HORNET'S NEST
LT. COMMANDER WILLIAM H. LABARGE
Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press
© 2011 / LT. COMMANDER WILLIAM H. LABARGE
Copy-edited by: David Dodd
Cover Design By: David Dodd
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DEDICATED TO MY DAD
We say good-bye to Dr. H. J. LaBarge, whom we lost on September 20th. For forty-plus years you served the people of New England with your healing ministry of medicine. In the laying of your hands, you helped the poor and cured the sick. Now free of all your pain and illness you know only the joys and ecstasies of His Paradise, which is beyond our human understanding. I thank you, Dad, for my life, for teaching me about life, and for the privilege of knowing you in your life. I will miss you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author wishes to express his gratitude to the following persons who have helped in the preparation of this book:
Rear Admiral Raymond W. Burk, USN (ret.), for personal recollections and essential gathering of research material;
Capt. Walter M. Schirra, USN (ret.), for his support and encouragement throughout the writing of this story;
Capt. Frank Dully, USN (ret.), for insight on the characteristics and behavioral patterns of naval aviators;
Capt. Thomas J. Jurkowsky, USN, for expediting the final security clearance of the manuscript;
Cdr. Dale M. Doorly, USN, for personal recollections and essential gathering of research material;
Lt. Cdr. Dana Barclay, USN, for providing key technical information;
Capt. James D. Scott, USMC, for providing key technical information on Special Operations and for editing of the manuscript;
Lt. Gordy K. Cone, USN, for providing first-hand information on Special Operations and editing of the manuscript;
Lt. J. Taylor, USN, for providing key technical information.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOREWORD
by
Capt. Walter M. Schirra, Jr.
USN (ret.)
Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo Astronaut
In this modem era of seemingly inexhaustible wonders, such as men walking on the moon or being able to observe pictures of Mars from 23 million miles away, we tend to speak in awe of the complexity and reliability of the fantastic machines that make such feats possible.
This is the first novel of which I am aware that reveals the capabilities of the F/A-18 Hornet, one of the world's most sophisticated carrier-based fighter/attack aircraft, and its vital role in protecting the sea lanes in the Persian Gulf. The freedom we enjoy in this country is due to our strong defense, and if the United States is not there, another world power will be.
We have heard a lot about freedom in recent months. It has come to our attention in the hostage crisis, as we see people forcibly being denied their personal freedom. In general, I think most Americans, as a result of these events, have developed a greater appreciation for the freedom we enjoy in this country. Our personal freedom has taken a special meaning. We appreciate the fact that there is a very real threat to that freedom and we need to maintain a strong defense to continue to enjoy this independence.
Many outside the Defense Department do not see a real threat in the future. However, we must be very careful with large defense cuts. It takes a long time to build a strong military. We must ensure that each and every individual who fights for the freedom of this country knows that they can make a difference, and we must motivate them to continue to build a strong defense.
This novel's authentic account of how we counter the threat is very real, and the decisive role that our aircraft carriers play will make you understand why a strong defense is needed. We will fly our fantastic machines, we will be ready to protect our freedom, and if and when we fight, we will win.
Operation Safeguard
The USS Enterprise had just passed the International Date Line and was headed towards Guam, where she would operate for the next several days. The ship had left Stateside six and a half weeks before for an eight-month Western Pacific deployment. The Enterprise and her air wing would be involved in Operation Safeguard near the Mariana Islands before pulling into the Philippines for the crew's first liberty.
As the mighty warship sailed over the Mariana Trench, Captain Frost, her commanding officer, gave the order to the officer of the deck, "All engines stop."
The OOD passed the word to the helmsman, "All engines stop," and the helmsman rang up ALL STOP!" the engine-order telegraph, stopping all engines. As her four propeller shafts came to rest, 90,000 tons of cold steel continued to cut through the water like a razor-sharp knife. Twenty minutes later and five miles of sea behind her, the Enterprise finally came to a standstill.
Captain Frost reached for the 1-MC microphone, a public address system which could be heard throughout the ship, and made the announcement, "Swim call, swim call, I now say swim call."
Lt. Cdr. Matt "Sweetwater" Sullivan and his roommate, Lt. Cdr. Thomas "Sundance" Karnes, had just sat down for lunch in Wardroom One when the swim call announcement came over the 1-MC. Sweetwater jumped up and said, "Holy shit, holy shit! I can't believe the old man is really doing this!"
"What do you mean, Sweetwater?" Sundance asked.
But just as Sweetwater started to explain, another announcement was made over the 1-MC, requesting Sullivan's presence on the bridge. "I can't believe it," he said.
Sundance said, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I made a bet with the skipper, that if he would have a swim call on this deployment, I would dive—not jump, but dive—off the flight deck to start swim call."
"You dumb shit, Sweetwater! Do you know how far it is to the water from the flight deck?"
"Yeah, about sixty feet."
"Have you ever dived that far?"
"Hell no," Sweetwater said, "I'm scared of heights."
"Scared of heights?" barked Sundance. "How in the fuck can you fly airplanes if you're scared of heights?"
"It doesn't bother me when I'm in the cockpit. But on a ladder, or looking over a steep drop, my testicles start tingling and I break out in a cold sweat."
"Then why in the hell would you make a bet like that?"
"I figured the old man would never stop the ship long enough to have a swim call. I hadn't seen a swim call in four deployments, so I figured the odds were on my side."
"Well, they weren't, so you better get your ass up to the bridge and take your medicine like a man."
"You're right, and this ain't going to be pretty."
Sweetwater stopped by his stateroom on the 0-3 level to get his cover. It is proper protocol to wear your hat when on the bridge. By the time he got to the 0-9 level, he was out of breath. After gathering his composure, he opened the door to the bridge and asked the OOD for permission to enter.
"Come in," replied the OOD. "The captain is awaiting your arrival."
