August 9, 2001, 0645 Local, Eclipse Coffee Connection, Diego Garcia, Indian
Ocean
Mac was dying for a cup of coffee, and the O-Club java, in her opinion, wasn't fit to drink, particularly if the need for taste and high- test caffeine coincided. All in all the intelligence conference had been a waste of time in her opinion. No new information was shared. Harm had been 'kidnapped' by Tom Boone and hadn't made the trip (another lost opportunity). Her boss wasn't a happy camper about the lack of new data. About the only thing that made the five-hour ride worthwhile was seeing Bud again.
Now she had some bad news to share, and she wanted to get it behind her ASAP before she had a chance to think about the ramifications of the message from her boss that was waiting when she logged onto the system this morning.
"I hope you didn't pack any aloha shirts for the trip, Bud," she opened once he sat down. "Gen. Buckner has snagged you for a trip up to the 3rd MEU for a few days. Apparently your 'expertise' in converting policy to ROE (rules of engagement) somewhere along the trail is coming back to haunt you. It seems that Adm. Boone and my boss have selected you as the official interpreter of a batch of new guidance that's coming down the pike, and your reward will be a relaxing sea cruise rather than a long flight either to Hawaii or back to the states in a cramped, cold, noisy airplane."
The change of plans didn't really register immediately, and Bud blinked a couple of times while the message processed. He laughed a little ruefully once the implications of Mac's words soaked through. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, particularly since I was involved in a lot of the darn ROE debate before I came over here." With a shrug the younger officer absorbed the news and turned his attention to the coffee house's internet connection as he checked his e-mail.
Mac soaked up the high-test coffee while mentally getting ready for a five hour ride back to the Gulf. As the two officers made their various preparations for the flight reams of new intelligence data and Pentagon policy documents were sizzling through cyberspace on the way to the 3rd MEU's command structure. Most of it was routine. Some of it was VERY new and challenging. None of it, however, offered clear guidance about what was ahead.
August 10, 2001, 0715 Local, Operations, NAS Patuxent River, MD
The leading chief in the ops office shoved a stack of paperwork across the counter to Harm. "Here's your weather package Captain. Looks like a good day for your QUALS (carrier qualification flight). Visibility is about four miles offshore in some haze, and the sea state should give you a real stable platform."
As he was leafing through the flight release package Harm's instructor breezed into the office for a few last minute words of wisdom. 'Flashy Gordon' gave her student a long look before opening. "Don't sweat today's stuff. You're solid in the jet. Just remember it's a Plastic Bug not a Tomcat, so you will be a little hotter on the approach. Just do the same things we did yesterday with the shipboard bounce drill: Fly the ball; watch the indexer (angle of attack indicator), and don't hit the spud locker."
Before walking away Harm also got a request: "Hammer, the CAG on Enterprise is an old friend. If you get a couple of minutes while you're embarked can you pass along my best?
"With any luck you'll be ashore by 1730. See you at the club." With that the tall, red head sauntered out of operations. Harm picked up his personal gear and headed for the crew bus and a trip to the flight line.
August 10, 2001, 0825 Local, Buster 22, Atlantic Training Range
"Morning Home Plate, Buster 22 is with you descending out of 16,000."
The approach controller had a pronounced Texas twang when he replied, "Mornin' Buster 22, descend and maintain 6,000 and fly heading 080. Y'ur number three for the boat. I'll have a turn in on initial for you in 'bout six miles."
Harm got busy cleaning up the Super Hornet's cockpit as he stepped through the in range checklist before his approach controller turned him inbound for the deck. "Buster 22, left now to 010 and maintain 2,000 feet. You're three miles in trail of your traffic and number three for the deck." As he acknowledged the controller Harm was able to pick up traces of the Big E's wake through the broken clouds. Descending through 3,000 feet he was in the clear and able to see the ship's wake like an arrow pointing toward the carrier.
"Buster 22 maintain 2,000 'til the break; speed on initial is 240. Your traffic will be breaking downwind in about 1 mile. Contact final controller local channel two on the break. So long!"
