As the pain in his lungs eased, the agony in his right leg took over. Noise flooded in — the slap of waves, slapping him in the face, the loud noise of a helicopter overhead beating the water down around him. He concentrated on staying afloat.
Seconds later, there was a splash in the water near him. A rescue diver swam over, approached him from behind and put him in a carry position.
“It’s okay, I got you. I got you,” the swimmer said, his voice almost as calm as the LSO’s had been. “Are you hurt?”
“Leg,” he gasped, still unable to spare the oxygen to say more.
“It’s all right — don’t talk, just breathe. I’m going to slide you into a stretcher, sir. Just take it easy. You’re okay.”
“Rat?” he gasped, aware that the question would make no sense to the rescue swimmer. “RIO?”
“They’re going after her,” the swimmer said. “Let’s just get you onboard, sir, and you can see for yourself.” There was a splash as the stretcher was lowered from the helo overhead. The rescue swimmer slid him into it, manhandling him but trying to be gentle with his injured leg. Once he was strapped in, the helo ascended, then ferried him over to the carrier and lowered him gently to the deck. Corpsmen surrounded him, efficiently stripping off his ejection harness. Four sets of experienced hands ran over his body, checking for injuries.
Fastball tried again. “My RIO?”
The corpsmen ignored him. After a few seconds, satisfied that he was conscious and not bleeding, they picked up the stretcher and hustled for the island.
He tried to think of where he had been in relation to the carrier, tried to calculate whether the angle at which her ejection seat shot out would put her safely in the water or—
Everyone in TFCC wanted desperately to give an order. Any order, it didn’t matter what. The compulsion to take action even when there was nothing they could do was almost overwhelming. And Batman, more than all the others, wanted desperately to do something.
He’d watched the Tomcats approach, quietly confident that each one would get back onboard safe and sound. They had lost no aircraft to antiair missiles, and there were no enemy fighters. Absent the operation of Murphy’s Law, there was no reason to suppose that all the aircraft wouldn’t be recovered safely.
But then, as always, the unexpected happened. Batman had watched in horror as Tomcat 103 departed from a perfectly normal approach into uncontrolled flight. He had watched the Tomcat wing over, out of control, driven only by one engine. It was possible to recover from such a casualty, but it took experience, more experience than he thought Fastball possessed. He had been certain they were both dead.
And in those moments of horror, he saw the pilot demonstrate true nerves of steel. How many of them would have had the presence of mind to hold off of the ejection, to coldly calculate the moment when the aircraft would be oriented properly to the sea, that split second in which the flight crew could safely eject into empty air instead of being rocketed down into the sea? It had been such a chance, almost unbelievable, because it was every chance that the Tomcat would not have returned to the proper orientation at all.
Yet Fastball had pulled it off. Batman vowed silently that if he pulled through, he would be wearing an air medal before the day was over.
“What about the RIO?” Batman asked for the tenth time. “Any word?”
“No, Admiral,” the TAO said for the tenth time. As though he could add anything more, since he and Batman were both listening to exactly the same communications from the SAR helo.
Damnit, it couldn’t end like this. That boy had pulled off too amazing a stunt to have the story end with a dead RIO. No, she had to be out there — she had to be. “Keep them out there. Keep them out there until they find her.” Or her body, he added silently.
Suddenly, the SAR helo broke into an excited yell. “We got her! We got her!”
A cheer broke out in TFCC. “About time,” Batman said coolly, hoping that none of them could tell how truly touched he was. “Typical RIO — off on their own.”
The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness as he watched the recovery unfold on the monitor mounted high in one corner of the compartment. Why was the helo approaching so slowly? Couldn’t they do it any faster than that? Batman raged inwardly, resolved to have a stern conversation with the SAR helo pilot when he landed, knowing all the time that if anyone was more worried about the recovery than he was, it was the helo crew. They took it even more personally than the admiral did.
“Swimmer in the water,” the speaker announced. “He’s on her, he’s on her — yes! We have a thumbs up!” Again the cheer, and this time Batman joined in.
So she was alive, but how badly was she hurt? She was unconscious, but she was breathing. The carrier housed an advanced medical suite capable of performing almost any medical miracle in the world. If anyone could pull her through, short of a major trauma facility, it would be the doctors and medical staff onboard the
The same procedure that they’d followed with Fastball was repeated, a stretcher lowered into the water, and transported to the flight deck. Batman watched the corpsmen crowd around her, then hustle her into the ship before they’d even completed their initial assessment. It was bad, it had to be.
Just as the helo touched down, the TAO let out a yelp of surprise. “Admiral — look!” At the same moment, Lab Rat dashed into the compartment, a look of consternation on his face.
“What the hell?” Batman asked as he turned to stare at the screen. It showed four missiles in flight from Northern Iran headed for the coast. “Get those fighters back up,” Batman shouted. There were still ten Tomcats in the pattern, but most of them were at the low-fuel state — sufficient to get onboard, but not nearly enough for aerial combat.
But even as he watched, the situation became even more puzzling. Because the missiles were not aimed at the
Batman turned to Lab Rat. “What the hell?”
Lab Rat shook his head. “No data. But, if I had to guess, I’d say Iran’s in the process of putting together their version of the truth.” As they both watched, the missiles disappeared from the screen just as they reached the bombed-out facility.
TWELVE
The submarine moved silently toward the entrance to the Gulf. The Straits of Hormuz were a particular dangerous area for her. The water was shallow, barely deep enough to cover her conning tower. The traffic was also much denser, and by the time they completed the transit, everyone would be worn to a frazzle.
Powder had just finished setting the maneuvering detail when the captain finally reached his decision. He motioned to the XO, drawing him off away from the rest of the crew.
Bellisanus studied Powder for a moment, taking his measure. A good man, with a bright career ahead of him. The captain knew if things went terribly wrong, it would affect not only his career, but that of his XO as well.
That was the reason for his decision to make this an order. He would insist that the XO log his protest in the