Before he stepped through the door, Sweetwater mumbled to himself, "I just bet he is."
As he walked towards the captain's chair on the left side of the bridge, Captain Frost spotted him coming and the smile on his face broadened. Sweetwater extended his hand to grasp the captain's, already extended, and said, "Good afternoon, sir," as they shook hands.
"Well, Sweetwater, it looks like you lost your bet. The ship's crew will be awaiting that first dive to get this show under way. We only have two hours. The ship is a little ahead of schedule, and since one doesn't get to swim in the deepest part of the Mariana Trench very often, I decided to have a swim call on this beautiful warm afternoon."
"Yes, sir. I can't think of a better place myself," Sweetwater gulped. "Well, sir, I'd best get my swimsuit on and get this show on the road."
"Say, Matt, have you ever dived from this height before?"
"Oh, yes sir, we used to dive off bridges back home all the time."
"Make your dive off the starboard side on Elevator One. We'll lower Elevator Two to the hangar deck and drop a cargo net to the water, so all swimmers can get back aboard. I'll have several Marines in the catwalks with rifles in case we see some sharks. But I don't think there's much to worry about. The water is so deep here, and sharks tend to feed on the outskirts of the trench."
"Will you be joining us for a swim, sir?"
"I'd love to, Matt, but I don't think I could make it up that cargo net. I'm not as young and daring as I used to be."
"Thank you, sir, for allowing me to be the master of ceremonies at this gala event."
"Oh, you're quite welcome, Sweetwater," the Captain replied with a big sadistic smile across his face.
As Sweetwater said his good-byes, he thought to himself, What a bullshit mess I have got myself into now.
He knew he'd better get his suit on and get it over with as soon as possible or he might chicken out. Sundance had his trunks on and was waiting for Water when he entered their stateroom. "Hey, Sundance," he said, "keep an eye on me and if I don't come up soon, get your ass in and pull me to the surface."
"Didn't you tell the old man that you were scared of heights?"
"Hell no, I couldn't back out, the bridge was full of sailors."
"Are you going to dive or jump?"
"I'm going to dive, but I better hurry up, because I ain't feeling so hot."
"Okay, Sweets, remember how those cliff divers do it in Acapulco. When you dive off the deck, make sure your arms hit the water first. Form a fist to break the water entry. You'll have to dive straight out, so as to make a vertical entry. Whatever you do, don't land on your back. Have you got the picture?"
"Yeah, I think so. Let's go before I ruin my image on this ship."
Sweetwater and Sundance left their stateroom and headed for the 0-4 level, which would allow them access to the flight deck. They came out a hatch that led onto the starboard catwalk just forward of Elevator One. When they climbed up on the deck, there were quite a few sailors already gathered for swim call. So far, none of them knew about the bet with the captain. But the cat was about to be let out of the bag.
As soon as the captain saw Sweetwater hit the flight deck, he quickly came up on the 1-MC and made the announcement that swim call would commence with Lieutenant Commander Sullivan's dive from the flight deck into the world's deepest swimming pool, the Mariana Trench. Now there was no turning back.
The ship's safety department would monitor the swim call. After the historic dive, no one else could dive or jump from the flight deck. Elevator One would be lowered to the hangar deck and the men would jump or dive off Elevator One and swim over to Elevator Two and climb up and out of the water on the cargo net hanging. The distance from the hangar deck to the water would still be a healthy thirty feet or so.
As Sweetwater walked to the elevator's edge, he looked up to the bridge were the captain was seated, gave him a sharp salute, and dove off. The fall to the water made him feel what most suicide victims must feel when they first jump: "Do I really want to do this?" But, of course, it is too late, and you are hostage to the forces of gravity.
The fall seemed to take forever. But it was nothing compared to the collision with the water, which felt like hitting a cement wall. Sweetwater's arms felt as if they were both dislocated. His head and neck felt like they had been driven to his asshole and he was certain he had broken his back.
Realizing, against all expectation, that he was still conscious, his main concern was to surface and get out of the water. He paddled furiously, pulling toward the surface. When he finally came up, blood was streaming down his face and he could hardly catch his breath. As he rolled over on his back, he could barely focus on the waving hands and cheers from the flight deck. By the time he got over to the cargo net, safety had sent a swimmer in to assist him.
It took Sweetwater almost ten minutes to get up the cargo net. By the time he reached the top of the elevator, the captain had made his way down to see if he was all right. Blood was pouring out of Sweetwater's mouth when the captain came over to shake his hand.
"Are you all right, Sweetwater?" asked the captain.
"Yes, sir, I just forgot to shut my mouth before water entry and put my teeth through my bottom lip. A few stitches and I'll be as good as new."
By this time Sundance was waiting to congratulate him and help Sweetwater to medical. "Say, Water," he asked, "how was it?"
"It was like standing still and letting a fucking freight train hit you head on. I won't be pulling that stunt again for a while, believe me."
Within thirty minutes Sweetwater had his lip sewn up and was out on the deck watching his shipmates enjoy swim call. Fortunately he had no dislocations or broken bones, but he would be sore for a day or so.
Swim call was a big morale booster for the crew, and as usual, fun was had by all. A couple of enterprising sailors drafted up a logo for a T-shirt which read, "SWAM IN THE DEEPEST PART OF THE MARIANA TRENCH AND SURVIVED. WESTPAC 87." It included a sketch of sailors jumping off the carrier. Once in the Philippines, they would get several hundred shirts made up and sell them to the crew who actually went swimming and make a little extra spending money for the rest of the cruise.
After the evening meal, Sweetwater and Sundance went for a walk on the flight deck to look at their aircraft and see how the maintenance was coming along on a couple of birds. The following day was the beginning of Operation Safeguard, and the aircraft needed to be ready to respond if called upon. Captain Frost was out jogging and stopped to see how Matt was feeling. As he approached the two of them, Matt and Tom greeted him with, "Good evening, sir."
