Then the Hornet started settling.
“A lii-itle pow-werrrr,” said Pearly, using his best sugar talk. “Just fine-tune it for me, Spam.”
Pearly saw the Hornet climb back up to the glide path. “Hold what you got.”
The lights of the Hornet drew nearer the ship. Pearly could make out the sleek silhouette of the approaching jet. It was settling again.
“Power! Fly the ball!”
He heard the engines power up. The Hornet rose back to the glide path.
“Don’t go high. Fly the ball.”
The Hornet leveled off, then plummeted toward the ramp.
Whump! The jet plunked down on the deck like a dropped bowling ball. With a shuddering roar, the Hornet lurched to a stop.
“One wire,” called out Chesney. Spam had again landed short of all four arresting cables. Pearly Gates shook his head in disgust. He realized his hand was soaking wet from perspiration. He turned away from the scene on the deck and gazed out to the blackened sea. Sometimes he hated this goddamn job.
“A FNAEB?” Spam stared at him in disbelief. It was the worst thing that could happen to a pilot. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” said DeLancey in a level voice, “is your landing grade average.”
“No, it’s not.” Spam’s eyes flashed. “The problem is Pearly. He’s giving me lousy grades because I’m a woman. He wants me to look bad.”
“You make yourself look bad when you catch six one wires in a row. You got two wave offs and a bolter on top of that.”
“You sound just like Pearly,” she snapped. “I thought you were on my side.”
DeLancey looked exasperated. “I’m quoting the record. That’s why we keep a record, you know — to spot a trend. The LSOs think your trend is dangerous.”
“Are you going to support me or not?”
“I’m the commanding officer. I have to do what’s best for the squadron.”
Spam drew herself up to her full height so that she was peering down at DeLancey. Her voice rose to a crescendo. “You will put a stop to this. Do you understand? You can not convene a FNAEB on me.”
“What are you talking about? I’m the commanding—”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You won’t be the commanding officer of a garbage scow if I tell them about us.”
DeLancey’s eyes widened as if he’d just seen an apparition. “Did you say what I thought you said?”
“If you allow this FNAEB, I’ll tell the world that the highly decorated Killer Delancey is having sex with one of his female pilots. How do you think that will play on Nightline?”
DeLancey was too stunned to answer. He stepped back and stared as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Maxwell sat by himself at the end of the conference table while DeLancey convened the squadron department heads meeting. The safety officer, Lieutenant Commander Bat Masters, sat across from him. Lieutenant Commander Craze Manson, the maintenance officer, and Lieutenant Spoon Withers, the administrative officer, were ensconced along the far side of the big table.
Everyone knew DeLancey hated such meetings. His routine was to make a few brief announcements, then turn over the business of soliciting department head reports to the executive officer.
Today DeLancey seemed distracted. “As you know, CAG insisted that we get a new executive officer right away,” he told them. “For that reason Commander Maxwell has been named the new acting executive officer of the Roadrunners.”
Maxwell noted the “acting.” Really magnanimous of Killer to be so congratulatory. He nodded to the assembled officers while they gave him a smattering of applause.
Delancey glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an air wing staff meeting, so I’ll turn the meeting over to the XO. I know you guys are going to give Commander Maxwell the same kind of cooperation you gave Devo Davis.”
Maxwell noticed the smirks around the table. It was no secret that the other officers had generally ignored Devo. Now they planned to do the same with Maxwell. Okay, it was time for a change.
He waited until DeLancey was gone. “First item of business,” he said, “is a new operations officer. That’s going to be Bat Masters.”
They all looked surprised. Manson blurted, “What’s going on? I’m senior to Bat. I should get the ops job.”
“Bat already has experience in the ops department,” said Maxwell. “I need you in maintenance.”
Manson shook his head. “What’s the skipper say about that?”
“He said I’m the XO. He told me to make the call.”
“We’ll see about that,” Manson muttered. He tilted back in his chair and went into a sulk.
Maxwell ignored him and said, “Starting this afternoon, I’m going to visit each of your offices and go over your records and schedules.”
More surprised looks. Manson tilted forward in his chair and said, “What for?”
“To get a quick snapshot of the squadron. I want to know what’s going on in each of your departments.”
“Devo never did that.”
Maxwell ignored him again. “Admin is my first stop. I’ll be there at thirteen-hundred.”
“Yes, sir,” said Spoon Withers, jotting the time in his notepad.
“Maintenance department at fifteen-hundred,” Maxwell went on. “That a good time for you, Craze?”
“No,” said Manson. “I’ve got a suggestion. Why don’t you just chill out, Brick? Our departments ran fine without Devo getting involved. They’ll do fine without you poking around.” Manson looked around the group. “Isn’t that right, guys?”
No one answered. The other officers glanced at each other, unsure whose side to take. Bat Masters busied himself scribbling on his pad. Spoon Withers was studying the far bulkhead.
Manson stood up and made a show of consulting his pocket calendar. “Looks like I’ve got another appointment now. So long everyone.”
“It’ll have to wait,” said Maxwell. “We’re having a meeting.”
“Sorry. I’m busy.”
Manson left the room, letting the door slam with a clunk behind him.
Several seconds passed while no one spoke. Maxwell felt the other officers watching, waiting to see what he would do. He rose and said, “Nobody move. I’ll be right back.”
Manson was still in the passageway. “Craze, wait a minute,” Maxwell said. “I want to talk to you.”
“Yeah?”
Maxwell glanced around. The passageway was empty. Craze Manson was about his height, but pudgy and thicker at the waist.
He seized Manson by the collar and — Wham! — rammed him against the steel bulkhead.
Tightening his grip on Manson’s collar, he yanked his head forward. Craze Manson’s eyes bulged.
“What the hell? Are you crazy or —”
Wham! Maxwell slammed him back into the bulkhead. “Listen to me, Craze. If you ever utter a disrespectful word to a senior officer in this squadron, I will personally kick your ass up between your shoulder blades.”
Manson’s face was filled with disbelief. “Hey! I’m a lieutenant commander in the Navy. I don’t have to take this shit from —”
Wham! Manson’s head ricocheted off the steel bulkhead. His eyes were watering.
Maxwell tightened his grip even more, clamping down on Manson’s windpipe. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Craze?”
Manson stared back at him.
He gave Manson a violent shake. “Do you understand me, Craze?”
“Yes,” Manson croaked. “Yes, sir.”
Maxwell released him. “That’s good. You know, as the new XO I really appreciate your cooperation, Craze. Now, don’t you agree that we ought to continue the department head meeting?”