Harm punched the radio over to the next channel in time to hear the pair of Tomcats he was following be handed off to the ship's LSO (landing signal officer) on their break. For the next 60 seconds or so it would be a quiet ride as the Hornet sailed toward the ship a four miles per minute, but once abeam of the ship and into the break Harm would be on the most unique hot seat in aviation as he maneuvered the F/A-18 through the pattern and trapped (landed) on the Enterprise.
A final, quick pull at the restraining straps had Harm and Buster 22 ready for the approach as they zoomed over the flight deck 2,000 feet above the water at 240 knots.
The calm, professional controller's voice called the start of the aerial ballet. "Buster 22 roger the break, keep the pattern in close with traffic three miles in trail. Monitor local channel 7 and call the ball."
As he sharply reduced the power with his left hand Harm pitched the Hornet into a hard left break (turn) pulling just over four times the force of gravity in the bargain. A large portion of the Hornet's energy was bled off in the break and as he rolled out heading downwind away from the ship he was slowing through 200 knots. A couple of quick hand movements selected the second notch of flaps, and once the flaps were deployed the landing gear and the arresting hook followed them.
A quick glance over his left shoulder confirmed the Enterprise was correctly positioned for another sharp left turn, and when the 180 degree course reversal was complete Enterprise was ahead and slightly to the left as the Hornet's speed stabilized at just under 180 knots.
"Buster 22 ball! Super Hornet. Fuel two-point-two (Translation: Buster 22 sees the ship's illuminated landing guidance system. The aircraft is an F/A-18 Super Hornet with 2,200 pounds of fuel on board. The aircraft type and fuel load are vital for the correct adjustment of the carrier's arresting gear.)
The assistant LSO picked up the inbound Hornet visually right away and noted that the aircraft was well positioned in the 'slot' with gear, flap, and hook deployed for arrival while the senior LSO monitored a Tomcat's booming arrival. Once the F-14D was safely aboard the LSO, a very senior Commander with over 350 traps in his logbook turned his attention to the arriving Hornet.
Just under one mile from the ship Harm and the LSO were looking at opposite ends of a highly complex ballet of airspeed, power, angle of attack, altitude and sink rate. When all of the elements were managed correctly the jet hit the flight deck at over 160 miles per hour and the hook engaged arresting wire number three and was halted. If any of the variables were off to a significant degree the pilot, the jet and the ship were put at risk.
One step ahead of the Hornet all of the way down Harm caught the three wire and trapped aboard Enterprise on his first pass. As the flight deck plane handlers marshaled Buster 22 into its parking spot something Flashy Gordon said really struck home.
"Hammer, you aren't 25 anymore. You don't have the reflexes to 'jump' out of trouble, but you've got the experience to see it coming and take action before things get out of hand. Use your superior judgment so you don't have to bet on your superior airmanship."
August 10, 2001, 0900, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range
After his knock a muffled voice sounded through the closed door, "Enter," and Harm stepped through the opening into the CAG's (Commander Air Group) office reflexively coming to attention waiting for the ship's boss airman to put him at ease.
"Relax. Haven't been exercising either the new fourth stripe or the silver chicken much as sea have you Harm? Grab a chair and I'll get us some coffee on the way." Capt. William "Little Bill" Butler had been one year ahead of Harm at the Academy and was about nine months senior in rank. "What's with the 'junior birdman' program Hammer? I thought you and Adm. Boone were busy plotting the overthrow of the navy, as we know it."
With a chuckle Harm just shrugged. "I don't know about that. As far as I can tell I'm just one more dazed, confused junior officer in a sea filled with stars."
"Harm, I don't think you are going to be able to sell that part of the Brooklyn Bridge here. The way I hear it you're sitting at the right hand of God in all of this force realignment horseshit. But, enough yapping about things I can't change. What's on your mind?"
Little Bill had always been a little tight wrapped for Harm's taste, but it looked like he was made for the CAG's job on Enterprise, and, frankly, Harm was for a couple of moments envious. Had fate taken a different turn he could see himself as the CAG somewhere, but that wasn't slated to happen.
"Flashy Gordon is my transition instructor, and she asked me to pass along her best. For a Marine she's a heck of an instructor, and I will bet she's not happy flying some paper program at Pax River rather with a squadron."
