Chu saw nothing but purple ahead of the ship and could only monitor their approach.
Mullet watched the C-2 grow larger and heard the whoommm of its big turboprops, even in the high winds. The deck seemed to steady, but then he heard Crusher behind him.
“Holy shit, Mullet! We’re workin’ fifty-five knots axial!”
Mullet knew in his mind he was going to take the C-2 if the deck was not at an extreme point of a 30-foot cycle. However, the high winds, axial from the COD’s right, pushed the aircraft left of centerline. Fifty-five knots of wind down the deck was unchartered territory for everyone — both those on deck and those in the cockpit — and Mullet had to be ready to give a lineup correction that would cause the aircraft to settle at the ramp, a dangerous situation with these winds over a pitching deck.
“Dude, talk to him!” Crusher shouted as the COD held left of course, as if it were going to land on top of them. Mullet pressed the handset.
“Deck’s steady. You’re lined up left, fifty-five knots.”
Inside the cockpit, Toth and Chu were startled by the first radio transmission they had heard in hours.
“Fuck me! Did he say fifty-five?” Toth asked. As he corrected back to the right, the C-2 settled, and he got a power call from Mullet. Toth responded, but the ship shifted left. Seconds from touchdown, Toth had little choice but to chase it.
On the platform, the LSOs were mesmerized by the sight of the C-2 over the ramp, as if a tethered balloon, held in place by 55 knots of gale-force wind. Toth was working his throttles, yoke, and rudders to make fine corrections to the flight deck centerline moving in front of him and to the ball Mullet was showing him. The deck dipped and Mullet had to get him down. He showed Toth a high, and, as the C-2 corrected for it, Crusher heard a distinct popping sound from the big aircraft.
“Right rudder,” he transmitted at the same time Mullet called for power and lowered the ball.
The COD roared past them, its left wingtip slicing the air over their heads. With a deep whommm, the aircraft flattened out. Dammit! An alarmed Mullet picked up the ball hoping the pilot would go for it. Toth did, and the tailhook caught the last wire available. As the cable was pulled out with a screech that sounded over the humming engine background, the C-2 was brought to a halt. Toth and Chu, hanging forward in their straps, were treated to a view of angry gray water as Hanna’s bow dug in again. On the ICS they heard Battistini’s feminine “Yay” as she unstrapped and moved to the cargo door.
The sleet and freezing rain picked up as Toth folded the wings and turned right on the yellow shirt signal. When they were stopped for a moment, the two pilots looked at each other and started laughing.
As soon as the COD was on deck, Mullet and Crusher looked aft to the Hawkeye as it rolled into the groove, gear and hook down. A nearby bolt of lightning produced a sharp crack that met their ears seconds later.
“It’s gettin’ bad, Mullet!” Crusher said as he pulled up his jacket collar in an effort to keep the sleet off his neck. The howling wind kicked up a salt spray they could feel 1,000 feet aft of the bow.
“Yeah, and after we get this Hummer, we’ve got the tanker.” He turned to the phone talker to find out who the pilot was.
“Airman Leiker, who’s in the tanker?”
“The pilot of one-oh-one is Commander Teel, sir.”
“Wow! Skipper Teel!” Crusher exclaimed. “I didn’t know skippers flew in this shit.”
“Yeah, doncha hate it when they set a good example? Okay, guys, we’ve got a Hawkeye at a mile. Gear set?”
“Gear set, Hawkeye!” Leiker shouted in reply.
“Gear set, Hawkeye. Okay, I’m showing him on glideslope,” Mullet said as he lifted the manual system handle.
Waves of sleet and freezing precipitation pelted the men, and, looking forward, Crusher could make out mere outlines of aircraft parked on the bow as the sky darkened. Another bolt of lightning exploded nearby, and Crusher thought it may have hit the pole on the carrier’s forward flight deck. Mullet was struggling to keep sight of the E-2 as the ship entered the storm.
Zavitz was struggling, too. He flicked on his taxi light to help the LSOs keep sight, but he soon lost the ball Mullet was trying to show him. Moments later, the faint outline of Hancock disappeared.
“See anything?” he asked.
“Nope. Showing us slightly low and left on needles,” Smith answered.
Zavitz keyed the mike and called “Clara ship!” This let Mullet and Crusher know he could not even see the ship, much less the glideslope position they were trying to show him.
Without radar to help them, the E-2 and the LSOs had to wait. With nothing to see outside, Zavitz concentrated on his approach needles. On the platform, the LSOs could not help until they saw something, if only his dazzling taxi light through the murk. Mullet strained his ears to hear the distinctive and familiar turboprop hum of the E-2, but could not.
Overhead at 1,000 feet, Olive was also in the goo and saw nothing but her instruments as rain and sleet lashed on her canopy. She grimaced to herself when the weather forced her up, but with the ceiling lowered to the deck, she had no choice. She guessed the ship was down there to her left, but she had no idea where the E-2 was. With no one talking to her, she was on her own and figured she would punch through the weather to the west and wait for the ship to appear.
She noted the Hawkeye had a refueling probe mod, and from her time at Pax River knew of the testing done on E-2Ds there. This was an option. If she could find the Hummer in the clag, maybe he could use a drink. With luck, he’s on deck, she thought. Blind as she was with no operating radar, she flew her own jet first.
At two hundred feet and only one-half mile from Hancock—about fifteen seconds to touchdown — Jerry Zavitz couldn’t see a thing.
On the platform, the LSOs could hear him.
“Go ahead and tell him he sounds great,” Crusher quipped to Mullet. “And hey, we’re under fifty knots of wind now! So we got that goin’ for us!”
“Which is nice!” Mullet responded.
All they could see was gray, but the droning T-56 engine sound grew louder. He could be anywhere, Mullet thought, and his eyes struggled to catch any movement or glimmer of light.
At the instant Mullet detected a light burn through the gloom, Zavitz detected a shadow ahead of him. Both men saw the danger at the same moment.
Zavitz acted first. With Smith shouting, “Watch it!” Zavitz banked left and pulled up to avoid Hancock’s mast and antennas dead ahead, almost stalling the airplane as he pushed the throttles forward.
As he did, Mullet shouted, “Come left! Wave off!” into his handset. With a deep resonating whooommmm, the shadow of the E-2 roared up the angle — Crusher estimated only thirty feet above them — and back into the mist as wind-swept sleet continued to pelt their faces and eyes.
“Fuck me!” Smith said as he monitored Zavitz climb away and suck up the gear and hook.
“That’s it. We’re outta here,” Zavitz muttered with resolve. “Danny, it’s not gonna happen today. Headin’ to Adak.” Zavitz felt himself breathing deeply from the closest call he had experienced during his carrier career. He had seen the frayed fabric of the FOXTROT signal flag whipping in the breeze as he pulled them away from the carrier’s yardarm at the last minute. This is frickin’ stupid! he thought.