“One-oh-three, roger, one-one-zero.”
As the Hornet on Cat 4 was placed in tension, Wilson heard the sardonic voice of “Saint Patrick” as he commenced his approach. “Four-zero-two commencing.”
“Roger, Raven four-zero-two, take speed two-seven-five, say state.”
“Two hundred pounds less than when you asked me two minutes ago,” Saint replied. Wilson cringed at the unprofessional sarcasm in his XO’s voice.
When he heard this exchange, O’Shaunessy, whose attention had been on the situation regarding the deck status, turned his head and said to no one, “Who the fuck’s in four-oh-two?” He answered his own question by looking at the status board. He shook his head in disgust when he read “PATRICK” and turned to search for a Raven flight suit patch among the pilots seated behind him.
“If your XO would make proper voice calls, we wouldn’t have to ask him for his state.”
All Wilson could do was acknowledge him with a chastened “Yes, sir.”
“And give him a speed change because he can’t hit his marshal point on time,” O’Shaunessy added. The room was silent except for the clipped radio exchanges from the final approach controllers and pilots.
The Big Unit leaned over to Wilson and whispered “Bad hair day…” Wilson nodded but wondered if he was talking about O’Shaunessy or his XO.
The marshal controller queried the Raven XO a second time. “Four-zero-two, say state.”
Wearily, Saint responded, “Six-point-one.”
Next, Wilson’s ear was attuned to Sponge Bob’s voice over marshal frequency as he began his approach. “Four-zero-six commencing out of angels thirteen, state five-two.”
“Roger, four-zero-six, five-point-two.”
Wilson did some fuel calculations in his head. Sponge had enough for a few looks at the deck before he hit tank state. The ship had two tankers overhead, a Rhino with 6,000 pounds to give and a Viking with 4,000. Outside the wind blew at 36 knots down the angled deck, most of it natural as the ship was making nothing more than bare steerageway. Glancing at the PLAT, Wilson saw a flash on the horizon. Thunder in all quadrants, varsity pitching deck, rain and dark, with the nearest open unfamiliar divert field 250 miles away. Why do we do these things to ourselves? He turned his attention to the Hornet above the crosshairs on the PLAT.
“Two-zero-one, three quarter mile, call the ball.”
“Two-zero-one, Hornet ball, four-eight.”
“Roger, ball, workin’ thirty-five knots, MOVLAS.” Wilson recognized the voice of Lieutenant Commander Russ “Shakey” McDevitt. He was the new Air Wing Four LSO who had reported aboard just before cruise.