Little Bill took a moment to consider a reply before proceeding. "Harm, she's more than that. She's a helluva Marine, and if the Corps will ever get its head completely out of its ass she'll be a first-rate squadron commander. In fact, in a few years, she should have a fist full of stars on her shoulders and be running something bigger than a squadron.
"Shit, be thankful she's a jarhead. If she were in the Navy you and I would be looking over our shoulders at her. Don't let the drop-dead looks get in the way. She's an officer on the way up.
"Now that you've got the pleasantries out of the way, did you just make your final trap?"
"No, LB, just the first one with four more to put in the book before heading back to the beach. With any luck I'll only need a quick gas and go on the final trap and recover at Pax River in time for happy hour."
A quick, tight grin from Little Bill was all that Harm got. "On the beach? Happy hour? Wow, that's a plan for the day. We're two days into a five month cruise, so I am guessing it will be a few days before any of our guys are concerned about either the beach or happy hour. By the way: How was the trap?"
"It felt good to me LB. I didn't see the LSO scoring, but I'll take it."
The CAG finally broke a real smile. "You don't need to see the Greenie Board to know it would have put you at the head of the class. I told the video king to save the tapes and plan to use them to show how to get a Plastic Bug aboard the right way. Harm, make one more like the first one and get a pair of clean cat shots in the bargain, and I will sign you off myself.
"I'll talk with the air boss to be sure we run you straight through on your next trap. That way you won't have to screw around waiting on deck for a respot to launch. Our ops tempo is pretty low right now, so the boss should be able to just have the deck apes taxi you directly into the launch line unless the visual inspection shows something on the bird."
With that handshakes were exchanged and Harm headed below to get his mandatory weather briefing and launch release paperwork.
August 10, 2001, 0947 Local, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range
As soon as the bridle was attached to the nose gear of Buster 22 the crew scrambled out of the way; the catapult officer gave the Super Hornet a quick visual inspection, and Harm completed his final cockpit checks. Everything was 'okay' inside and out so the catapult officer gave the classic spin 'em up signal and the Hornet's two GE turbines wound up to maximum rated power. Satisfied with what he saw on the engine instruments Harm slid the Hornet's two thrust levers through their respective afterburner gates and the bird hurled itself against the holdback bridle with a vengeance.
Salutes were exchanged and the cat boss leaned forward and touched the deck signaling the shooter to fire. When the petty officer operating the Big E's starboard catapult mashed the launch button a massive burst of steam pressure blasted out of the accumulator and rammed the piston forward accelerating the Hornet from a dead stop to a little over 140 knots.
The dart shaped Hornet dipped slightly as it cleared the ships bow, but with a little backpressure on the stick started a slight climb as Harm patiently waited for the speed to build up. At a little over 175 knots Harm started an easy turn to the right to clear the ships path to make way for the next launch and, more importantly, get the aircraft away from the ship.
Ditching in the moments after launch due to a mechanical failure was exciting enough without worrying about being run down by thousands of tons of carrier.
Since he was launched from the starboard forward cat Harm would bend the bird around into a right downwind entry into the Big E's traffic pattern, and he contacted the ship's approach controller climbing out of 3,000 feet.
"Homeplate, Buster 22 out of three turning downwind closed traffic."
"Roger Buster 22, contact, fly heading 190 and maintain five. You are number six for the ship. Expect a seven-mile turn to final. Are you a trap or a bang and go?"
Despite himself Harm grinned into the oxygen mask. "Buster 22 will be a trap with any luck."
"You bet. You're number six."
Abeam the navy's original nuclear powered aircraft carrier Harm paused to take a long look at the now aging carrier. He had never made a cruise on the Big E, and was a little saddened by the thought. Enterprise was heading for the Med and he was heading back to the puzzle palace. Each with their respective duties, but he was envious of the sailors and airmen who were headed out for the cruise. At least they knew what they were supposed to accomplish over the next six months.
The radio chatter had been almost non stop, but, like virtually all long-time aviators Harm had the unique ability to turn the noise out unless it was pertinent to his operation. After a few long minutes he was headed back to the ship.
"Buster 22, right now to 220 and maintain three thousand until you have the ship in sight. Approach now on local channel five for the final controller."
