Toth then bumped the flaps down from takeoff to 20, and the big Greyhound wings responded to the added lift as he kept pressure on the yoke to maintain level. He resisted the impulse to pull away from the water too early, and by holding the nose down, his airspeed increased. He then eased up to fifty feet, still too low to turn.
“Battistini, all okay back there?”
“Yes, sir! Are we going to make it?” Battistini asked.
“We’re going to make it,” Toth said into his boom mike and rolled into an easy right turn. The airplane responded and continued in a shallow climb. They had made it, and a relieved Toth was able to breathe easier.
After a minute, Toth was stabilized on a heading of north, and the E-2 appeared on his left wing, below the low scattered clouds. Now rendezvoused, Toth passed a thumbs up to Smith, who clasped his hands together in a sign of victory and support. Through hand signals they exchanged fuel states, and Smith gave Toth the signal to take cruise position. Both men, and all aboard the two aircraft, knew they had survived a close call. They made themselves as comfortable as they could for the long flight.
As the formation climbed, Chu broke through the tension. “Boy, I sure picked a bad day to quit sniffing glue.” Toth nodded.
“Yeah, now comes the hard part.”
CHAPTER 19
Wilson climbed the last ladder to Hancock’s bridge where he knew Blower would be. Looking though the bridge windows to the low ceilings and gray sea, he assessed visibility inside five miles. The ship had been pitching and rolling since early morning, and the aircraft from Midway were due in two hours.
Blower was head down in his captain’s chair on the left side of the bridge. From there he had a commanding view of the flight deck, and in the overhead above a PLAT monitor. Arrayed under the bridge windows, he also had display screens for weather, aircraft status, and ship disposition, along with radio consoles and sound-powered phone circuits. It was his own miniature command post, and his plush high-backed “barber’s chair” was a perk he had as captain. All others on the bridge team stood as they navigated Hanna through the heavy seas. Blower — and ship captains through the years — had spent hours, and at times days, in their chairs during continuous operations, taking meals and dozing when they could. With seas increasing, Captain Ted Leaf wasn’t going anywhere.
Wilson stopped next to him. “How’s it going, Blower?”
Blower lifted his head from reading the messages. “Hey, Flip.” He then looked out to sea.
“This is going to get worse before it gets better. We’ve been reducing turns since last night when these seas picked up.”
“Are you going to make the recovery posit?” Wilson asked. Leaf winced.
“No… we’ll be about 45 miles east of our PIM. If we go any faster, the jets on the bow are going to get doused with salt water instead of just sprayed with it. And the weather guessers say the vis is going to come down here in a few hours, right about recovery time. Sure wish we could radiate and transmit.”
Wilson noted the time. “They should have gotten airborne from Midway an hour ago.”
“They did. Got the message here. And to complicate matters, the wind is in our face. Even if I could crank it up, we’d have sixty-five knots of wind over the deck.”
“C’mon, Blower, you can’t handle a near hurricane?”
Blower smiled. “Can you? I’ll give you a hurricane if you want one. Besides, we don’t know these guys. Hope they sent the ‘A’ team.”
Wilson nodded. “Was just talking to my E-2 skipper, and he knows the pilots listed on the overhead message. Said they are solid citizens, both Lieutenant Commanders.”
“Yeah, but when was the last time they saw a pitching deck?”
“At least it’s daytime.”
“Yes, if they show up on time — and can find us.”
Wilson changed the subject. “Blower, we don’t have an alert tanker scheduled, but I have a hunch.… Let’s add one on. Something to have in our back pocket for this E-2D.”
“Yeah, I’ll get Air Ops on it. You gonna send a JO out in this?”
Wilson assessed the worsening weather on the horizon.
“No, a commander.”
After two hours airborne Zavitz was nearing the point of no return: 700 miles back to the glorified sandbar of Midway or 700 ahead to one of the more desolate patches of ocean in the Northern Hemisphere. In another hour they hoped to find USS Hancock on a recovery course with an open deck on calm seas with light winds. By the look of the weather ahead, that wasn’t likely.
He looked down through the hole in the broken clouds at the sea four miles below. It was gray with whitecaps visible, and, over his left shoulder, the sun was a yellow circle that could not break through the overcast. With each passing mile the sun would sink deeper into the gloom, but at least he knew it would be “up” at recovery time — as long as the ship was where it was supposed to be. That unknown gnawed at the eight uneasy souls in the two aircraft.
“Is he still next to us?” Zavitz asked.
Smith glanced to his right at the C-2 off their right wing in a loose cruise. “Yep.”
In the ragged layers, Toth had to keep his C-2 close to Zavitz so as not to lose sight. Not knowing the thickness and extent of the weather ahead left him no choice, and jockeying the throttles to maintain position chewed up more fuel, not to mention the increased fatigue factor of holding tight formation for hours. At least he and Chu could take turns flying. In the back, Petty Officer Battistini struggled to sleep in the cold cabin as she tucked her hands under her armpits and propped her feet up on a live weapon.
“We’re at go, no-go,” Chu muttered on the ICS.
“Yeah, and it looks like we’re goin’,” Toth answered. Both checked the fuel and fuel flow. At 360 groundspeed they were doing six-miles-a-minute, and their expected recovery posit was 382 miles ahead. As experienced pilots, they knew the ship could be there — or many miles from it. They would have to begin their descent from about 100 miles out and conserve fuel on the way down. If the weather was clear enough, they might get a sighting on the ship at range and be able to maneuver behind it to save precious fuel for the recovery. If the weather did not cooperate, they would have to pick their way through the clag as best they could and, once underneath, hope that Hancock was nearby, and visible.
Toth was the most unnerved. The adrenalin effect from their near-disaster takeoff was turning into weary tension, and, when he wasn’t working to maintain position on the E-2, he glanced at his dwindling fuel. Even with topped-off tanks, they didn’t have enough fuel at Midway to transit, make a pass at the ship, and make a bingo to Adak, and he banked on “making some” during the idle-power descent. At least Jerry Zavitz in the E-2D could refuel from a tanker if the ship launched one, but once down low, the C-2 was committed to trap. Or ditch. A 400-mile bingo to Adak would get them there on fumes at night with the added danger of unfamiliar mountainous terrain. If the weather cleared, they may get a “see you” of Hanna at 50 miles, which would be a relief for everyone. Ahead, however, were thickening clouds of all types, with a ceiling of high stratus overcast.
How he wished he could talk on the radio! Or receive some kind of transmission: We are here on time and ready for you! The weather is clear and a million! The deck’s clear, and we have a steak dinner in the wardroom! With little else to do except fly form, Toth could pass the next thirty minutes in a daydream. He knew one thing; he had two hours and fifteen minutes worth of fuel remaining. In ten more minutes returning to Midway would no longer be an option.