The captain asked how Sweetwater was feeling, and he said fine, and told him that he never figured to have a swim call in a million years.
Captain Frost smiled. "Well, Sweetwater, I never like to be predictable. But to be honest with you, when this Safeguard mission was laid on us, we had some time to kill and we were in the right place at the right time. Anyway, I am glad you're okay. It took some balls to dive from that height, Matt."
"Yes, sir, and I don't think I'll be doing it again, ever."
The next morning, briefs for Operation Safeguard began. Their mission was to assist a naval extraction team on the recovery of a missile being launched from Vandenberg Air Force Base. The missile was scheduled to splash down in one of the atolls near the Marshall Islands. The payload was top secret and it would not be in the best interests of the United States if it were to end up in foreign hands. Intelligence reports predicted that the Big E was going to have visitors and its job was to keep them out of the area until the payload had been retrieved.
Sweetwater's F/A-18 squadron, VFA-1 14, the Fighting Aardvarks, would fly on the first day of Operation Safeguard. Cdr. "Slick" Morely, the executive officer for the Fighting Redcocks of VFA-22, would fly on the second day. The mission required them to fly in and around the recovery area to ensure no unwanted vessels or aircraft interfered with the retrieval of the missile.
The naval extraction team was prepositioned around the atoll and if everything went as planned, the target would splash down at 0900 Wednesday morning. Once the missile's sensitive material was recovered, the Enterprise was cleared to proceed to the Philippines.
Sweetwater and Sundance had been scheduled to fly on the first event in support of Safeguard. But the following morning, Sweetwater's bell was still ringing from the dive, so he was grounded for the day. Captain "Bullet Bob" Baland, the air-wing commander (commander of the air group, or CAG), decided to fly the mission with Sundance. Sweetwater volunteered to be the tower representative for his squadron, since he couldn't fly that day. His duties while in the tower were to interact with the air boss and liaison with his aircraft while they were airborne.
The aircraft scheduled for the Safeguard mission were to launch at 0800 and recover at 1000. The Aardvarks would fly two more events in support of the operation and their sister squadron, the Fighting Redcocks, would assume the duty the following day. CAG Baland and Sundance were spotted on Catapults One and Three.
The morning was crystal clear and the temperature was in the mid eighties.
Sweetwater entered the tower at 0745, and at the stroke of eight o'clock, CAG and Sundance were blasted off the ship. Sweetwater didn't have to spend the entire day in the tower, but he was required to be there for the launches and the recoveries. If at any time one of his squadron airplanes had a problem while airborne, his presence would be required in the tower then, as well.
Primary, which is how the tower is known, was a great place to observe flight-deck operations, and since the air boss was an old squadron mate of his, Sweetwater decided to spend some time with him after the launch.
"Say, boss," asked Sweetwater, "what makes these flight-deck men tick?"
"They do amazing things out there on the deck and never get the credit they deserve."
"They are certainly a rare breed and, professionally, I would match them against any sailor in the Navy. They may not be as polished as some, but I guarantee, they will outwork any two sailors in a given day."
"Look up on the bow, Sweetwater," replied the boss. "Tell me what that flight-deck director is telling the other yellow shirt down by Elevator One."
"Hell boss, I can't read lips from this distance."
"You don't have to. Look at the hand signals he is giving him. What does it look like he is doing?"
"It looks like he's trying to roll down his sleeves and dribble a basketball at the same time."
"Pretty good analogy, Sweetwater. But what that one director is actually telling the other is, 'Don't sweat the small stuff, keep the ball rolling.' See how they are trying to move that aircraft from Elevator One up to the bow?"
"Yes, sir," replied Sweetwater.
"The director on the bow is more experienced and saw that the younger director down by the elevator was getting a little frustrated with the move, so he gave him a little sign language to pump him up and take a little pressure off him."
"How do you know that, boss?" asked Sweetwater.
"Well, Water, after several months watching these men operate on the deck, you learn their lingo. That's what makes these guys so special. They can react to any situation and get the job done effectively and professionally under the most adverse conditions. Every day these men amaze me. Sweetwater, this air-boss job is the best-kept secret in the fleet. If you have to go to sea after your command tour, remember, there are only two jobs on this ship that have windows that are worth waiting twenty some years for, and one is the air-boss job and the other is commanding officer of the ship."
Sweetwater laughed and said, "You know I like to be where the action is and this air-boss job certainly fits the bill."
By this time CAG and Sundance were on station, looking for intruders. The ship was seventy miles away and once the pilots got to the atoll, they would split up and sanitize the area. On the day of the recovery, the ship would pull within five miles of the splash point and have alert aircraft ready to launch, if called upon by the extraction team.
CAG and Sundance spotted several ships within a twenty-mile radius of the atoll. But close scrutiny revealed that they were just merchant ships transiting the shipping lanes north and south of the atoll. No targets of interest were spotted and both aircraft recovered aboard the ship without incident.
The rest of the day's flights yielded no contacts. Commander Morely and Lt. "Gunny" Leonard were scheduled to fly on the first event for the Redcocks the following day.
At six-thirty in the morning, a call had come in from one of the naval vessels on the extraction team that they had visitors in the area. Sundance and Sweetwater were awakened by the 1-MC blaring "Launch the Safeguard aircraft, launch the Safeguard aircraft." The hornet nest came alive in a hurry. Luckily the flight-deck and aircraft crews were up and made this scramble look easy, although they would be launching an hour and a half early.
Slick and Gunny manned their machines and were headed for the catapult within twenty minutes from the call. The flight-deck crew only had one cat ready to shoot, so they both went off Cat Three. As they were taxiing to the cat, strike operation, an information center, said, "Your surface targets of interest are bearing zero-one-zero and one-four-five from the ship. Locate and report their position."
