The admiral snorted. “Don’t contradict Cavel unless you have to. He’s an egotistical, self-righteous bastard who would walk five miles without his trousers to even a score. Right now he’s fulminating against the way the administration is using this task group here in the Med. One of his allies who’ll be with him on this trip is a representative from a conservative district in the Deep South. His name is Victor Gilbert. He’s on the House Armed Services Committee. He’s also unhappy about the Middle East, but he votes right on most defense issues. The other two are big-city congressmen looking for ways to chop the military budget. I wouldn’t turn my back on any of them.”
“Yessir.”
“You’re the pilot who just sent a boatload of fanatics to Paradise and you’re the air wing commander, so you’re getting a turn on the hot seat. Don’t forget you may be worth more to them dead than you are alive. That’s all.” Which meant Jake was dismissed.
Senator Cavel was fiftyish, graying at the temples. His fluffed, teased hair was coiffed tightly over ears hidden from sight, and when viewed from the front, he looked, Jake thought, like a man of distinction in a whiskey ad. In profile, the hairdo looked like a football helmet two sizes too small. His slightly sagging abdomen and rounded shoulders were expertly encased in a dark-gray wool suit with flecks of red and blue that Jake suspected had set him back the better part of a grand. The senator was tall, about six-three, and had a booming voice that dominated the congressional delegation and the group of officers in the flag lounge. He treated everyone as voters, hail- fellow-well-met, and even shook hands with the admirals’ aides. His handshake had the polish of years of practice. It wasn’t crushing and it wasn’t wimpish, just dry and quick with a hint of firmness.
“Damned nice ship you fellows have here, Admiral. Damned nice. Great to see what all those taxpayers’ dollars bought. Three billion and some change, I seem to recall.”
Parker nodded. “Yessir. She’s …”
But Senator Cavel wasn’t listening. “Just why do these things have to be so damn big? I never did understand that.” He shook his head ruefully, as if he had never seen the engineering and design justifications on
He had finally zeroed in on Jake’s name tag. He had apparently ignored the introductions. Jake was shaking hands with a stout, florid congressman, but the senator put his hand on the representative’s shoulder and addressed Jake as if the other man weren’t there. “You’re the air wing commander?”
Jake admitted he was as the senator glanced at the four rows of ribbons on the left breast of his white uniform shirt, under his wings.
“I see you’ve been shot at before, Captain,” he said, then turned back to the admirals.
“Yessir,” Jake Grafton told Cavel’s back. But only by guns and missiles, he added to himself, then tried to pay attention to whatever it was this representative was telling him about sailors from Ohio.
With the pleasantries over, the delegation surrounded the admirals and tossed questions about the use of the task group in the waters off Lebanon. Jake eased toward the door. A glance from Admiral Parker froze him in his tracks.
In addition to the senator, Congressman Victor Gilbert also considered himself a heavyweight. It was quickly evident Gilbert was looking for ammunition to take back to Washington and fire at his colleagues in the never- ending political battle over Mideast policy. It was equally apparent that the admirals had no desire to give aid and comfort to either Gilbert or his opponents. Lewis’ answers didn’t satisfy the vociferous congressman, but the senator said little. Perhaps he’s saving himself, Jake mused.
The tour of the ship began in the waist catapult control cab, known as the waist bubble. A similar control cab was on the bow, situated between the cats. Here on the waist the bubble sat on the catwalk outboard of Cat Four. The cabs were unique to
Jake led the congressmen into the waist bubble from the O-3 level, the deck just below the flight deck. The catapult officer triggered the hydraulic system which raised the bubble into position for the upcoming launch. Now the top of the armored cab, which consisted of windows of bulletproof glass, extended eighteen inches above the flight deck. The visitors stood packed into the only open area, their eyes exactly at flight deck level. The launching officer sat in a raised chair in the aft end of the cab in front of the control panels for both the Number Three and Number Four catapults.
The cat officer muttered greetings. He was a lieutenant aviator assigned to the ship’s air department for a two-year tour. After he had shaken hands all around, he ignored the visitors and devoted his attention to the yellow- and green-shirted crewmen on deck who were hooking planes to both cats.
Jake explained the launching evolution to the congressmen. The first plane to be launched would be the KA- 6D Intruder tanker on Cat Three. The F/A-18 Hornet, a twin-engine, single-seat fighter-bomber sitting on Cat Four, would be shot next while another plane taxied onto Cat Three. Up on the bow a similar bang-bang sequence would be occurring on the two catapults there.
The launching officer gave a thumbs-up to the yellow-shirt director on Cat Three. He signaled the pilot to release his brakes and add power. The engines began to roar as the green-shirted hookup man checked the fittings, then tumbled out from under the plane with his thumb in the air. He joined his comrades squatting in the safety area between the catapults. The Intruder pilot saluted the bubble. He was ready to go. He put his helmeted head back into the headrest on his seat, bracing himself for the acceleration of the coming shot.
Jake pointed out the signal light on the ship’s island that the air boss used to initiate the launch. It turned green.
The launching officer glanced down the catapult to ensure it was clear, then back to the Intruder at full power. He lifted the safety tab covering the fire button and pushed it. The Intruder leapt forward, its left wing sweeping over the heads of the men squatting in the safety area, and raced for the edge of the angled deck three hundred feet away. The plane covered the distance in less than three seconds and shot out over the sea, flying.
When the visitors’ gaze came back to the Hornet on Cat Four, it was already at full power. They were looking at this plane almost head-on. The catapult track ran parallel to the edge of the angled deck, so the Hornet’s left main wheel was almost against the deck edge, its left wing extending out over the side of the ship. Upon launch it would pass right in front of the bubble with its wing sweeping over the top. Now the river of hot gases blasting from the plane’s twin exhaust pipes and flowing up over the jet blast deflector shimmered as the blast-furnace heat distorted the light. The fighter appeared stark and crisp against this mirage backdrop.
The cat officer lifted the protective safety cover and pushed the fire button on the Cat Four console. The Hornet seemed to shimmy slightly under the terrific acceleration as it raced toward the bubble. In a heartbeat it went by in a thundering crescendo that shook the control cab.
The congressmen laughed nervously and shouted comments to each other above the background noise. “Impressive,” Senator Cavel told Jake, who grinned and nodded.
But as spectacular as the planes were, the visitors’ attention was soon on the catapult crewmen. One of them crawled under each jet as it taxied onto the cats, lowered the nose-tow bar and installed the hold-back fitting. He waited under the plane until the engines were accelerating to full power before he scanned its belly, checked the fittings one last time, then tumbled out from under. These men reminded Jake of circus roustabouts tending angry elephants.
“That job looks damned dangerous,” one of the congressmen remarked.
“It’s that,” Jake agreed. “It’s dirty and dangerous for not enough pay.” He recognized Kowalski, the Cat Four cat captain, in his filthy yellow shirt and radio headset. Each cat crew had a captain, a ringmaster who ensured each man understood his job and performed it perfectly.
When the launch was over, the congressmen shook hands again with the cat officer and his engineer, who sat at an instrument panel at the forward end of the bubble. Then Jake led them through the hatch and down the short ladder into the O-3 level. The four junior officers who had been volunteered for escort duty were waiting in the
