“Three thousand pounds for the Marine Hornets, maybe four-K for the Supers and Growlers. And full flaps… with takeoff trim I believe the jets will come off the deck in a normal rotation.”
The senior aviators nodded. “What about the Hummers?” Weed asked her.
“Light-load the E-2s, two pilots, and they could run down the angle, about 700 feet. Believe that’s been tested.” Olive’s matter-of-fact answers gave Wilson and Weed the credibility and security they needed to take their plan to Blower and the admiral.
Wilson looked at his watch. “Okay, Olive we need you to crunch the deck run numbers for the fixed-wing. I want to know the maximum fuel and stores each can carry to get safely airborne, plus wind over the deck requirements, and you’ve got an hour. Get the Bronco department head with the carrier suitability background and whoever you need. We’ll have the Flight Deck Officer join you.”
“Aye, aye, sir, on it.” Olive nodded as she turned for the door.
Once she was gone, Wilson turned to Weed. “The Marine Hornets are going to be a challenge — for two reasons.”
“Yep, underpowered jets and an overpowered CO.”
“We’ve gotta have Mother sell this to his guys, and I’m not sure he will. Okay, before we convict him, we gotta see what Olive finds. I’ll call Blower and tell him what I’m thinking.”
“Will do, Kemosabe.”
Mother Tucker was the last to arrive at Wilson’s stateroom, seconds before the impromptu CO’s meeting started. After the bells sounded on the 1MC, Wilson got right to the point.
“Guys, all four cats are hard down, and we have to go into the yards for repairs. The good news is that Yokosuka is less than two days away, and we’re headin’ there. Meanwhile, the Chinese just hit Subic Bay, Clark, and every fighter base in Vietnam, plus Cam Ranh Bay. They launched missiles into the Philippines like they did Guam, and struck Vietnam from the Spratlys and mainland China, with J-11s, J-10s and H-6s. The reports say they beat it up pretty bad. Guys, if there was any doubt before, the shit just got real.”
From their muted reactions, Wilson could sense his COs viewed this ominous news with mixed feelings: on one hand they were disappointed they were missing the fight, and on the other they were relieved they would get a short reprieve. How wrong they were.
“Olive, who spent a tour in flight test at Pax River, just crunched the numbers. We can deck run the air wing off the ship, and will do so tomorrow.”
Taken aback, the COs shifted in their seats, and Wilson noted Mother had his mouth open. Deck running the fixed-wing aircraft down the length of Hanna’s flight deck was unprecedented and just this side of unthinkable. None of them had heard of such a thing or even imagined it was possible. Catapults had launched jets from carriers for the past 70 years, and deck runs were used by piston-engine aircraft back in the day. For a modern jet, twice as heavy as their propeller counterparts, to stagger down a carrier flight deck and into the air at emergency fuel was unsafe on many levels — and CAG Wilson was proposing it for the whole air wing. Wilson, knowing they had little choice, showed no emotion as he pressed on.
“With a minimum of 30 knots, we can deck run from aft the LSO platform to between the bow cats. That’s about 1,000 feet, actually 1,025 feet, Gumby, for you techno wizards.” The Commanding Officers smiled an uneasy smile at the sardonic barb, all except Mother. Gumby then asked a question.
“CAG, what should we consider a light load?”
“Varies, and Olive has figured them to the last drop, but for you and the Rhinos about four-K fuel; Mother, about three-K for you guys. And slick: no drops, no pods. We might be able to get away with pylons.”
“Four thousand pounds, CAG?” Gumby asked. “That’s about a bingo profile of one-eighty. Gotta be close to the beach.”
“Yes, and for the older Hornets, it’s a hundred miles.” Mother shook his head. Despite the fact he had the least carrier experience, he spoke next.
“CAG, that’s emergency fuel before we even get airborne. You expect my guys to run down this slick and pitching deck and jump into the air at stall speed on fumes, unarmed when there’s an enemy out there?” A hush came over the room, and Wilson considered his answer as all waited.
“Yes, Mother, I do expect your guys to do that, and I expect you’ll be the first one to show them how it’s done. Olive, please explain.” Mother and the rest of the COs listened to Olive, who to their surprise, seemed to think this was a reasonable idea.
“Yes, sir. We are going to defuel the jets and allow everyone an extra five hundred pounds of start and taxi fuel. Tanks off, no bullets, keep the centerline pylons and maybe two wing pylons. Take position next to the LSO platform, normal take-off trim and flaps at full. The arresting wires will be stripped and the Cat Officer will run us up to full power and point to the bow. We release brakes and push the throttles up to Max. We’ll run the length of the deck and depart the bow between the cats and set a normal rotation. With the ship making 30 knots, we’ll have 7 knots above stall speed.”
“Seven frickin’ knots,” Mother said as he frowned at Olive, more incredulous than questioning. She was unfazed.
“More wind over the deck gives us all more of a cushion. With natural winds this time of year, it’s likely we’ll have 40 knots, which is plenty.”
“Plenty to begin our emergency fuel profiles,” Weed smiled.
“Where do we fly to, CAG? Atsugi? Yokota?” Gumby asked.
“Iwo Jima.”
The room waited for more. Iwo Jima?
“And tomorrow morning,” Wilson added, who then turned to his helicopter skippers. “Steve, Jeff, need you guys to ferry parts and people to the beach. Captain Leaf is going to put us inside one hundred miles, but that’s still a long transit with external loads and full cabins. We’ll need you guys to carry the aircraft pylons, empty drops, and maybe some weapons on external loads. Inside, we need to get technicians, ordies, troubleshooters, and pilots to the beach. Full court press, especially for your guys, Steve, in the Sierras. Gumby, get with Olive and see what kind of fuel cushion and drag count you get if you carry two jamming pods on each of your Growlers. If it’s reasonable, we want to do that. Frankly, Olive, if the Supers can carry some empty drops with them off the ship, that’s helpful.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gumby nodded.
The meeting broke up and the shaken COs left to break the news to their ready rooms about the risks they would be taking. Mother held back, and Weed saw it would be a good time to allow Wilson a one-on-one with him.
After the door closed, the two men stood and looked at each other in silence, with Mother looking for a fight.
“CAG, you have gotta be shittin’ me. Half my squadron could go in the water.”
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. He would give him some more rope.
“What do you propose, then, Lieutenant Colonel Tucker?”
Mother knew he was on shaky ground.
“CAG, my guys have no experience in this. Just getting on and off the damn ship is a challenge for them. Maybe you Navy guys have more faith, but the operational risks, especially for my jets, are huge.”
“Want to stay behind then? Are you saying VMFA-335 cannot support combat tasking? Is that what you’re saying, Skipper?”
“No, sir, that’s not what I’m saying! My Marines will support the tasking or die trying. It’s just that… CAG… we’re setting ourselves up for losses before we even get in the fight. Can’t the ship get one catapult up?” Wilson considered his question.