"Rog, approach, thanks!"
First the ship's boiling white wake was visible and a shallow turn a little more to the right revealed Enterprise steaming away at just over 30 knots. Harm punched up the proper channel for the next controller and checked on the frequency. "Buster 22's with you three thousand with the bird farm in sight."
"Morning Buster 22, you're number two for the ship with traffic on one mile final. Reduce to 200 and maintain current heading. I'll have a right turn back to the final approach course for you in about 90 seconds."
"Rog, copy"
During the 90-second pause the approach checklist was completed.
"Buster 22 right now to 350. Call the ball this frequency."
As the Hornet rolled out of the turn Harm picked up the visual landing system just over two miles astern of the ship. Hands moved over the gear lever and the second notch of flaps was selected. While the gear and flaps cycled the arresting hook locked into position.
"Buster 22 ball. Super Horner 1.8"
"Buster 22, paddles (landing signal officer) looking good. Keep her coming."
The straight-in approach coupled with the last minute maneuvering made this approach much busier and much quicker than the first landing, and Harm was working hard to stay ahead of the approach. A very quick final cockpit check assured that the gear was indeed down and the airplane properly configured for the approach."
A glowing green ball was illuminated in the middle of the angle of attack indicator, and everything was nailed down as the Hornet bobbled through the area of disturbed air left along the final approach course by the wind disturbed passing around carrier's island. The main gear hit just up the deck from the number two arresting wire and the trailing hook caught the number three wire trapping the aircraft dragging it quickly to a halt.
Harm was marshaled quickly up the deck as one of the purple shirted fueling crew held up a board indicating the amount of fuel that would be added to the Hornet, per the original briefing. As soon as the engines were shut down the fueling operation started, and just under 10 minutes later, following a by-the-book restart Buster 22 was settling into the ship's port side, forward catapult.
The little beep that indicated a secure radio link on the guard channel caught Harm's attention as he worked through the final launch checklist. Little Bill was on the horn with the final grade: "Good job, Hammer. Enjoy the ride to the beach, and tell your instructor I said hello."
Harm keyed the secure system," Rog, LB. Have a good cruise."
Off to the aircraft's starboard quarter the catapult crew signaled they were ready, and the dance was on again. Harm's head was shoved back against the ejection seat headrest by the catapult and the Hornet came alive again.
The ride back to Pax River was uneventful with a by-the-book recovery logged and the paperwork was complete by 1445 local. Flashy Gordon did her instructor pilot magic with the paperwork and the deal was done.
A little sad smile graced the major's face while she shook Harm's hand. "Since, we're both without a squadron to celebrate with, I'll see you at the club at 1830 and we can 'wet down' a new aircraft qualification and another successful CARQUAL."
Capt. Harmon Rabb could officially add the F/A-18 Super Hornet officially to the list of aircraft he was legally qualified to fly. Now if he could just negotiate the rocks and shoals of his changing political and personal life, as successfully 2001 could be a great year he thought.
August 10, 2001, 1620 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU
Gunny Max O'Grady jumped to attention as his boss and a naval officer in mussed khakis stepped out of the sally port and into the intelligence section. Mac quickly put her leading NCO at ease with an automatic "as you were."
"Colonel Mac it's good to see you back. A ton of crap has been spewing out of every secure channel on the damn ship, and most of it doesn't appear to make much sense at least to we mere mortals."
A quick look around and a laugh put Mac back into her element. "Max, I have never seen anything that a 'superior' gunny couldn't decipher. Should I rethink your last FITREP (fitness report)?" Before the career NCO could respond his leader continued.
"The Navy's benevolent Gods have stirred on Mount Olympus and Commander Roberts has been sent to help us see the light." Gesturing at Bud she rolled on. "The Commander has interrupted his trip to the tropical paradise of Pearl Harbor to join us briefly and assist in translating the holy scrolls into actual guidance and, with any luck, some real ROE revisions."
While Bud fought back a small blush from the compliment O'Grady just shrugged and looked from one officer to the other. "With all due respect ma'am, sir, I'm not sure anyone is going to be able to convert all of this contradictory bullshit from the Tower of Babel into something worthwhile."
