EDWARD
Two hundred fifty feet. The runway I'm about to land on is two hundred fifty feet long, and it's moving away from me at thirty knots. It's also bouncing back and forth, nearly from flat on one side to flat on the other in the high waves of the sea. Crosswinds are at thirty miles an hour. It's pouring down rain and visibility is shit. Oh yeah, and it's pitch black night. Most would think being pitch black would be a good thing since the runway is lit up like a Christmas tree, but what those people don't realize is that I've got about three feet on either tip of the wings for error. Over three feet and I'm either taking off somebody's head or one of my wings.
There's a wire stretched across the runway, which I have about 30 feet to snatch with my tail hook, or else I'm gonna fly off the end of the runway and into the ocean, unless I can hit the afterburners fast enough for another takeoff, in which case, I'd have to start all over again.
And I'm unfocused. The most dangerous thing to a pilot is lack of focus. On takeoff a few hours ago I was unfocused and dropped 10 feet off the end of the runway before hitting my afterburners and pulling up. That's not supposed to happen. My CO is gonna have my ass for that one when I get back onboard. Fucking up the landing would only make it worse.
I listen to the NCO in my headset and go in for the landing.
I didn't realize I'd come in at an angle, so that when I touched down on the flight deck, I touched down with one wheel a few seconds before the other. When my tail hook grabbed the wire and I was jerked to a stop, the weight wasn't evenly distributed by any means, and I jerked the plan right over onto it's back. A complete flip.
A couple million dollars in government equipment completely smashed.
Oh, and there was a fire. Jet fuel tends to have that effect on an already bad situation.
The hood of the cockpit shattered on impact so I apparently unbuckled the harness and crawled out to safety... with a head injury and multiple burns on my body. Luckily, I was the only one hurt.
The medics drug me to the edge of the flight deck to try to stabilized me as the fire crew got to work on the wreckage of my jet and the chopper was readied to medi-vac me out for medical attention.
I don't remember any of that. The last thing I remember is coming in to land, getting the OK to hit the deck with my F-18. After that, all I remember is seeing her face, and wishing that I was back stateside with her instead of trying to out on some floating city in the middle of the ocean. I didn't even like water, much less boats.