Twenty-five minutes after the call, both aircraft were airborne and headed for the targets. With the speeds they were traveling, the F/A-18 Hornets would be on station within ten minutes.
En route to the targets, Slick told Gunny over the tactical frequency, "I'll take the target up north, you get the one down south." Two clicks on the transmit button located on the throttles came from Gunny's Hornet, acknowledging the request. Slick's radar locked on a surface target just north of the atoll where the missile was to land. Gunny got a lock-on at the mouth of the atoll.
Slick dropped down to two hundred feet at a speed of three hundred knots as he came in on the bearing line. As he flew past the stem, he pulled his Hornet into the vertical, and on the back half of his loop picked up a 30-degree dive and rolled 180 degrees in the opposite direction, coming back at the target.
On his second run, he took pictures of the vessel and climbed to four thousand feet, circled overhead of his target and contacted Gunny over tactical, to see what he had found. "Redcock 207, this is 202, did you find anything?"
"Roger, I have a Russian trawler, it appears to be a Baizam."
"Does it have two large white radar balls on the superstructure?"
"Sure does."
"Well, it looks like we have two of them out here. I also have one up north. Make one more photo run and I'll meet you over the atoll at five thousand feet. I will be in a left-hand turn at three hundred knots. Join on me and we'll head back to the ship."
"Roger," replied 207.
The rendezvous was made expeditiously. Once they had joined up, they headed back to the ship. As soon as they deplaned, Slick and Gunny went to the intelligence center to debrief the mission. Slick reported their findings and Gunny sent the photos to the lab to be developed.
The intell people were concerned about the two Baizains in the area. This was very unusual, since the Baizam was the Russians' most sophisticated intelligence gathering ship. It seemed odd to have two of them in the same area. There was more to this than met the eye.
Captain Jurkowsky, the ship's intell officer, called Rear Admiral Mitchell's office to brief him on the findings. Admiral Mitchell was the battle-group commander for the Enterprise's task force.
Jurkowsky was asked to come down to the admiral's office immediately. The flag spaces were just down the passageway from the intelligence offices. By the time the captain was ready to brief, the pictures had been developed and were assembled in the briefing package. Jurkowsky laid out the findings to the admiral, who agreed that something was up.
The admiral then called CAG and ordered aircraft in the air around the clock until the missile section was safely on board the recovery ship.
Captain Baland, the air-wing commander, called a meeting with the COs of the squadrons in his air wing. He passed the word that he wanted air support around the clock on these Russian trawlers, with fighters and antisubmarine aircraft. Three aircraft would be in the air at all times until the missile section was recovered. Concluding the brief, he said, "Okay men, we have about twenty hours of continuous flight ops, so get your aircrews lined up and let's get them airborne."
The Redcocks had their second crew all manned, so they launched as planned. The Fighting Redtails of VS-21 launched one S-3 to look for a submarine that might be involved in this puzzle. With two highly sophisticated intell-gathering ships around the splash point, it was felt that a sub may be in the area to assist in picking up the missile section.
Since there were only a few hours left until nightfall, Captain Frost brought the carrier within ten miles of the atoll, to be close by for the morning recovery. As the Redcocks were manning up for their third event, the word was passed to launch an additional two fighters. There was one aircraft to be intercepted. Sweetwater and Sundance were in the alert status for the Aardvarks, so they got the call.
Lt. Cdr. "Ralphy Boy" Petriccione was flying for the Redtails, while Slick and Lt. "Psycho" Smith were flying for the Redcocks. Because of the inbound aircraft and escort duties required, a KA-6 tanker would also be launched. Lt. Cdr. "Boots" Costello would be flying the tanker mission.
The Redcocks were to watch the trawlers, Ralphy Boy was to do a ladder search around the atoll for subs, Boots had extra gas if required, and the Aardvarks were to intercept the aircraft inbound. The vector to the inbound aircraft was 350 degrees at 165 miles.
When the Big E was in international air and sea space, it was not unusual to have this sort of encounter with the Russians. It was obvious that, in this instance, their intelligence knew about the missile shoot. If they could beat the U.S. team to the missile and recover it, the information they might gain would be damaging to national defense. What had been routine had suddenly become urgent.
Sweetwater and Sundance were at twenty-five thousand feet about eighty miles northwest of the atoll, when Sweetwater's radar locked up on the intercept. They were flying in formation when Sweetwater told Sundance to get into a loose-deuce position. This gave them better coverage for each other. As they closed on the contact, Sundance spotted the target at ten o'clock low. The target aircraft appeared to be cruising at a slightly lower altitude when Sundance called a tally on him. As the two got closer, Sweetwater could see that it was a Russian May. This plane is similar to the United States' P-3, which is a four-engine turboprop aircraft. Their closure rate was about six hundred knots.
Once the intercept was made, Sweetwater and Sundance flew aft and to the right of the Russian May and escorted him as he headed towards the atoll. As the Russian aircraft got within five miles of the splashdown area, he descended to one thousand feet and started a left-hand turn. Then he flew directly over the southern spy ship at the entrance of the atoll, and continued up to the other intelligence ship, steaming to the north. After both Balzam ships were flown over, the Russian aircraft headed for the S-3 conducting search patterns around the coral island.
The atoll was twelve miles in circumference and two hundred feet deep. Ralphy Boy was at the western tip of the lagoon at an altitude of two hundred feet. His mad boom, used in detecting submarines, was extended out of the tail section of his aircraft. The boom was about sixteen feet in length and fifty inches around. The May abruptly dropped down to five hundred feet, which put it on a collision course with the S-3.
Sweetwater came up on tactical. "Redtail 702, this is Aardvark 102."
"Go ahead 102."
"We have a Russian May aircraft headed toward you at about your one o'clock position. Do you have him in sight yet?"
"Negative, can't see him yet."
"He is being pretty aggressive. He's at five hundred feet, so don't make any evasive maneuvers down that low. We don't want you in the drink."
