“Yeah. He was in London on business. Coming home for Christmas.”
“That must have killed Trey.”
“He was sixteen.”
“I had no idea.” She sat quietly. “Does everyone in the squadron know this?”
“A few.”
“Thanks for telling me. I wish I could help him somehow.”
“There’s nothing anyone can do. He’s a big boy now. He just has to deal with it.”
As soon as Woods turned on the overhead light Lieutenant Big McMack rolled over in his rack and pulled the Navy gray wool blanket over his large head. “What are you doing?” he asked, offended.
“Getting dressed,” Woods replied. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Do you have to do it with the overhead light on?”
“It’s six-thirty, Big. Time for all good Navy pilots to be out of the rack. Didn’t they teach you that as a Golden Bear Cub in Junior NROTC at UCLA?”
“I didn’t get in until one this morning when you were getting your academy-puke beauty sleep.”
“What can I say?” Woods replied, lacing up his black leather flying boots. “I was in HAQ for three long days, but now I’m back in the good graces of the Skipper, I’m back on the flight schedule, and I’ve got the second brief this morning. Not the first brief mind you, not the one that would have required that I be there at 0630; no, I’ve got the brief for the second event, which briefs at 0800. Which has allowed me to take a shower, to go now and get some breakfast — a five-egg omelet with bacon, ham, and cheese should do it — and then I’ll stroll down to the ready room and brief for a hop in which I will intercept numerous Air Farce F-15Es trying to sink our home and get our stereos wet, and properly kick their asses.” He stood up and looked at Big’s general outline underneath his blanket. “Who wrote this incredible flight schedule?”
“You’re making me sick,” Big replied.
“Well, I’m off. Don’t wait up,” Woods said as he opened the steel door to the passageway. “Do you want me to turn out the light?” he asked. He answered his own question before Big could. “Nah, you’re getting up anyway,” he said, closing the door and leaving the light on.
“Trey!” Big yelled helplessly.
Woods stood outside the door for five seconds, then reached in and turned off the light before locking it behind him.
Woods and Wink walked out to their airplane at 0830. It was as clear and beautiful a day as either could remember. Blue everywhere, the sparkling ocean, and the crystal clear sky, divided only by the razor-thin horizon that was visible only because of the color difference between the water and the sky.
They handed their helmet bags and knee boards to Airman Benson and stared at the ocean. Woods noticed that Wink was looking up. “What you got?”
“Intercept of an F-15,” Wink replied, pointing and smiling.
Woods saw them immediately. He could hear the distinctive sound of the Tomcat’s engines. “The sound of freedom! I love it!” The F-15 was heading straight for the ship and descending on the way. It was about three miles out and hard to see. Woods saw the F-14 to its right running an intercept on the F-15.
“Who’s up?” Wink asked.
“XO and Brillo,” Woods replied, naming the crew he had written into the flight schedule last night for the first hop of the day.
They watched as the F-14 lowered its nose to cut across the circle and get to the F-15 before he reached the ship. “He’s doing a low yo-yo,” Wink observed.
“He’s a little low to try that.”
They stood in their flight gear and watched the F-14 approach the F-15. Others on the flight deck were staring. It was rare for them to see an F-14 flying that fast after another airplane so close to the carrier. The sky was completely clear except for the two fighters.
The F-14’s nose continued to drop toward the ocean.
“He must be doing five hundred knots,” Woods remarked, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the steepness of the F-14’s dive.
“At least.”
“He’s going to be in some deep shit if he doesn’t pull up,” Wink said, watching with building terror.
The F-15 was within a mile of the carrier and continuing to increase speed and move lower toward the ocean. The Tomcat’s nose continued down and was now pointed directly at the water a thousand feet above the carrier and right in front of it.
“He doesn’t know where he is!” Woods exclaimed; he and everyone else on the flight deck knew what the Tomcat pilot didn’t.
“Pull up!” Wink screamed.
“Get out! Get out!” Woods joined in, watching helplessly.
Others on the flight deck were yelling futile instructions at the Tomcat.
The F-14 couldn’t hear them. It made the sound of a breaking baseball bat as it plunged straight into the sea at six hundred knots and vanished beneath the surface.
Woods and Wink dashed madly to the bow of the carrier as the Captain tried to stop the Washington’s forward momentum.
The F-15 screamed overhead and banked to see the point of impact in the water. The Eagle pilot pulled up and headed back to Italy.
The sea boiled with white foam from air and jet fuel and energy where the Tomcat had just buried itself. Woods could feel the deck of the carrier shuddering as the enormous screws reversed themselves to slow the ninety-five-thousand-ton behemoth to a stop. Woods and Wink searched the water for any sign of life or of hope. All they saw were small pieces of honeycombed airplane parts floating quietly to the surface.
“They bought it,” Wink said.
Woods nodded, fighting back the desire to scream, or throw up, or quit flying. “Let’s go tell the Skipper,” he said. They found the nearest ladder down to the 03 level from the flight deck and worked their way back quickly to the ready room. Word had somehow already spread through the ship. All the sailors in the passageway could tell the officers needed to get by and made a hole allowing them to pass.
They turned into Ready Room Eight. They knew by the long faces that word of what had happened had preceded them.
Woods looked at Bark. “The XO?”
Bark nodded, his face dark with sadness. “I need you to head up the on-scene accident investigation team.”
“Yes, sir,” Woods replied automatically.
“There’s a helo turning on deck. It’ll take you over to the David Reynolds. They have a motor whaleboat in the water. They’re waiting for you. Recover what you can. Check for signs of malfunction or fire.”
“Yes, sir,” Woods said.
“Any questions?”
Woods spoke quietly. “There wasn’t any fire, sir. They just flew into the water. I saw it.”
“I know. We’re just going to do this by the numbers… How am I going to tell his wife? Three daughters.”
Woods put his helmet on a chair, then wondered where his knee board was. Still in the plane, he recalled. Then what Bark had just said hit him. He remembered the XO’s daughters. They had come to the last squadron party before their father left on cruise. “How old?”
“Eight, ten, and twelve.”
Woods hated the senselessness of it. “It’s not worth it.” His frustration boiled over. “What are we doing out here, Skipper?”
Bark thought about it. “Brillo. All he wanted was to get married and have a family. Never even got the chance. He didn’t even have a girlfriend.” He forcibly shifted his focus. “Get up to the flight deck.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Woods walked quickly out of the ready room and hurried down the passageway to his stateroom, grabbing his flight jacket. He slipped it on while running toward the island and the waiting helicopter. He reached the office on the flight deck and looked around for the transportation officer.
A First Class Petty Officer approached. “You the one going to the David Reynolds, sir?” At Woods’s nod, he handed him a cranial helmet and flotation rest and opened the hatch to the flight deck.