The Jolly Roger F-14 left thick white vapors behind it from the G forces acting on the wings. It screamed away from earth, still supersonic, climbing like a bandit. In five seconds it was passing through ten thousand feet and growing smaller.
Woods held the stick against his left thigh as he took the Tomcat spun through one aileron roll after another. The nose was exactly straight up, ninety degrees away from the horizon, the earth spinning around and around beneath them, as if suspended on a string. “Passing fifteen,” Wink reported.
“Roger,” Woods replied. “Who was on the flight deck anyway?”
“Passing twenty. I’m not sure. I think the Israeli Secretary of Defense and a couple of other politicians.”
“Prime Minister?”
“Passing twenty-five. Yeah, he was supposed to come. Don’t think he did though.”
“We’ll level off at thirty.”
“Okay.”
As they passed through thirty thousand feet, no longer supersonic but still rocketing away from earth, Woods steadied the Tomcat in level flight, upside down, then rolled upright, his throttle reduced to four hundred knots.
“Victory 200, RTB.”
“Roger, 200. Air show complete, green deck. Cleared into the break.”
“Roger that,” Wink said. “Let’s do it.”
Woods rolled upside down and pulled the nose down toward the horizon. The plane quickly descended through twenty thousand feet and headed back toward the ship. Woods glanced to his right as they straightened from their left turn. “Check it out,” he said, looking over at Israel. “Sure is pretty.”
“I’ll say.”
“You ever been there?”
“No. Passing through five thousand feet. You?”
“Once. Wings coming back. Last cruise I was on.”
“What did you think? Victory 200, five miles for the break, see you.”
“Roger, 200, cleared for the break. Say speed.”
Wink glanced at his airspeed indicator. “Five hundred.”
“Roger.”
The carrier was passing underneath them and to their left. Woods banked the plane slightly to see the deck clearly. “Check that out,” he said. “They’ve got the dignitaries standing on the flight deck just forward of the island.”
“We ought to bolter just to give them something to see.”
“Not today. I’m too hungry.”
They waited until they had passed in front of the carrier. Wink braced and Woods snapped the Tomcat into a left bank, pulling back hard on the stick. At eight hundred feet they headed downwind, the opposite direction of the ship. Leveling out, they went through the landing checklist quickly and started their approach turn toward the carrier, the only airplane in the air.
Big watched his roommate bank toward the flight deck onto final approach. The LSOs were in place, ready to receive the big fighter. Woods rolled into the groove and steadied on his heading and rate of descent. He was on rails. The Tomcat descended steadily and quickly toward the landing area as the dignitaries stared, openmouthed.
Wink transmitted, “Victory 200, Tomcat, ball, 7.0.”
The LSO replied, “Roger, ball.”
Woods watched the ball, the landing reference lens on the port side of the ship. It was perfectly centered. He glanced again at his rate of descent, his lineup, and his angle of attack. The deck rushed up and stopped the Tomcat’s descent and the wire grabbed the tailhook. Woods put the throttles full forward and tried to pull away from the wire. The Tomcat rolled to a short stop on the deck. A perfect landing.
The Israeli dignitaries were stunned. They had been around the military all their lives, but had never seen anything remotely like this. They looked at the Tomcat and the carrier with envy.
18
Eight F-16 Israeli fighters appeared out of nowhere and flew over the Washington as it steamed majestically into Haifa Bay. They banked east and flew inland, still in formation. Woods smiled at the sight. There was nothing quite like seeing fighters fly in formation. Woods aligned his belt buckle to keep his whites pristine and perfect. He was one of the few squadron officers willing to put on his dress uniform for the privilege of standing on deck while approaching Haifa. Sailors lined the perimeter of the flight deck and every deck above it, to the O12 level above the signal bridge, their whites snapping like flags in the stiff breeze.
Small patrol gunboats of the Israeli Navy — officially not a Navy, just part of the Israeli Defense Force — cruised alongside like puppies, dwarfed even by the Ticonderoga, the Aegis cruiser accompanying the Washington.
Excitement had been building for days since the port visit to Haifa had been confirmed. The sailors had assumed it would never happen. Too much volatility. Port calls in Israel were always subject to the political winds and changed with little notice. Many of the sailors had been on cruises in the Mediterranean before and had been scheduled to go to Haifa only to have the plans change for reasons they couldn’t now remember. But someone had decided that allowing events like the bus attack to vary the schedule was giving in to terrorism. And now they were in Israel.
They were excited; more than the usual excitement of a port call. Perhaps it was the recommendation to wear their uniforms ashore that so astounded them. The usual instructions were to wear civilian clothes and try not to look too American; otherwise, it was thought, people might spit on you or try to shoot you. But here, there were stories of people being asked over to dinner by Israelis because they were Americans. And women who wanted to spend time with you because you were in the Navy. That rumor alone was enough to make the sailors lose sleep.
As always in the Mediterranean, the Washington anchored offshore, her draft too deep to pull into port.
As soon as the anchors were lowered the boats were prepared to carry the men to liberty. Woods was in line to be on the first officer boat. Big was his reluctant companion.
Woods bounced impatiently. He had been to Israel before, but had never taken advantage of his time to see the country. This would be different. He had traded with other officers so the duty watches he was scheduled to stand weren’t during the time in port in Israel. He could spend every minute of the next four days seeing the country. And finding out what had happened to Vialli.
“How are we going to get to Tel Aviv?” asked Big unenthusiastically.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Vaguely. It’s north of Tel Aviv on the coastal highway.”
Big looked down at Woods. “Why are you doing this?”
“Have to.”
“Won’t change anything.”
Woods nodded slowly. “I know.”
“Then why do it? You’ve gotta get on with your life. Vialli’s death—”
“Murder.”
“Okay, murder. You can’t spend the rest of your life obsessing about it.”
“I’m not obsessing.”
“Right,” Big replied as the line started to move.
“I just want justice…”
Big scoffed. “You need to read more Shakespeare. Then you’d know justice doesn’t exist.”
“I’m not talking about global justice, Big. I’m talking about making the people who did this pay. That’s all.”
“Good luck,” Big replied, stepping into the open enlisted boat being used as an officer boat. Automatically, he walked toward the bow. Woods followed. “They never find those guys, and if they do, they can’t ever do anything about it.”