Under the circumstances, I thought they'd probably tough it out. In fact, I was certain of it.
After I'd committed a second squadron of Hornets to the battle, the Vietnamese had finally broken off and fled for home. They had an airstrip deep in the jungle, one that had been carefully camouflaged before except for heat sources and that was not the subject of constant intelligence updates. CVIC ? Carrier Intelligence Center ? was already working the problem real-time. Lab Rat had called me three times so far to let me know that Strike was getting the full picture on it.
I think of all of us, if it were possible, Lab Rat felt the worst. It was his intelligence the crews depended on ? and he hadn't known about the SAM sites. A simple equation from an Intelligence Officer's point of view. Bad intel equals lost aircraft. I wondered how bad it would eat at him.
The Air Boss turned to me and said, 'Admiral, the first two helos are coming back in for fuel. No sign so far, other than those oil slicks.'
Unspoken was the bigger question ? how much longer did I want to keep it up? We knew where the aircraft had been, had already covered the area pretty thoroughly. But there was a chance, a small one, that somebody hadn't been looking in the right direction, or that a current had carried the crews further out of the area. I'd already dispatched two destroyers as well to ride at the twelve-mile limit, and put them patrolling outer limits of the area.
'Another full cycle,' I said to the Air Boss. 'We've got to do it.'
He nodded, clearly with something on his mind. 'May I be blunt?'
'That's what I pay you for.'
The Air Boss took a deep breath, then spoke quietly. 'Admiral, we're going to need most of our SAR assets and support during and after the strike. My only concern here is making sure we have that.'
It was a real concern, but one that I didn't think the aircrews would go along with. As long as there was a chance, no matter how slim, that there was a pilot or RIO out there in the water, they would insist on going back out. I had more crews than aircraft, and could rotate them through helos and S-3s at will, but eventually even aircraft start breaking down.
'Another full cycle, then we'll see.' I could see that the Air Boss was glad it was my decision and not his.
I waited until everyone had come in to recover, fuel, and head back out. Then I went back to my cabin to wait.
There was a pilot waiting for me there, standing just outside my cabin. I stopped when I saw him, then shrugged. Why should I be surprised? After all, Skeeter Harmon had been flying wingman on Bird Dog long enough to pick up most of his bad habits in the air ? why not on the ground too?
'What do you want?' I asked. I had a pretty good idea, but I wanted to hear it from him.
'Admiral, I need to go on that strike,' Skeeter Harmon began.
Just what I thought.
'You'll go if they put you on the flight plan,' I said, aware of a rough edge to my voice I hadn't really intended. 'And why the hell are you pop ? tall in front of my patch?'
Skeeter shook his head, not listening to anything I said.
'Strike won't let me go ? they're putting me in the second wave. Admiral, I have to-'
'I had this conversation with your lead not so long ago,' I said. 'And look what happened to him. I know you're furious about this, Skeeter, everyone of us is. But damn it, I'm not intervening in the daily planning anymore.' I tapped lightly on my collarbone at the stars there. 'That's not my job. And for you to come in here and start insisting on-'
'Admiral, it was my fault,' Skeeter said, his voice low and crumpled-sounding. 'I made the same mistake Bird Dog did with the E-2 ? hell, I saw him make that one, I knew it was wrong, but I didn't say anything. He's kind of a tough guy to argue with sometimes, you know.' He looked up at me, and I could see that those hard, shiny eyes were glazed.
'Mistakes in the air,' I said. 'You make them at the wrong time, and it kills you. End of lesson ? now get out of here.'
'Admiral, he's alive. I'm certain of it.'
I had started to walk away, but that phrase stopped me dead in my tracks. Without turning back to him, I asked, 'How can you be so sure? The helos haven't found a thing.'
'I know he is, I just know it,' Skeeter said, his voice insistent. 'Admiral, there were chutes ? I'm certain of it.'
'Did you debrief chutes?'
Skeeter shook his head. 'No, it was only when I got to thinking about it ? it happened so fast, Admiral. God, you wouldn't believe-'
'Of course I would believe,' I said, turning back around to face him. 'And just who the hell do you think I am? Some ship driver? Jesus, mister, I've got more time in the chow line on an aircraft carrier than you've got in the cockpit. And you barge in here and presume to lecture me on how my pilots need to be treated?
'You want sympathy for how you're being treated, young man, you go see the chaplain. Not the admiral. You got that?'
I saw him stiffen, drawing himself up into a rigid posture of attention. 'Yes, sir, Admiral, I surely do.' A soft Southern drawl had crept into his voice. 'I apologize for disturbing you ? I just thought that ? '
'You didn't think,' I said, cutting him off. 'And if you don't think while you're on the deck, then how do I know you're going to think while you're in the air? Have you ever thought of that? Good judgment is good judgment ? it's not something that overcomes you the second you drop into one of those babies. Now get out of here.'
I watched him turn and head down the passageway, wondering just what the hell his point had been. Did he want me to make sure that he was personally on the flight schedule? Hell, there are too many pilots on the carrier for me to even know all their names, much less watch how they're assigned on missions.
And why had I been so rough on him? The man's lead had just been shot down, and by most standards any wingman would feel it was his fault. No matter that I'd heard Bird Dog order him back into the stack, tell him to keep his distance while Bird Dog was searching for the tanker crew. That didn't matter to Skeeter Harmon ? anymore than it would have mattered to me had it been Tombstone who'd been in the drink.
Then why was I an asshole about it? With a flash of insight, I knew. I'd known Bird Dog for several cruises now, watched him grow from a brash young aviator with more mouth and balls than ninety percent of them, seen him pull off some incredible stunts of airmanship. Every single loss we take hurts, hurts more than I ever thought possible, but it's even worse when it's someone you know that well. As well as I knew Bird Dog. As well as Skeeter knew him.
And that was the unpardonable sin that Skeeter had just committed in my presence. He'd reminded me that at least one of the men in the water ? too junior to really call him this, but this was what he was ? was my friend.
I went back into my office, got on the horn, and made my second call of the day intruding into Strike Operations.
If Skeeter needed vengeance to be whole, then that's what he'd get.
Or at least the chance for it.
CAG beat his deadline by five minutes. I don't know how he accomplished it ? and I guess I don't really want to know. The shortcuts alone would have terrified me.
The deck was packed, as full as I'd ever seen it. Every aircraft that could fly was manned, with engines turning or crews doing preflight. The SAR helos were already turning on their spots, blasting the deck with incredible down-drafts from the rotors. They would go first, in order to be on station in case an emergency occurred during catapult operations.
After that, the E-2C Hawkeye would launch, accompanied by a pair of fighters. Once he was airborne, my radar coverage extended to well over the land mass. More importantly, he could provide direct control of all the fighters on station, vectoring them off to intercept inbound bogies or vampires as necessary, Maybe the AWACS radar coverage is better over land, but there's nothing that can beat an E-2 controlling an air battle.
After that would come our main strike assets. Tomcats loaded with five-hundred- and one-thousand-pound bombs, along with a couple of Sidewinders tucked in for good luck on their wing tips. Then the Hornets, those thirsty little bastards, would want to get airborne, then immediately take on fuel. Their carrying capability was more
