“We have five pilots aboard the Farragut, sir. But I would think that the helicopter squadron CO would have to sign off on that…”
The commodore picked up his phone and dialed a number. “CAG, Commodore. I want to steal one of the helicopter pilots on the Farragut and make him my new air ops officer. I’ll bring him over here to the carrier. He can do double-duty and help relieve your helo bubbas if they need it. That okay with you?” The commodore grabbed a pen and paper. “Uh-huh. Okay. Yes, I’ll have him do that. Thanks, CAG.” He hung up.
Boyle looked at his watch. He needed to get ready to head back.
The commodore hung up the phone. “CAG gave his approval. Here, get in touch with the commanding officer of HSM-46 and figure out who you can send over. I’d like him here tomorrow, before you guys get out of range. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
Plug’s mouth hung open. Victoria felt bad for him. He didn’t deserve this. But it was slightly humorous to her that a man who had recently stared down death and danger in the cockpit had finally found his fear — paper pushing.
“There must be some mistake.”
Victoria said, “The skipper said he talked to the CO of 74. You’ll still get to fly with them on the carrier.”
“Boss, I’m the maintenance officer for your det. I’ve done a good job, right? I was going to extend for another year. I was going try to be an instructor pilot — maybe see if I could get a slot in San Diego. This isn’t even a job I’m supposed to have yet… and I can’t roll now. How were they even able to cut orders so fast?”
“The Desron commodore wanted an air operations officer. He heard what a great job you’ve done here, and he personally selected you.”
Plug glowered at her. “Really?”
“No. Any helicopter pilot would have done for him, probably. It was our skipper that chose you. He couldn’t send one of the 2Ps, they don’t have enough experience.” Her face said she was sorry, but she was also amused.
“Is this punishment? Is it because I’m a wiseass?”
“No.”
“Will this hurt my career?”
“It’ll probably help it.”
“Why?” His hands were in his face.
“Why will it help your career?”
“No.” Plug let out a huge sigh as they sat on opposite sides of the empty wardroom table. “Why me? Never mind.”
Victoria realized that Plug was just once again making his rapid transition through the different stages of grief. He didn’t want to leave his ship, or his men. He didn’t want to go work for SWOs. Didn’t want to become a staff officer. It would mean less flying. More time in front of a computer, creating briefs and documents for senior officers to scour over.
Finally, acceptance.
“Fuck it. When do I leave?”
She said, “I want you to know that we’ll really miss you. You did a great job here, Plug. I’m completely serious. Even if you did crash one of my helicopters.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me, old lady. And it was a landing. It just happened to be the case that I landed on water.”
She smiled. “The deck hit is at fifteen hundred. Go break the news to your partners in crime and pack your stuff.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Victoria waited until he left and then picked up the phone next to her. It rang once.
“Spike, I’m in the wardroom. Please come see me.” She hung up the phone without waiting for him to answer. He wasn’t in trouble. But there were only a few things in life that could really entertain her right now. Messing with her junior officers by making think they were in trouble was one of them.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Juan “Spike” Volonte crept through the wardroom door in a wrinkled flight suit, his eyes wide with apprehension. From the lines all over his face, she had interrupted a rare nap. “You wanted to see me, Boss?”
“Have a seat.”
He walked over and sat in the seat that Plug had just been in. “Anything wrong?”
“I’m afraid that your performance as the detachment operations officer is no longer going to work for me.”
“Boss, wait. What’s wrong? If you need me to do something extra, I can do it. I…” Spike was as much of an overachiever as she was. He just wasn’t as good at reading people.
“I’m making you the new MO.”
A cloud of confusion formed on his face. “Me? Maintenance officer? Plug just walked by me in the hall. He looked… what’s happening?”
“He’s being sent over to the carrier. So is Murphy. We’re down to one helicopter, and they apparently think that we can manage with just me and two 2Ps.”
“Just three pilots?”
“Yes. It’ll be me, you, and Caveman. Caveman will take over the scheduling from you. You’ll take over the maintenance officer role from Plug. Think you can handle it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Go down and talk to Senior Chief and let him know. Start spending all your free time there. From speaking with the captain, it sounds like we’ll be doing a lot of surveillance flights over the next few weeks.”
23
All three of the US Army Delta Force operators were Asian-American men. Two spoke fluent Mandarin and passable Cantonese. Chase would be their token white guy. Considering where they were headed, he hoped that wasn’t one too many. They had been training together on Guam for the past week and had gelled as a team.
Chase had never heard of the “Bod Pod,” as the US Air Force officer had referred to it. He stood next to a DARPA scientist who had flown halfway around the world to meet with them for thirty minutes, in the middle of the night, in Guam.
“This will be the first time we’ve ever used it operationally. But it has worked with the monkeys.”
One of the Delta guys raised an eyebrow. “Monkeys?”
“Yup. Tested this sucker out with monkeys, just like the space program. I mean, they didn’t have the oxygen masks or communications equipment like you guys will. So you’ll be able to speak with the air crew. The monkeys couldn’t.”
Chase glanced at the Air Force officer and then at the spec ops guys. “I’m guessing that wasn’t the only reason that the monkeys couldn’t talk to the pilots.”
The scientist said, “Quite right. Quite right.” His eyes darted around nervously. “Anywho, you boys will each have your own pod. They’re pressurized, so you won’t need to wear or use your oxygen masks while flying. You won’t be able to move around much. Pretty cramped in there. But try not to fall asleep. We set up a manual switch that you have to press. A fail-safe, so that the pilots can’t eject you without you being ready.”
“Well, that’s nice. So what, we press the button and what… the bomb bay doors just open up and we fall out?”
“That’s about it. Uh. Both you and the pilot have to press the button. And the pilot—”
The Air Force officer said, “It’ll actually be the combat systems officer who you’ll be speaking with. He’ll press the button. And you’ll be able to communicate with him, if you need to.”
“Yes, right,” said the scientist. “The combat systems officer will monitor the navigational track and make sure that the aircraft is set up at the appropriate course, speed, and altitude, and then press their release button. They can’t press theirs until the aircraft’s outer bomb bay is open. That will prevent you from falling three feet onto the closed metal doors of the B-2. That would hurt.”