TBC
Mac was dying for a cup of coffee, and the O-Club java, in her opinion, wasn't fit to drink, particularly if the need for taste and high- test caffeine coincided. All in all the intelligence conference had been a waste of time in her opinion. No new information was shared. Harm had been 'kidnapped' by Tom Boone and hadn't made the trip (another lost opportunity). Her boss wasn't a happy camper about the lack of new data. About the only thing that made the five-hour ride worthwhile was seeing Bud again.
Now she had some bad news to share, and she wanted to get it behind her ASAP before she had a chance to think about the ramifications of the message from her boss that was waiting when she logged onto the system this morning.
"I hope you didn't pack any aloha shirts for the trip, Bud," she opened once he sat down. "Gen. Buckner has snagged you for a trip up to the 3rd MEU for a few days. Apparently your 'expertise' in converting policy to ROE (rules of engagement) somewhere along the trail is coming back to haunt you. It seems that Adm. Boone and my boss have selected you as the official interpreter of a batch of new guidance that's coming down the pike, and your reward will be a relaxing sea cruise rather than a long flight either to Hawaii or back to the states in a cramped, cold, noisy airplane."
The change of plans didn't really register immediately, and Bud blinked a couple of times while the message processed. He laughed a little ruefully once the implications of Mac's words soaked through. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, particularly since I was involved in a lot of the darn ROE debate before I came over here." With a shrug the younger officer absorbed the news and turned his attention to the coffee house's internet connection as he checked his e-mail.
Mac soaked up the high-test coffee while mentally getting ready for a five hour ride back to the Gulf. As the two officers made their various preparations for the flight reams of new intelligence data and Pentagon policy documents were sizzling through cyberspace on the way to the 3rd MEU's command structure. Most of it was routine. Some of it was VERY new and challenging. None of it, however, offered clear guidance about what was ahead.
August 10, 2001, 0715 Local, Operations, NAS Patuxent River, MD
The leading chief in the ops office shoved a stack of paperwork across the counter to Harm. "Here's your weather package Captain. Looks like a good day for your QUALS (carrier qualification flight). Visibility is about four miles offshore in some haze, and the sea state should give you a real stable platform."
As he was leafing through the flight release package Harm's instructor breezed into the office for a few last minute words of wisdom. 'Flashy Gordon' gave her student a long look before opening. "Don't sweat today's stuff. You're solid in the jet. Just remember it's a Plastic Bug not a Tomcat, so you will be a little hotter on the approach. Just do the same things we did yesterday with the shipboard bounce drill: Fly the ball; watch the indexer (angle of attack indicator), and don't hit the spud locker."
Before walking away Harm also got a request: "Hammer, the CAG on Enterprise is an old friend. If you get a couple of minutes while you're embarked can you pass along my best?
"With any luck you'll be ashore by 1730. See you at the club." With that the tall, red head sauntered out of operations. Harm picked up his personal gear and headed for the crew bus and a trip to the flight line.
August 10, 2001, 0825 Local, Buster 22, Atlantic Training Range
"Morning Home Plate, Buster 22 is with you descending out of 16,000."
The approach controller had a pronounced Texas twang when he replied, "Mornin' Buster 22, descend and maintain 6,000 and fly heading 080. Y'ur number three for the boat. I'll have a turn in on initial for you in 'bout six miles."
Harm got busy cleaning up the Super Hornet's cockpit as he stepped through the in range checklist before his approach controller turned him inbound for the deck. "Buster 22, left now to 010 and maintain 2,000 feet. You're three miles in trail of your traffic and number three for the deck." As he acknowledged the controller Harm was able to pick up traces of the Big E's wake through the broken clouds. Descending through 3,000 feet he was in the clear and able to see the ship's wake like an arrow pointing toward the carrier.
"Buster 22 maintain 2,000 'til the break; speed on initial is 240. Your traffic will be breaking downwind in about 1 mile. Contact final controller local channel two on the break. So long!"
Harm punched the radio over to the next channel in time to hear the pair of Tomcats he was following be handed off to the ship's LSO (landing signal officer) on their break. For the next 60 seconds or so it would be a quiet ride as the Hornet sailed toward the ship a four miles per minute, but once abeam of the ship and into the break Harm would be on the most unique hot seat in aviation as he maneuvered the F/A-18 through the pattern and trapped (landed) on the Enterprise.
