Wilson wondered if Sponge knew what was happening. He got up from the bench to review the NATOPS manual for barricade procedures when he saw his XO standing at the entrance to the room. Still in his flight gear, Saint scowled at him and cocked his head in a motion to come over. Saint then led them into the back office.
“Yes, sir,” said Wilson.
“Mister Wilson, what the hell is going on?”
“Sponge couldn’t plug because the tanker was sour, fuel streaming from the hose. The other tanker was dry from tanking all the bolters and wave-offs. They’re gonna barricade Sponge.”
“Did you recommend that?”
“No, sir… the Captain made the call. I recommended they trap him normally in these conditions. He’s got two looks.”
“And if not aboard he’s out of gas. Then what?”
“Controlled ejection alongside,” Wilson replied, keeping his face expressionless as he held the XO’s gaze.
Saint looked down at the deck with tight lips steadying himself on a desk as the ship took a roll. The overhead creaked under the strain. He snapped his head up, eyes narrow with contempt.
“I expected more from my Operations Officer.”
“Sir?”
“Why is that nugget out there in these conditions? I expect my Ops Officer to write a schedule that reflects the expected weather. But I don’t expect him to then go and countermand an order of a Captain more than twice his seniority! Unsat.”
Wilson felt his upper body tighten.
“Sir, the Skipper signed the schedule almost 24 hours ago — before we knew what we would be facing tonight, before we knew we would be over 200 miles from any divert. Any senior officer in Air Wing Four could have broken the chain today with a recommendation to stop flying.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Any flight lead could have ensured his wingman came down with sufficient fuel for any contingency instead of showing up here at minimum fuel. Any flight lead could have sent his lower-state wingman down first. And any pilot could have gotten out of the gear clean so his wingman could trap.”
The XO’s eyes narrowed even more, and he forcibly exhaled through his nose. Wilson knew right away he had overstepped several boundaries. Back-talk to commanders, even when justified, was never career-enhancing. He waited for the blast. When Saint just glared at him, apparently unsure of how to counter, Wilson decided to change course.
“I didn’t countermand anything, sir. I made a recommendation. Sponge has to fly a solid pass, and if he doesn’t hit the barricade clean, he probably doesn’t get a chance to punch if he needs to. My recommendation is made and noted. Our squadronmate is in trouble, and I made a call. Now I have to get back — unless you want to take over, sir.”
