Lashed down inside the cargo bay were the twelve bombs with folded wings they had loaded aboard the C-2 that morning. Ordnancemen from China Lake had helped her secure the weapons and wrapped them with bubble wrap—bubble wrap! — to preclude any sharp jolts that could lead to detonation. No one involved had ever heard of transporting live bombs in a C-2, not even Admiral Maitland, who nevertheless knew the risk he was accepting when he authorized the waiver.
With no parallel taxiway on the tiny, windswept atoll, Zavitz back-taxied down the runway as he and Smith conducted their takeoff checklist, cycling the flight controls and setting the flaps for takeoff. He keyed the ICS.
“Danny, you guys ready to go?”
While Zavitz was the Aircraft Commander, Lieutenant Commander Dan Rogers was senior, and the Mission Commander. He was also senior to Toth in the C-2. Rogers didn’t fly the airplanes, but responsibility for the success of the mission fell on his shoulders. Next to him in the Hawkeye were Lieutenant Jackie Dove and “new guy” Lieutenant Junior Grade Payton Wylie, all with their seats facing forward for takeoff.
“All set back here. Seats locked. Hatch closed.”
“Roger that. Bill, we’re going to do a run-up check here, but keep an eye out for the signal from the tower.”
Smith looked to his right and noted the blinking light from the tower, the briefed Morse Code signal for take-off.
“We got it. We’re cleared.”
“Roger that. Okay… checking number one.”
As the E-2 pilots completed their checks, the C-2 taxied and stopped short of the runway, waiting for the Hawkeye to takeoff. Once clear, Toth would also taxi to the end and position himself on the runway to use every bit of its 8,000 foot length. In his fully loaded aircraft, the takeoff roll was going to be tight.
“Here they come,” Chu, sitting in the right seat, said on the ICS.
They watched the E-2 gather speed as it accelerated down the undulating runway, the hum from its engines increasing as it rolled toward them. The Hawkeye jumped into the air, and Smith waved a greeting as it flew past. “Our turn now.… I’m all set,” Chu said.
“Roger,” a grim Toth replied. He had never attempted takeoff in an aircraft as heavy as the one he was piloting.
The E-2 performed a graceful climb and maintained heading as it raised the gear and flaps. Toth then taxied onto the runway as the E-2 entered an easy turn to the left. The plan was for the E-2 to make a wide circle south of the island, timing it to be overhead the runway as the C-2 was rolling for takeoff. Once airborne, the C-2 would join on the Hawkeye who would lead them north for the three-hour transit over the trackless path of water and clouds.
Like Zavitz and Smith, Toth and Chu did their takeoff checklist as they back-taxied into position. Both knew this was going to be tight. The water at the end of the runway was colored a beautiful turquoise, but below were deadly corals and above were unpredictable birds — from albatrosses to terns. A bird strike anyplace on the aircraft would impede their takeoff, and one in a critical propeller or cockpit could be fatal.
“You ready back there, Battistini?”
“All set, sir,” she replied, sounding much cooler than Toth felt.
He veered his C-2 up to the edge of the runway and at the end pivoted right, his left tire passing mere feet from the crushed coral at the edge of the asphalt runway. He angled his turn as he would on a carrier deck edge to get every foot available, but here he had no yellow shirt to help him. He stood on the right brake with full nose-wheel steering to line up on the runway centerline.
“Running them up.”
Toth held the brakes and ran the engines to full power. He wanted to burn fuel to lighten himself for takeoff, but at the same time needed every pound for the long flight to a floating runway no one could be certain was going to be there. Satisfied with his engine gauges, he keyed the ICS. “Off brakes! Here we go!”
The C-2 leapt forward as the props dug into the moist salt air, the deep hum from the T-56 engines reverberating throughout the island. With slow but steady progress, the COD increased speed as Toth kept it aligned down the runway. Chewy noticed the tower still signaling them with the Morse lamp. Yes, we know! Thank you!
At five thousand feet remaining, the COD was not gaining airspeed as fast as Toth and Chu had calculated. “Five knots slow,” Chewy said into his boom mike.
Lost in concentration, Toth responded with another almost inaudible “Roger.” In back, Battistini looked at the strange bombs swaying in place as the COD trundled along. She said a silent prayer.
As they completed their circle, Zavitz and Smith watched the C-2 lumber down the runway. “It’s going to be tight for those guys,” Smith said.
“Yeahbuddy,” Zavitz answered. In back, the three tactical controllers craned their necks to see what they could through their small portholes.
When they passed the three-thousand-feet-remaining board, Chu said they were still five knots slow. They were also at a decision point, and Toth knew they had some margin built in. “We’re going,” he said. Unable to do anything — or even to see anything — Battistini closed her eyes.
With the blue-green ocean and breaking surf full in their windscreen, Toth felt the wings generate some lift. Big seabirds fluttered about ahead of them. His impulse was to pull back on the yoke and rotate, but he forced himself to keep it down as the C-2 clawed for airspeed. A nervous Chu grabbed the dashboard with his right hand.
“Bird at one o’clock high. Albatross.” he said in a calm tone.
“Tally,” Toth answered, now with even more reason to keep the airplane down. As the COD entered the last thousand feet of runway, the surface changed from asphalt to concrete, and the large bird with a huge wingspan glided fifty feet above them, unconcerned as it, too, set out on a long sea voyage.
“Up we go,” Toth murmured, putting slight pressure on the control column as he clicked nose-up trim. Chu was still braced in the seat next to him as scrub brush loomed ahead. Still a few knots below rotation, Toth knew it was now or never.
“Chewy, gear only. Now.”
Chu slammed the gear handle up as the overloaded airplane staggered into the air. Toth held his attitude as the C-2 entered ground effect, which allowed it to fly in a region of increased lift and reduced aerodynamic drag by a miracle of physics. They would take it.
The low scrub rushed underneath, and they held their breath as they heard a main-mount wheel brush through the brittle branches. Mere feet above the white beach, within seconds they had traversed the aquamarine lagoon. Ahead, the surf broke on the pastel coral reef, the waves pushed by the broad Pacific.
And Toth could not climb.
“Holy shit! Those guys are in ground effect over the water! Kickin’ up spray!” Smith said. Zavitz banked right so he could see across the cockpit. The COD looked as if it were running on the water and leaving a wake. Dammit, Ed, hang on! he thought.
Toth was hanging on, not daring to move the controls a hair. The Greyhound was flying, and any input only feet above the waves could cause it not to fly. Spray began to form on the windscreen, and he needed it removed.
“Chewy, wipers!”
“You got it!” Chu said as he flicked on the wipers. The smear of salt water across the windscreen offered no real improvement in visibility. “Fuck, made it worse,” he added as Toth held his attitude as best he could. Chu watched the rate-of-climb needle hold at zero, and, in the back, Battistini dared not move.