A final, quick pull at the restraining straps had Harm and Buster 22 ready for the approach as they zoomed over the flight deck 2,000 feet above the water at 240 knots.
The calm, professional controller's voice called the start of the aerial ballet. "Buster 22 roger the break, keep the pattern in close with traffic three miles in trail. Monitor local channel 7 and call the ball."
As he sharply reduced the power with his left hand Harm pitched the Hornet into a hard left break (turn) pulling just over four times the force of gravity in the bargain. A large portion of the Hornet's energy was bled off in the break and as he rolled out heading downwind away from the ship he was slowing through 200 knots. A couple of quick hand movements selected the second notch of flaps, and once the flaps were deployed the landing gear and the arresting hook followed them.
A quick glance over his left shoulder confirmed the Enterprise was correctly positioned for another sharp left turn, and when the 180 degree course reversal was complete Enterprise was ahead and slightly to the left as the Hornet's speed stabilized at just under 180 knots.
"Buster 22 ball! Super Hornet. Fuel two-point-two (Translation: Buster 22 sees the ship's illuminated landing guidance system. The aircraft is an F/A-18 Super Hornet with 2,200 pounds of fuel on board. The aircraft type and fuel load are vital for the correct adjustment of the carrier's arresting gear.)
The assistant LSO picked up the inbound Hornet visually right away and noted that the aircraft was well positioned in the 'slot' with gear, flap, and hook deployed for arrival while the senior LSO monitored a Tomcat's booming arrival. Once the F-14D was safely aboard the LSO, a very senior Commander with over 350 traps in his logbook turned his attention to the arriving Hornet.
Just under one mile from the ship Harm and the LSO were looking at opposite ends of a highly complex ballet of airspeed, power, angle of attack, altitude and sink rate. When all of the elements were managed correctly the jet hit the flight deck at over 160 miles per hour and the hook engaged arresting wire number three and was halted. If any of the variables were off to a significant degree the pilot, the jet and the ship were put at risk.
One step ahead of the Hornet all of the way down Harm caught the three wire and trapped aboard Enterprise on his first pass. As the flight deck plane handlers marshaled Buster 22 into its parking spot something Flashy Gordon said really struck home.
"Hammer, you aren't 25 anymore. You don't have the reflexes to 'jump' out of trouble, but you've got the experience to see it coming and take action before things get out of hand. Use your superior judgment so you don't have to bet on your superior airmanship."
August 10, 2001, 0900, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range
After his knock a muffled voice sounded through the closed door, "Enter," and Harm stepped through the opening into the CAG's (Commander Air Group) office reflexively coming to attention waiting for the ship's boss airman to put him at ease.
"Relax. Haven't been exercising either the new fourth stripe or the silver chicken much as sea have you Harm? Grab a chair and I'll get us some coffee on the way." Capt. William "Little Bill" Butler had been one year ahead of Harm at the Academy and was about nine months senior in rank. "What's with the 'junior birdman' program Hammer? I thought you and Adm. Boone were busy plotting the overthrow of the navy, as we know it."
With a chuckle Harm just shrugged. "I don't know about that. As far as I can tell I'm just one more dazed, confused junior officer in a sea filled with stars."
"Harm, I don't think you are going to be able to sell that part of the Brooklyn Bridge here. The way I hear it you're sitting at the right hand of God in all of this force realignment horseshit. But, enough yapping about things I can't change. What's on your mind?"
Little Bill had always been a little tight wrapped for Harm's taste, but it looked like he was made for the CAG's job on Enterprise, and, frankly, Harm was for a couple of moments envious. Had fate taken a different turn he could see himself as the CAG somewhere, but that wasn't slated to happen.
"Flashy Gordon is my transition instructor, and she asked me to pass along her best. For a Marine she's a heck of an instructor, and I will bet she's not happy flying some paper program at Pax River rather with a squadron."
