICAL ACTUATION HOOK. COMMAND SIGNAL DECODER. There were vanes behind the engine exhausts — one set open, one closed.
‘What are these for?’ he asked.
‘Turkey feathers,’ the man said. ‘New GE engines. You take off closed down. No afterburner. Melt the blast shield. Just military thrust.’
He didn’t understand or much care. He touched Hunt’s arm and fell back behind a fork-lift to talk to her unheard. ‘What exactly did Rhonda say to you?’
‘We can’t talk here.’ She walked ahead.
‘This is a Hornet,’ their escort explained. ‘A strike fighter we convert to attack role by adding weapon racks. Heavy on juice. Always looking for plugs…’
Cain trailed the group, keeping an eye on Zuiden, who was asking a question about repairs. Their guide was keen to inform him. ‘We keep the down birds back this end. Got aircraft shops, spare parts stowage. Engine maintenance astern. Planes are cranky, like babies. When we get to the fantail, you’ll see the…’
Spencer glanced up from his watch. ‘Sorry, chief. Pushed for time. Got to get on the roof for the launch. Can we muster them on an elevator?’
They were herded out onto the platform that jutted from the hull. Cain stared at the water creaming below, then up at the great bulk of the ship. Canisters for inflatable life rafts festooned its sides like grapes on a vine. Sponsons, catwalks, splayed safety nets jutting angles and protrusions, made it a citadel overhanging the sea.
The klaxon sounded. They rode up and joined the flat-top. Posts holding a safety cable slid smoothly into the deck. He walked over the cable which fitted into a groove.
‘We’ll take a short cut through the bomb farm.’ Spencer led them behind the island. ‘Some climbing ahead. In here.’
‘Isn’t there a lift?’ Zuiden asked.
‘Sure, but so small you’ve got to be married to ride in it.’
‘Do we get to see Pri-Fly?’
‘They’re a bit busy right now.’
They had to climb six levels before they reached the steel walkway high above the flight deck. By then, the vanished sun was a glow on the horizon. Looking down at the now yellow-lighted deck, Cain was surprised to see planes stacked with tails projecting over the sea. He could feel the huge vessel listing to starboard and looked aft to a curving wake. Behind them and to the side, he saw the running lights of a ship and another light far astern.
Spencer said, ‘She’s coming into the wind. It’s no fun being the plane-guard destroyer captain — watching a floating airport charging in every direction. Carriers are notorious for unannounced turns and speed changes.’
‘So why don’t they communicate?’
‘Because the carrier’s got this permanent can of worms. And the junior grade lieutenant on the greyhound is too intimidated — too scared to pick up his primary tactical circuit handset and front the admiral. Meanwhile the carrier’s fighting the crosswind. For instance, it’s okay for launching one plane but out of limits for another in the pattern. So the PIM’s out the window because she’s got to chase the wind for the birds.’
‘Uh-huh.’ It was double-Dutch to him. He looked at the organised bedlam below. Hurrying figures carrying flashlights, waving light wands. Power cables festooning the deck, yellow plane-handling equipment being moved into position. A chopper took off further aft. ‘What’s the significance of the jacket colours?’
‘The red guys with the carts are ordies — ordnance.’ Spencer pointed down. ‘Blue guys are plane handlers, tractor drivers and so on. Purple are “grapes” — fuel guys. Green’s catapult and arresting gear crews. Yellow for officers handling the show.’
‘And this thing’s powered by a reactor?’
‘Eight — two for each shaft. Driving thirty-two heat-exchangers. Welcome to the world of the supercarrier — grandest expression of the American Empire.
A PA system roared, ‘Stand clear of intakes… check positioning of huffers… check again for FOD. Aaaaand… start ’em up.’
Cain watched, feeling the vibration of the ship. Dim red glows from the cockpits. Plane captains on the deck, waving their blue lights. The whine of a turbine from the deck. Then others, as starter-carts came to life. The racket of the first aircraft engine starting. He took out his earplugs, rolled them into grubs, inserted them.
‘Turkeys are cooking.’ Spencer inserted his own plugs as more engines spooled up. The ground crews were checking control surfaces and hydraulic pressures.
Cain glanced along the line of faces gazing down. He poked Spencer, yelled, ‘Where’s Hunt?’
Spencer got it, more by lip-reading than sound, looked around. Cain walked back along the steel balcony. No Hunt. And no Zuiden. Spencer turned back, shrugged, then went forward through a door at the end of the walkway.
Cain followed him in. The noise level dropped. It was a dimly lit, glassed-in eagles’ nest that protruded from the island. The air boss sat on a raised chair in front of intercoms and consoles, controlling the launch.
Spencer asked his assistant, ‘Did a big fair-haired man and a woman come in here?’
‘No, sir.’
The commander’s face tightened. He looked across at Cain. ‘Must have gone back down the way we came up.’
Cain said, ‘I’m on it.’
He ran back on the walkway to the hatch and half-slid down the ladders, surprising other sailors coming up.
‘See a fair-haired guy and a woman come down here?’
‘Check.’ One rating pointed down. ‘Guy was carrying her. Said she’d fainted.’
Zuiden had dropped her on the noisy island walkway without the others even seeing it. Accurate pressure on the carotid sinus was all it took. Cain, using the rails, half-slid down more ladders. If Zuiden was carrying her he wouldn’t have got far.