"Roger, thanks for the heads up. Tally ho, 102. I have him. Jesus Christ he is low," Ralphy Boy shouted to his copilot.
The May flew over the top of the S-3 and started a slow turn back to the right, making what appeared to be another run on the S-3. By this time Sweetwater had accelerated alongside the May until he was even with the cockpit. Sundance circled overhead at one thousand feet. As Sweetwater rolled into position, he dropped his gear and flaps, so as to stay level with the Russian at his slow airspeed.
When he was far enough forward alongside the May that the pilot could see him, he gave the Russian a climbing motion with his hand, signaling for him to climb. In reply, the Russian turned his aircraft into Sweetwater's Hornet. Sweetwater hit his afterburner and made a climbing left turn. "Hey, Sundance," he called over tactical, "did you see that dumb sonofabitch? He tried to run into me."
"No, I missed it."
"We best keep our distance until we figure what he's up to."
"Roger," replied Sundance.
"Redtail 702 this is Aardvark 102."
"Go ahead 102."
"You better haul in your boom and get some altitude. This crazy Ivan almost ran into me."
Just as Ralphy Boy started to key his mike, his copilot started yelling, "Mad man, mad man."
Petriccione passed the word. "Aardvark 102, I have a possible sub down here, keep him off me."
That's all Sweetwater needed to hear. Now things started to fall into perspective. It appeared the Russians were indeed trying to sneak a sub into the area.
Sweetwater climbed up overhead and joined Sundance. "Okay, Sundance," he said, "we are going to give this crazy Ivan the old thump maneuver. You fly out to his left and I'll approach him from down under." While all this was going on, 702 had firmed up what appeared to be a hot sub contact. The Russian aircraft had completed his turn and was headed back towards 702. Sundance rolled his Hornet over on its back, let the nose fall through, and headed for the reconnaissance aircraft.
Once Sundance was clear, Sweetwater hit afterburner and made a wide circle so as to get behind the Russian. The May was about three miles from 702 when Sundance pulled up alongside. When Sweetwater saw that Sundance was in position, he dropped a hundred feet below the May and came screaming in at four hundred knots. As he passed under the Russian, he pulled his Hornet into a five-g vertical and climbed straight up in front of the four-propeller aircraft. His wake turbulence and wing-tip vortices made the Russian plane roll hard fight and dive for the deck.
When Sweetwater reached the top half of his loop, he rolled 180 degrees to an upright position and topped out at 7,000 feet. Sundance did a 360 and stayed on the Russian's six while he headed for the northeast corner of the atoll. The sun was setting in the west and the glare off the water was blinding, so Sweetwater decided to stay high and observe for a while.
At this point Lieutenant Commander Petriccione had a flashback and realized what was going on. It was the oldest trick in the Russian playbook. Ralphy Boy had hot contact all right, because the sub was trying to stick an antenna up to communicate with the May and Balzams. By using the sun to camouflage his antennas while they were out of the water, the sub captain felt he could go undetected long enough to pass and receive intelligence that needed to be transmitted. But Ralphy Boy's sub-hunting techniques ruined their opportunity to communicate. Sweetwater, along with Sundance, kept the May from interfering with the S-3 while it was tracking the sub.
Sweetwater had enough fuel to stay on station for another thirty minutes, then he would have to tank or return to base. Sundance had about fifty minutes of fuel before he had to RTB. Ralphy Boy was on a double cycle, so he would track the sub for a couple more hours before being relieved. The May circled the atoll several times, and when he realized the sub wasn't going to attempt a radio transmission, he headed home.
By now the sun had set and Sweetwater joined on Sundance and they headed home to the nest.
Because of the aggressive escort etiquette by Sweetwater and Sundance, they missed their recovery time by twenty minutes. The second wave of Hornets was headed for the atoll when they rolled in behind the ship. Feeling good about their accomplishments, Sundance and Sweetwater were smokin' coming into the break. At four hundred knots, Sundance broke at the fantail. Five seconds later Sweetwater broke. To pull this off and get aboard with an okay three wire, you had to have your shit together. Sundance made a combat-groove approach with about four seconds on the meatball before he trapped. It was necessary for him to do that, otherwise he would have fouled the deck for Sweetwater. They both got aboard looking like pros.
After the Hornets were parked, chocked and chained down, the two pilots walked off the flight deck and headed for the intelligence center. CAG and Captain Jurkowsky were waiting for them when they entered.
"Well," CAG said, "by the looks of that break, you had a good afternoon."
"Yes, sir, we did," Sweetwater said. "The aircraft inbound was a May and he was there to pass or receive info from the sub."
"What sub?" CAG and Jurkowsky chorused. "Wasn't the word passed that Petriccione had hot contact on a Russian sub?"
"No, what class sub was it?" Jurkowsky asked.
"Not sure," Sundance replied, "but I thought I heard Foxtrot."
Just as Captain Jurkowsky picked up the phone to call down to the antisubmarine-warfare module, a call came in on the other line to confirm the sub contact and that it was a Kilo sub and not a Foxtrot.
Jurkowsky said, "The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place now. The intell ships were there to pick up any info from our battle group, the sub was the main recovery platform and the aircraft was a detractor. Information was to be passed and received this afternoon in preparation for tomorrow's recovery, but the Russians seem to have run into a Hornets' nest."
"Okay, gents, thanks for a job well done," CAG said. "And let's not hotdog it into the break quite so fast. If some of the junior officers try that shit, they might end up in the drink. Get cleaned up and get some chow."
"Sounds good," the two aviators replied, as they headed out the door.
Captain Jurkowsky briefed the admiral on what had occurred, and the admiral told him to pass the word to the extraction team to proceed as planned. As night settled in, the three extraction ships went to work.
