Day 5 Time 2300
Bob's primary job was a Weapons Systems Officer, WSO, or sometimes called Whizzy. But he also knew how to fly, well the basics of it anyway. But not enough to fly over enemy territory…He was walking briskly towards the bridge.
He'd just woken up from a long 'nap' and his heart was pounding against his chest. His gut was telling him something, and he intended to find out. Rarely had he found that his instinct was incorrect. Key word; rarely. But he couldn't just waltz into the bridge, of all places, without a reason. So, like any good person, he was making it up on the way there.
It was calm, dark quiet on the carrier. Not unnatural though. More like a small, still and peaceful stream of water. No one was up at this hour of the night.
Bob was about to knock on the door, his hand inches from the surface of the door. And he hesitated. Should he really go in the bridge room just because a some small instinct? No, no, no…it's nothing, nothing. He should probably go back to bed. Bob sighed and started to turn around and paused again. Oh, what in the world, he was doing it.
Bob opened the creaky door, walking inside the warm room. A few men who were nodding of in sleep, jerked up at his sudden entrance. A couple of them frowned at him. Bob felt a warm flush rise in his cheeks, "Sorry about that." He murmured apologetically.
Admiral Cyclone was looked at him, his eyebrows raised in question. Bob nervously bit his lip, taking a calming breath.
"Lieutenant Floyd." Cyclone nodded at him, "What brings you up here at such a late hour?"
"Well, erm…" Bob stuttered a little. He wasn't exactly used to having someone so high in command directly talking to him. "Well, sir…"
"Spit it out, son." Beau spoke.
"Sir, I have this…feeling, instint…" Bob admitted.
Cyclone's eyebrows raised impossibly higher towards his hairline. Bob closed his eyes and took another calming breath. "Sir, my instincts are…remarkable." He continued. Well, there was no turning back now. "I need to take a plane out, one last time." There was a pause. A strange silence in the air.
"And you're basing this on a feeling?" The Admiral didn't sound angry. In fact, he actually sounded a little weary and confused. Bob nodded hesitantly.
Cyclone made a thoughtful noise. "You're a WSO, correct?"
Bob nodded affirmatively. "Yes, sir." He added.
"Well, you'll need a pilot."
"Yes, sir."
They stood there, facing each other for a few more seconds. "Well, what are you waiting for? A royal invitation? Go get yourself a pilot. I'll wake up the marshallers and Daggers. Then we'll get the communication team online." He turned, muttering some instructions to Warlock, who stood in the shadows behind him.
Bob was taken aback in surprise. The Admiral was letting him do this! "Yes, sir, thank you, sir!"
Cyclone gave him a small smile, and Bob left the bridge, heart racing, with new hope in his heart. He let out a long breath. Now he had permission…he just needed to get Phoenix. How was he going to persuade her to come? She'd been locked in her own room for days.
Bob continued to walk, pulling out his phone. He swiped down his short contacts list, finding "PhePhe" (an inside joke for all the Daggers that Hangman had made up.) He clicked on it, pressing the call button. He waited a few seconds before he heard the sleepy and slightly grumpy voice of his pilot on the other end. "What."
"So sorry disturb you, Phoenix." He apologized, "But I need you on the deck. In your flight suit." Then he hung up, no other comments. That would get her running up.
Sure enough, he only had to wait 8 minutes and 59 seconds, on the dot, for her to come running up the skinny ladder and on the deck. He waved over at her, and she walked to him.
"Bob, why in the world would you call me at 11:05 in the night?" she demanded.
"We're going on a SAR mission," he explained, walking over to their plane. He placed his hand on a rung of the ladder, climbing up. "I know, it's late. But Admiral Simpson gave me permission to fly this last one. I have a feeling we'll find them."
Phoenix cocked an eyebrow. Bob smiled inwardly. Good, she was beginning to act like her normal self. Boy, he'd missed that attitude. "He gave you permission because you had this…feeling?" She asked skeptically. Bob nodded, now in his seat in the cockpit.
Even thought it was close to midnight, Cyclone had woken up the marshallers and the Dagger's for the takeoff. In under twenty minutes, practically everyone on the carrier knew about the last mission.
Natasha was now wide awake, putting on her helmet and oxygen mask, plugging her air hose to her G suit, and connecting everything, strapping herself in. She turned knobs, switches and pressed buttons. Phoenix gave the crew chief a thumbs up to pull the cockpit ladder away. She spoke, her voice coming to Bob's headset, commanding, sure.
"Testing comms. Do you copy?"
"Roger." Bob answered, smiling.
"Roger." One of the communication officers also answered her.
"Fore and aft clear," She started walking through the steps verbally. "Fire guard posted. Are the chocks in place?"
"Roger." The crew chief responded, "All ready for run-up."
Phoenix turned on two switches, one for electoral power and the other to start an engine. She changed the throttle to idle. Soon, there was a low rumble throughout the belly of the jet, and the main engine turned on. A few more ground checks, and they had turned on all the jet's systems.
Bob watched as Phoenix exchanged a few more hand signals to the crew, and presently they were inching forward on the carrier deck. After a few mor last-minute checks, Phoenix was taxied to the runway. She turned the engine to 90% full power, taking her foot off the breaks and pushing the throttle forward. The next thing Bob knew, they were speeding down the runway, and catapulted off the carrier, flying into the sky without any problems.
No matter how many times Bob had taken off with someone, the thrill of flying never left him. Never. It happened with every pilot he knew.
Now, I'm not sure if you have ever been on a plane during the night, but it sure is beautiful. Soft, fluffy clouds in the sky, shining dimly from the full moon. Stars seeming to be so close that you could simply reach out and touch them. Bob always felt like he could touch them, grasp them in his hands and never let go. It was such a gorgeous night…if only it weren't so worrying.
"Heading southeast." Phoenix spoke.
Bob supposed that being up in the air was doing good for her conscious and mind. He noticed that she was a lot calmer and more collected here then she had been the past few days.
They flew for a good ten minutes without any hiccups. He was watching over a tree line. Something was tugging at him, pulling at him, pushing him…
"Phoenix…10 o'clock, low. Let's check out that forest." Bob suggested.
"Roger." Phoenix turned the stick to the left, changing their direction.
Bob switched his radio between channels.
Then he heard it.
That wonderful, glorious, long-awaited sound. It was weak, but Bob could hear it like it was being said directly in his ear. No one else heard what he had heard. He was the only one on the same channel, Pheonix was connected to the one on the carrier. He nearly choked on air.
"Dagger one, do you copy?"
Bob choked out, "Dagger two to Dagger one. I copy."
"I hear you loud and clear."
….to be continued