Coyote thought for a moment, which seemed like an eternity in the fast-paced environment in TFCC. “If nothing else, you could launch as an antiair platform,” he agreed cautiously. “Come up behind them, even up the odds.”
“Yes. Give me two HARMs, the rest antiair.”
Coyote shook his head, still not certain he believed what they were discussing. “Can you even launch that bird off the cat?”
Tombstone nodded. “More borrowed technology. Rather than building their own catapult systems from scratch, the Russians studied ours. They’re completely interchangeable.”
Coyote turned to a chief. “Pass the word for Lieutenant Commander Gurring and Chief Harding. I want them up here on the double.” He turned back to Tombstone. “Those are your men. If anybody can do it, they can.”
Bird Dog had called in every favor he could in order to have himself included in the air combat mission. Sure, the land attack group would see plenty of action, but it wasn’t the kind that he preferred. Give him a fight against a MiG any day, to dumping iron on stationary targets. When the flight schedule was posted, though, he was in for a disappointment. He turned to the CO and pointed at the offending line item. “What’s this?”
Commander Gator Cummings, the commanding officer and a RIO, peered at the offending item over the top of his reading glasses. “It’s you and Shaughnessy. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t fly with her,” Bird Dog said, feeling his temper start to rise. “I thought I made that pretty clear.”
Gator shut his eyes for a moment as though replaying the conversation in his mind, and finally said, “Yes. Yes, I believe you did.”
“Then what’s this assignment? I don’t want her on my wing. She’s too — too hotheaded.”
At that, Gator roared with laughter. He turned to the rest of the pilots, who were milling about, checking their gear and talking excitedly among themselves. “Hey, listen to this. Bird Dog thinks Shaughnessy is hotheaded.” A wave of guffaws and rude comments swept across the ready room, as every pilot chimed in.
Bird Dog thought someone was too hotheaded? Well, it was about time he knew what it was like to be on the other side of things for change.
“Hey, I’ll swap,” one of the pilots said. “He could have Boomer — I’ll take Shaughnessy any day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Boomer snapped. Boomer was a lieutenant on his second cruise and had already earned a reputation for being an extremely cautious pilot. “You got a problem with the way I fly?”
The first pilot slapped him on the back. “Naw, not a bit. It’s just that Bird Dog wants a conscientious wingman, and well, you fit the bill, don’t you think?”
“Prudent,” Boomer insisted. “Prudent, that’s all. I like to make sure of my shots.” From around the room, other offers to swap wingmen with Bird Dog were called out.
Finally, Gator held his hand up. “Pipe down, everybody. They’ll be no swapping — the flight schedule stands as written.”
“Why?” Bird Dog asked, aware that he was starting to whine. “I don’t see why I should have to—”
“Follow orders like anyone else?” Gator snapped. A sudden silence descended on the ready room. “What makes you think you’re entitled to your choice of wingman? You think that maybe, just maybe, I might know better than you what’s best for this squadron?”
“But I—” Bird Dog started, and Gator waved him off.
“Try looking in the mirror sometime, asshole. Half the time, you’d see Shaughnessy’s face staring back. The only difference is you got more time under your belt. She stays your wingman. Got it?”
“I don’t suppose I have any say in this?” Shaughnessy said, walking to the front of the room. Cold fury infused her delicate features. Electricity seemed to crackle off her. “Because if I do, then I—”
“No,” Gator said simply. “You don’t, either. Now, unless both of you want to be assigned permanent squadron duty officer while everyone else flies, I suggest you get your asses up to the flight deck and start preflight. You fly together, or you don’t fly at all.”
Shaughnessy beat him to the ladder heading up the flight deck, and he had to admit that hurt slightly. She was smaller and weighed less, he told himself. She squirmed through holes in the crowd that you couldn’t expect a guy his size to go. And, climbing the ladder, well, she had a lot less weight to carry around, didn’t she?
By the time Bird Dog arrived on the flight deck, Shaughnessy was already well into her preflight checklist. The plane captain stood by her side, nodding and smiling, and that bothered Bird Dog, too. It was his favorite plane captain, and he resented the defection. Just because Shaughnessy herself used to be a plane captain, they were all over her like she was still one of their own. Well, she better learn about the responsibilities and burdens of being an officer. She couldn’t keep sucking up to a stupid airman.
“Sir?” his own plane captain asked. “Are you ready?”
“Of course I’m ready,” Bird Dog snapped. “I’m always ready.”
All around them, the flight deck buzzed with frantic activity. An outsider watching might have concluded it was uncontrolled chaos, but everyone on the carrier knew better. It was a delicate, complex ballet, each sailor with his own starring role, all under the watchful eye of the Air Boss located in the tower seven decks above.
Forward, the alert five aircraft that had been sitting manned on the catapults were already launching. Steam boiled up from the catapult line as the piston came up to full power. The catapult officer ordered one final check of control surfaces, and the Tomcat wiggled every moving part. Then, satisfied that no last-minute gremlins had crept in, the plane captain popped off a sharp salute. The pilot returned it, the catapult officer dropped the deck and pointed and released his finger from the pickle.
The aircraft shot forward as the shuttle began its run down to the end of the deck. It picked up speed at an astounding rate, taking less than five seconds to reach minimum takeoff speed. First one, then the other alert five aircraft launched.
As the jet blast deflectors lowered, a long line of steam curled lazily away from the shuttle. A familiar vibration rang throughout the deck, a gentler echo of the one produced by the launch, as the shuttles ran back to their starting position. Already Tomcat and Hornets were vying for position. From the middle of the deck, a helo lifted gracefully from its spot, then moved off to the side and took station astern of the carrier.
Bird Dog performed his preflight quickly, almost automatically. How many times had he done this? Why, hell, he had more time preflighting than Shaughnessy had in the cockpit, he’d bet. Finally satisfied, he pulled down the boarding ladder from the side of the aircraft and started to climb up. As his eyes cleared the fuselage, he could see that Shaughnessy and her RIO were already buttoned up, canopy down, and waiting to taxi to their shot.
Dammit, she shouldn’t be getting ahead of him. She was his wingman, not the other way around. He added this offense to the list of infractions she had committed just to piss him off.
A plane captain followed him up, helped him with the ejection harness fastenings, and pulled the safety pins from the ejection seat. He held up the ejection pins for Bird Dog’s inspection, then put them in his pocket. “Good hunting, sir. Kill one of those bastards for me, would you?”
“You got it, buddy. Bird Dog started to slide the canopy forward.
“And, sir?” The airman pointed over at Shaughnessy’s bird. “Bring her back. She’s still kinda new — she doesn’t know what she’s doing like you do. But, I know she always watches to see what you do. She says you’re the best pilot she’s ever known in a Tomcat. So, keep her out of trouble. We’d all really appreciated it.”