One of the ships blocked the entrance to the atoll with a wire-mesh cage. This would stop any subs from entering the lagoon. The other two ships laid out netting around the splashdown coordinates to assist in the extraction of the missile. The section of the missile that would be recovered weighed around fifteen hundred pounds. A parachute would lower it to a safe water-entry speed, a procedure similar to that used with the Mercury space capsule. Once everything was in position, the ball game was in Vandenberg's ballpark.
The Balzam intell ships were close by all night, watching the preparations for the recovery. But what they didn't know was the surprise in store for them on recovery day. As the morning sun came up in the east, a five-plane event was about to be launched. It involved two Hornets, an S-3, a tanker and an E-2 Hawkeye. These planes were to fly around the atoll until thirty minutes to splashdown. Then they were to go to their designated holding points until the missile section was in the water.
An hour prior to splashdown, intell got the word that bogey aircraft were inbound. CAG and Slick got the call for escort duty. They manned up and were airborne within fifteen minutes. They flew the same profile as Sweetwater and Sundance did the day before. The bogeys were coming from the same sector. Both aircraft were Russian Mays and they were pretty predictable. Five miles from the atoll, they descended and headed for the center of the lagoon. Messages were transmitted to the Russians that they were entering a danger zone and should evacuate the area, but the messages were ignored. Once they hit the center of the atoll they split up and started to circle the reef.
As splashdown approached, the rest of the aircraft went to their holding positions. CAG and Slick remained flying escort. Within ten minutes the E-2 made the call over tactical, "Safeguard's in the chute." At this point, CAG and Slick hit afterburner and went to the north and south sectors of the atoll to watch the show.
The chute opened at four thousand feet and was heading for the splashdown point. It appeared to be right on target. By the time the missile section was down to two thousand feet and floating towards the atoll, the Mays were flying straight toward it, with a thousand yards between them. Each aircraft was towing what appeared to be a large grappling hook on the end of a cable. CAG and Slick again hit burner and trailed the Mays as they attempted to grasp the missile out of the air. The first Russian aircraft just missed hooking the floating chute. The second picked it off.
CAG and Slick flew on either side of the grappling aircraft, taking pictures all the way. When CAG got even with the cockpit, he transmitted over a common frequency, "Smile, you're on candid camera."
Operation Safeguard had worked. It was a total scam—a dummy missile shoot to make the Russians show their retrieval techniques, so that the United States could update its intelligence on their procedures.
The Shadow
As the Russian Mays flew off by our escort range, all aircraft returned to the nest. A "mission complete" message was sent from the carrier to the extraction-team ships, releasing them from the atoll and clearing them back to their home port in Guam. The Russian spy ships and submarine also left the area once the dummy missile had been grappled.
As the yellowshirts were parking CAG and Slick, one could feel the excitement building in the expression and movement of each flight-deck director. All hands knew that the mission was complete and the ship was cleared for the Philippines, home away from home for the Enterprise and its company. CAG was doing a postflight inspection of his aircraft when a young blueshirt (a man who chocks and chains the aircraft down to the flight deck) stopped him and asked, "Is the Philippines as great as they all say it is, sir'?"
"Well," CAG said, ''let's put it this way, shipmate. It's like Fantasy Island. Once you've been there, you'll never forget it."
A big smile crossed the young sailor's face as he charged over to Slick's aircraft to put a twelve-point, intermediate tie down on his bird.
As CAG passed Slick on the flight deck, he told him he would meet him in the intelligence center after he stopped off in flight-deck control, the heart of flight-deck operations. CAG liked to visit the handler and flight-deck crew whenever he had a chance, since he used to be an aircraft handler years ago. The visits always brought back old memories.
Flight-deck control handles all movement of aircraft both on the flight deck and on the hangar deck. It can become a real hot spot during heavy flight operations. A miscalculation in positioning one aircraft on a final recovery, with a full flight deck of aircraft, can put a pilot and his plane in the water. It takes a strong-willed, thick-skinned officer to be an effective aircraft handler. Some can't cut the mustard under the pressure and end up being carried out in a little white jacket.
CAG opened the hatch to flight-deck control and started to enter. Once the handler saw who it was, he called attention on deck and everyone came to attention. This was done out of professional courtesy to the air-wing commander and any senior ranking officer. CAG immediately put everyone at ease and told them to carry on. "Goddamn it, Handler, I told you not to be locking your men up when I come in here," he joked. "Remember, I used to sit in that hot box a few years ago myself."
"I know," replied the handler, "but we like to make an old handler feel welcome whenever we can. You want some coffee?"
"Sure, as long as it isn't made with salt water."
This was an ongoing joke. The last cup of coffee the handler had given CAG had been made with sea water. A young flight-deck sailor forgot which faucet produced the fresh water and made up a real nasty batch of coffee. Unfortunately for CAG, he got to test the first cup.
"Well, are you and your men ready to pull into port?" CAG asked.
"You bet, CAG. They've been busting their butts since we left the States and they need to get their batteries charged. We're going to scrub and paint the landing area over the next few days, so we won't have to work quite so hard while in port. That way, I can give my men max liberty in the P.I. You know how aviation bos'n mates think. I never met an AB who didn't think liberty meant more to him than his paycheck."
"Things still haven't changed, have they, Handler?"
"Nope. They still like their liberty."
"Hey, I best get down to the Carrier Intelligence Center [CVIC]. The boys in intell are waiting for me to debrief this mission. Thanks for the coffee. Not a bad cup."
The handler smiled as CAG left.
CAG entered the intell center and went directly to the war room. Slick had already filled out all the brief sheets and turned the film over to the lab for processing. By the time CAG got all his flight gear off and reviewed his notes, the admiral and his staff had arrived. The intell officer, waiting at the door, called, "Attention on deck."
"Be seated, gentlemen," the admiral said. Then, turning to CAG, he asked, "Well, Bob, how did it go?