Little Bill took a moment to consider a reply before proceeding. "Harm, she's more than that. She's a helluva Marine, and if the Corps will ever get its head completely out of its ass she'll be a first-rate squadron commander. In fact, in a few years, she should have a fist full of stars on her shoulders and be running something bigger than a squadron.
"Shit, be thankful she's a jarhead. If she were in the Navy you and I would be looking over our shoulders at her. Don't let the drop-dead looks get in the way. She's an officer on the way up.
"Now that you've got the pleasantries out of the way, did you just make your final trap?"
"No, LB, just the first one with four more to put in the book before heading back to the beach. With any luck I'll only need a quick gas and go on the final trap and recover at Pax River in time for happy hour."
A quick, tight grin from Little Bill was all that Harm got. "On the beach? Happy hour? Wow, that's a plan for the day. We're two days into a five month cruise, so I am guessing it will be a few days before any of our guys are concerned about either the beach or happy hour. By the way: How was the trap?"
"It felt good to me LB. I didn't see the LSO scoring, but I'll take it."
The CAG finally broke a real smile. "You don't need to see the Greenie Board to know it would have put you at the head of the class. I told the video king to save the tapes and plan to use them to show how to get a Plastic Bug aboard the right way. Harm, make one more like the first one and get a pair of clean cat shots in the bargain, and I will sign you off myself.
"I'll talk with the air boss to be sure we run you straight through on your next trap. That way you won't have to screw around waiting on deck for a respot to launch. Our ops tempo is pretty low right now, so the boss should be able to just have the deck apes taxi you directly into the launch line unless the visual inspection shows something on the bird."
With that handshakes were exchanged and Harm headed below to get his mandatory weather briefing and launch release paperwork.
August 10, 2001, 0947 Local, On board USS Enterprise, Atlantic Training Range
As soon as the bridle was attached to the nose gear of Buster 22 the crew scrambled out of the way; the catapult officer gave the Super Hornet a quick visual inspection, and Harm completed his final cockpit checks. Everything was 'okay' inside and out so the catapult officer gave the classic spin 'em up signal and the Hornet's two GE turbines wound up to maximum rated power. Satisfied with what he saw on the engine instruments Harm slid the Hornet's two thrust levers through their respective afterburner gates and the bird hurled itself against the holdback bridle with a vengeance.
Salutes were exchanged and the cat boss leaned forward and touched the deck signaling the shooter to fire. When the petty officer operating the Big E's starboard catapult mashed the launch button a massive burst of steam pressure blasted out of the accumulator and rammed the piston forward accelerating the Hornet from a dead stop to a little over 140 knots.
The dart shaped Hornet dipped slightly as it cleared the ships bow, but with a little backpressure on the stick started a slight climb as Harm patiently waited for the speed to build up. At a little over 175 knots Harm started an easy turn to the right to clear the ships path to make way for the next launch and, more importantly, get the aircraft away from the ship.
Ditching in the moments after launch due to a mechanical failure was exciting enough without worrying about being run down by thousands of tons of carrier.
Since he was launched from the starboard forward cat Harm would bend the bird around into a right downwind entry into the Big E's traffic pattern, and he contacted the ship's approach controller climbing out of 3,000 feet.
"Homeplate, Buster 22 out of three turning downwind closed traffic."
"Roger Buster 22, contact, fly heading 190 and maintain five. You are number six for the ship. Expect a seven-mile turn to final. Are you a trap or a bang and go?"
Despite himself Harm grinned into the oxygen mask. "Buster 22 will be a trap with any luck."
"You bet. You're number six."
Abeam the navy's original nuclear powered aircraft carrier Harm paused to take a long look at the now aging carrier. He had never made a cruise on the Big E, and was a little saddened by the thought. Enterprise was heading for the Med and he was heading back to the puzzle palace. Each with their respective duties, but he was envious of the sailors and airmen who were headed out for the cruise. At least they knew what they were supposed to accomplish over the next six months.
The radio chatter had been almost non stop, but, like virtually all long-time aviators Harm had the unique ability to turn the noise out unless it was pertinent to his operation. After a few long minutes he was headed back to the ship.
"Buster 22, right now to 220 and maintain three thousand until you have the ship in sight. Approach now on local channel five for the final controller."
"Rog, approach, thanks!"
