“Sir, you said everyone would be okay.” She looked at him as if he had deceived her.
CHAPTER 60
Wilson sat bone tired in his ready room chair, head back, legs stretched out in front. He tried — and failed — to nap while waiting for Saint to show up from his early morning strike. Shortly after his own return, Wilson had answered endless questions from the CVIC spies about the enemy defenses, the hits, Cajun’s last known position, the JDAM indications, and routine coordination procedures. He was then led to flag plot to relay the story, again from the top, while Admiral Smith, with his staff looking over his shoulders, studied target photos and charts of Bandar Abbas. He learned from the admiral that CAG and the Sweeps could not raise Cajun on his survival radio. Neither could they remain in the area where he went in due to the heavy concentration of AAA and a tactical SAM launched at them. Their assessment was that 400 went in several hundred yards off a jetty near the harbor entrance with no indication that Cajun made it out; but there was no proof he was dead, either, so the search and rescue effort was ongoing. Nobody wanted to turn it off and declare him missing — or killed — too soon.
Smith had dark circles under his eyes. Every person in the room did.
Wilson then went on to the strike debrief, which he held in place of his CO. With Cajun’s hits on a nest of boghammars included, Strike 1A had done significant damage to the Pasdaran, and the Irons were four for four with no JDAM problems. The suppression plan was also a bright spot. But to the aviators gathered in the somber ready room the strike was a failure: One of them, the strike lead himself, had not returned.
Air Wing Four had hit the other coastal targets with good results and no additional losses. The last of the early morning strikers were returning. This included the XO, who was now the de facto commanding officer of VFA-64.
Wilson raised his head and looked around at everyone in the silent ready room, which continued to function as a fighting force, even wrapped as they were in the pall of loss. Anita remained at the duty desk, and behind Wilson were several JOs. Among them were Olive, trying to nap; Nttty, in his alert flight gear; and Smoke, taking a sip of water.
Wilson got up and spoke to the group as a whole. “Guys, if you aren’t briefing or debriefing, standing an alert or eating, go and get some rest. We have another big day and night coming up.”
Smoke put down his cup and left without saying anything, and others filed out in glum silence. They didn’t know what to do and were too keyed up to sleep. Wilson felt the same way. Nttty, however, settled in to doze, and exhausted from the flight and her restless sleep from the previous night, Olive remained in her chair with her eyes closed. Wilson sat down next to her and waited for her to respond. Sensing a presence, Olive opened her eyes and turned to Wilson.
“What did you see?” he asked.
Olive looked at the back of the chair in front of her as she formulated her answer. “Just as he pulled off, his right side exploded, as if a round went down the intake. The wing was blown off, and the jet became a tumbling fireball, flaming pieces thrown out. No chute… just… fire… just a shower of fluttering, flaming debris.”
“Yeah… I was releasing when you made your call.”
“What call?”
“You called ‘Skipper!’”
Olive looked away. “I don’t remember,” she said. Wilson studied her and noted lines on her face he had never noticed before.
“You okay?”
“Just whipped. I’ll be fine.”
“I need you to go back up there tomorrow night. Can you do it?” Wilson asked.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Olive replied as she again closed her eyes.
Thirty minutes later, Saint came into the ready room still in his flight gear. Wilson rose to his feet as the XO asked, “What happened to the skipper?”
“Just as we passed the IP, the four of us had NO GPS indications, and the skipper flexed to a visual roll-in, standard high-dive, one run and off. Skipper took a triple-A hit on the pull off. Olive watched him explode right next to her. No chute, no indication of ejection. We marked the wreckage in the water south of the harbor, and CAG relieved me as on-scene commander. However, he couldn’t stay in the vicinity because it was too hot.”
“Yes, I heard you took a few rounds yourself.”
“Yes, sir, superficial damage.”
Saint handed his weapon and blood chit to Anita, and then continued with Wilson. “What do you think?”
Wilson looked away, then back to Saint. “I hope he’s captured, sir.”
“Concur, but is that what you think?”
“No, sir… don’t think he got out.” Nttty and Anita didn’t dare move.
Saint wriggled out of his torso harness and nodded. “I tend to agree with you from everything I’ve heard. I’m going to visit CAG and report as the acting commanding officer of this squadron. You are now acting XO. CAG Ops says he has new strike tasking from above — that’s coming to Skipper Lassiter’s strike planning team — that I will now lead. Meanwhile, we’ve got another day and night of CAPs and strikes coming up. You need to schedule your people smart.”
“Yes, sir.”
Saint grabbed up his flight gear in one arm and headed toward the door. Halfway down the aisle, he turned and said over his shoulder, “Oh, yes, about Hinton. She is now grounded, effective immediately.” He then craned his neck fully to lock eyes with Wilson and ensure his message was received.
“Yes, sir,” Wilson answered and stood still as the new commanding officer of the Ravens exited the ready room.
Nttty and Anita exchanged looks and wondered what they had just witnessed.
CHAPTER 61
Valley Forge had completed her interdiction strikes for the night, except for the helicopters and S-3’s monitoring the surface picture. Two hours earlier, a formation of Tinian AV-8’s had come across two boghammars well south of Chah Bahar that were transiting at a high speed into the Indian Ocean — on an apparent suicide mission to find and attack anything they came across. Each Harrier shot a Maverick guided missile into the boats, blowing one apart and setting the other on fire. After reporting the action on GUARD, the Americans had given the Iranian search and rescue helicopter plenty of sea room to affect the rescue of survivors, which appeared to be small in number.
Just after reveille, Wilson followed Saint along the passageway of blue tiles that led to CAG’s stateroom. Arriving at a blue door emblazoned with a large CVW-4 emblem, Saint knocked twice.
“Come in,” CAG answered, and Saint opened the door.
CAG and DCAG were seated at a table in the middle of a living area. The room was spacious and plush by modern warship standards, yet spartan for a man responsible for more assets and people than the CEOs of many Fortune 500 companies. It featured a desk in one corner, with a squawk box and built-in shelves in another corner, where CAG displayed several personal and professional mementos. Two couches were arrayed against the wall, and another door opened to a bedroom that was little more than a closet.
CAG motioned them to take a seat at the table. “How you guys doing?” he asked.
“We’re making it, sir, but still in shock,” Saint answered. “Any more news?”
“We’ve got some assets in the vicinity of Bandar Abbas watching. The Iranians know where he went in and were observed trolling the area with something like a johnboat to pick up anything they can. Still no contact from Cajun. We have to figure that if he’s not dead, he’s captured. You saw him go in, Flip?”