CAG briefed the mission as it unfolded. "Admiral, I feel the Russians had no idea that this was a setup. We got excellent photos of their Baizam spy ships. The S-3 recorded a lot of tracking information off their sub and we got the whole grappling extraction on film. In my estimation, the mission was a complete success. We compiled the data we needed on their procedures and we now know how they retrieved the items from the other missiles we couldn't locate."
"Excellent work. It looks like we're going to have an exciting Westpac. I'll pass the word to the captain that he can start steaming towards the Philippines. If there are no more questions, that will be it, gentlemen."
CAG raised his hand.
"Yes, CAG," the admiral said.
"I'd like to send a couple of pilots on ahead early to plan for our low-level missions while in the Philippines."
"Sounds like a good deal. Can I go?" Several snickers rang out across the room.
"Sure, Admiral, you can do anything you want," CAG laughed.
"Wish I could, but I have a battle group to run. But whoever goes in early, have him get me a tee time for the afternoon we arrive. Admiral Barclay is coming in from Japan for our in-chop brief and I need to get some of my money back. That sonofabitch is about a two handicap and he took me to the cleaners the last time we played."
"No problem, Admiral. We'll make that happen." The men came to attention as the admiral departed and then they headed for their respective offices.
As CAG was gathering his flight gear and heading for the door, Slick stopped him to find out whom he planned to send to the beach early.
"Why do you ask, Slick?"
"Well, CAG, I have a couple of hard chargers and I would like to get them a little early liberty."
"Give me one name, I already have the other pilot picked."
"Leonard. Lieutenant ('Gunny') Leonard."
"Consider it done, Slick. Tell him to be ready to go with Sweetwater. Launch time will be noon tomorrow. The ship will be a day out, and it'll give them a little more than twenty-four hours head start on the rest of the crew."
As Commander Morely was leaving, he thanked CAG and asked, "How did Sweetwater get to go in early?"
"He's planning the low level for you F/A-18 guys, and I asked him to get that old junk car running for my men. We stash it by the BOQ and pass Old Betsy down to each air wing when it comes through. She's getting pretty old and needs some work, so I figured if anyone could get her running, it had to be Sweetwater. When you give that man a mission, you can rest assured he'll do his best to make it happen."
"You're right there, CAG. Okay, thanks again. I'll tell Gunny he's flying in early."
Sweetwater was up at the crack of dawn, ran two miles on the flight deck and had breakfast before reveille sounded at seven. After breakfast he met with Gunny Leonard to go over the flight. "Gunny, we'll blast out of here at twelve noon, fly to Clark AFB and refuel. Once we have a full bag of gas, we'll fly the low-level route I have mapped out, and check the terrain for logging wires and obstructions. After the route check, we'll land at Cubi Point and get stupid."
"Get stupid?"
"Yeah, you know, light our hair on fire and take no prisoners. We have missions to accomplish once we arrive."
"Like what?" asked Gunny.
"We have to arrange a tee time for the admiral, I've got to get Old Betsy running and you're going to set up a welcoming party for the ship. I'll give you more details after we get to the beach. Get your liberty bag packed and be ready to kick the tires and light the fires at noon."
This was Gunny's first deployment, so he was all geared up for the unknown. Sending Sweetwater in early was like letting the fox run wild in the henhouse. However, this was his fourth Westpac, so he knew the area and personnel like the back of his hand and could get missions accomplished that some admirals would have trouble completing.
At eleven o'clock both pilots were in flight-deck control with their weight sheets for the catapult officer. These sheets told the cat officer the weight of the aircraft, so that he could select the proper steam pressure to launch the birds safely. It was the responsibility of each pilot to drop off his weight sheet before he manned up. Sweetwater had given Gunny a solid brief an hour before, so they were ready to preflight and launch. The flight to Clark was about two and a half hours and the low-level route would take them a little over an hour to fly once they had refueled at Clark. So, if all went as planned, they would be at Cubi Point by five.
As Sweetwater's F/A-18 rolled into position to launch, the catapult officer could see Sweetwater smiling from ear to ear. While the cat crew was waiting for the steam to build, Sweetwater hooked up his oxygen mask and gave the cat officer a thumbs up, to tell him that all systems were go and that he would see him on the beach.
Gunny was behind the jet-blast deflector and would launch after Sweetwater. Since Gunny and Water were the only two launching, Catapult One was used for the launch. Once Sweetwater was off the cat, he would get his gear and flaps up, accelerate to 250 knots, then make a wide left-hand turn, in order to be back at the bow of the ship as Gunny launched. This would expedite the rendezvous and give the flight-deck crew a little show to help boost morale.
The running rendezvous worked as briefed. Sweetwater positioned his aircraft perfectly and the cat crew got Gunny airborne just as Water's bird passed the bow. It was a beautiful sight. The flight to Clark Air Force Base went without incident, and the refueling took about an hour once they were on deck.
After a head call and a short snack, the two were back in the air circling over the Zambales Mountains. This was where the low level would start. Sweetwater would fly the route two hundred feet above the actual runs to check for any obstructions. Gunny would fly a combat spread with a five-hundred-foot step-up behind Sweetwater' s bird. He would also be looking for any unusual flaws in the flight path. The route would take them up by Baguio over to Cabarruyan Island and down the coastline back to Cubi Point.
This type of flying was the last of the good deals. You could get down in the weeds and do some real barnstorming without getting a flight violation. Although most of the route was over unpopulated areas, there were some spots that took you over villages. The locals always knew when the crazy American fly-boys were back. The big iron birds roared over their countryside like a giant roller coaster, scattering water buffalo and Villagers. They knew work in the rice paddies would not be normal for the next four to five days.
Sweetwater and Gunny hit the mouth of Subic Bay at ten to five. At 2,000 feet and three hundred knots, Sweetwater called the tower requesting a carrier break. The air traffic controller said, "Welcome back to the Philippines. Carrier break approved."