First the ship's boiling white wake was visible and a shallow turn a little more to the right revealed Enterprise steaming away at just over 30 knots. Harm punched up the proper channel for the next controller and checked on the frequency. "Buster 22's with you three thousand with the bird farm in sight."
"Morning Buster 22, you're number two for the ship with traffic on one mile final. Reduce to 200 and maintain current heading. I'll have a right turn back to the final approach course for you in about 90 seconds."
"Rog, copy"
During the 90-second pause the approach checklist was completed.
"Buster 22 right now to 350. Call the ball this frequency."
As the Hornet rolled out of the turn Harm picked up the visual landing system just over two miles astern of the ship. Hands moved over the gear lever and the second notch of flaps was selected. While the gear and flaps cycled the arresting hook locked into position.
"Buster 22 ball. Super Horner 1.8"
"Buster 22, paddles (landing signal officer) looking good. Keep her coming."
The straight-in approach coupled with the last minute maneuvering made this approach much busier and much quicker than the first landing, and Harm was working hard to stay ahead of the approach. A very quick final cockpit check assured that the gear was indeed down and the airplane properly configured for the approach."
A glowing green ball was illuminated in the middle of the angle of attack indicator, and everything was nailed down as the Hornet bobbled through the area of disturbed air left along the final approach course by the wind disturbed passing around carrier's island. The main gear hit just up the deck from the number two arresting wire and the trailing hook caught the number three wire trapping the aircraft dragging it quickly to a halt.
Harm was marshaled quickly up the deck as one of the purple shirted fueling crew held up a board indicating the amount of fuel that would be added to the Hornet, per the original briefing. As soon as the engines were shut down the fueling operation started, and just under 10 minutes later, following a by-the-book restart Buster 22 was settling into the ship's port side, forward catapult.
The little beep that indicated a secure radio link on the guard channel caught Harm's attention as he worked through the final launch checklist. Little Bill was on the horn with the final grade: "Good job, Hammer. Enjoy the ride to the beach, and tell your instructor I said hello."
Harm keyed the secure system," Rog, LB. Have a good cruise."
Off to the aircraft's starboard quarter the catapult crew signaled they were ready, and the dance was on again. Harm's head was shoved back against the ejection seat headrest by the catapult and the Hornet came alive again.
The ride back to Pax River was uneventful with a by-the-book recovery logged and the paperwork was complete by 1445 local. Flashy Gordon did her instructor pilot magic with the paperwork and the deal was done.
A little sad smile graced the major's face while she shook Harm's hand. "Since, we're both without a squadron to celebrate with, I'll see you at the club at 1830 and we can 'wet down' a new aircraft qualification and another successful CARQUAL."
Capt. Harmon Rabb could officially add the F/A-18 Super Hornet officially to the list of aircraft he was legally qualified to fly. Now if he could just negotiate the rocks and shoals of his changing political and personal life, as successfully 2001 could be a great year he thought.
August 10, 2001, 1620 Local, At sea with the 3rd MEU
Gunny Max O'Grady jumped to attention as his boss and a naval officer in mussed khakis stepped out of the sally port and into the intelligence section. Mac quickly put her leading NCO at ease with an automatic "as you were."
"Colonel Mac it's good to see you back. A ton of crap has been spewing out of every secure channel on the damn ship, and most of it doesn't appear to make much sense at least to we mere mortals."
A quick look around and a laugh put Mac back into her element. "Max, I have never seen anything that a 'superior' gunny couldn't decipher. Should I rethink your last FITREP (fitness report)?" Before the career NCO could respond his leader continued.
"The Navy's benevolent Gods have stirred on Mount Olympus and Commander Roberts has been sent to help us see the light." Gesturing at Bud she rolled on. "The Commander has interrupted his trip to the tropical paradise of Pearl Harbor to join us briefly and assist in translating the holy scrolls into actual guidance and, with any luck, some real ROE revisions."
While Bud fought back a small blush from the compliment O'Grady just shrugged and looked from one officer to the other. "With all due respect ma'am, sir, I'm not sure anyone is going to be able to convert all of this contradictory bullshit from the Tower of Babel into something worthwhile."
TBC