Sweetwater told Gunny, "Tuck it in. Let's look sharp."
Two clicks over the mike meant he acknowledged and liberty was only a landing away.
Both aircraft landed safely at Naval Air Station Cubi Point and were parked. Sweetwater and Gunny buttoned up their birds and checked in at base operations. Once all the administrative paperwork was filled out on their arrival, the two called for a taxi and headed for the BOQ at Cubi. As they were riding up the hill to the BOQ, Gunny asked Sweetwater, "What does Cubi Point mean?"
Sweetwater explained, "Cubi Point got its name from a Seabee unit called 'Construction Unit Battalion One.' They were the outfit who built the airfield and buildings around the base. When they couldn't come up with a suitable name, it was simply called Cubi Point after the unit that built it."
"Interesting piece of history," replied Gunny. Sweetwater said, "Not many sailors know how the name came about."
As they got out of the cab, Sweetwater said, "Hurry up, Gunny. We need to get a do-me before they close up for the day."
Gunny looked at Sweetwater as if the heat had overtemped his brain. "What in the hell is a 'do-me'?" asked Gunny.
"Don't worry, just check us in and get us two rooms and meet me down at the barbershop at the end of the corridor to your right."
"Roger that," Gunny said, as he walked up to the front desk at the BOQ. Sweetwater headed for the barbershop.
As he passed through the swinging double doors, Sweetwater sighed in relief. The barbershop was still open. He walked in and Jesse, who had cut his hair for many years, was sweeping the floor.
"Jesse," Sweetwater said. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, Mr. Sweetwater, it's good to see you, come in, come in." Jesse never forgot a face or a nickname. He had been cutting hair at that barbership for twenty years and knew most of the pilots, who came in for a do-me whenever they were in the Philippines.
"How long you in for, sir?"
"Same as always, Jesse, just a couple days."
"Well, you ready for your regular treatment?"
"You bet," replied Sweetwater. "You know, Jesse, I wait many months to come back for your special dome. Say, are you here alone?"
"No, no. I have my nephew working with me now. It is our night to stay late, the others leave at five. Ben will be back, he went to get some clean towels."
"Jesse, I have a young lieutenant with me who has never had your do-me, so when he hops in the chair, give him the royal works."
"You got it, Mr. Sweetwater."
The do-me includes a shampoo, a haircut, a facial, a shave, a manicure, a pedicure, boots shined, and an hour-long massage, all for the price of twelve dollars. So when an officer walks into the barbershop at Cubi Point and says, "Do me," they know that you want the works.
By the time Gunny arrived at the barbershop, Sweetwater was having his facial and couldn't talk. Gunny looked sheepishly around, not real sure if that was really Water under the mud pack. "Come on in, Lieutenant," Jesse said. "Are you ready for our special do-me?"
"Well, I don't really know. Have you seen Lieutenant Commander Sullivan?"
"Sure, he's right here," Jesse said, as Sweetwater waved his hand from under the white and blue drape. Gunny thought to himself, What the fuck is he getting done?
Jesse realized Gunny was uncertain. He said, "Sit down, Lieutenant. Ben will polish your boots and do your nails while you wait to get into the chair."
Gunny looked at him with concern, but Jesse said, "Don't worry, son, it's all part of the do-me special."
As Gunny relaxed in the chair, while Ben polished his boots, he could see the price breakdown of all the services offered tacked to the wall. At this point he put two and two together. However, getting a manicure and a pedicure along with a facial seemed more on the feminine side and he didn't want any of his squadron mates to see him getting the works for fear they would rib him to death. He didn't realize that all the old veterans who had been there before fought to get signed up for the do-me before they departed the Philippines because it was such a treat to be pampered.
After Sweetwater got out of the chair, Gunny couldn't wait to hop in and get the works. Sweetwater sat back while Ben did his boots and nails and pointed out to Gunny how sweet it was to beat the herd to the beach. Gunny now was realizing what a good deal he was getting, even if he had no idea what was yet to come. The hour massage was the grand finale of the do-me, which made the eight weeks of shipboard living all worth it.
The massage rooms were near the pool at the back west end of the BOQ, and Rosie ran the time schedule for the rubdowns. Once the ship pulled in, it was difficult to get a massage, since it was so popular. The massage was handled very professionally and it sure felt good after a hard workout or a round of golf.
After Gunny completed his haircut, facial and pedicure, he and Sweetwater paid Jesse and headed to their rooms to change out of their flight suits. Then they headed to the bar for a couple of Cubi Specials before they were to get their massages. This drink went down as smooth as a frog's hair, but kicked like a mule after three or so. One couldn't stay at Cubi and not drink a Cubi Special, they were that good. The tickets for the massage could be purchased at the bar, since Rosie's was just out the door.
While Gunny was at the head, Sweetwater signed them up, and told Rosie to come over in a half hour and escort Gunny to the massage room. Rosie always liked new clients, especially ones who had never experienced a massage before. Gunny was in for a real treat.
After a couple of Cubi Specials, Rosie came in and said, "Is Lieutenant Leonard here?"
Gunny said, "I'm Lieutenant Leonard."
Rosie smiled and said, "Come with me, sailor. Have I got a deal for you."
Gunny looked at Water, who gave him the high sign and off they went. Gunny knew of the massages from all the talk on the ship, but he was now about to experience one. While he was getting his rubdown, Sweetwater went to the front desk and asked for Old Betsy's heart. That was the code to get the key to start her up.
As he walked to the back of the BOQ, Water could see Old Betsy sitting there in her rusted Datsun shell. He hadn't seen her for several years and the wet, humid Philippines weather had taken its toll. He opened the driver's door and just about shit when two monkeys jumped at him. He shut the door and stood back and watched. After a minute or so a mother and two little monkeys came out under the car by the trunk and sauntered off into the jungle.