On the platform, the LSOs watched in grim silence as 406 approached. The wind velocity increased to 38 knots, and the plane guard destroyer aft on the invisible horizon seemed to float in space, up and down with the changing pitch of Valley Forge’s deck.
“Barricade set two-seven, Hornet! Clear deck!” The phone talker shouted for all to hear.
Dutch glanced back into the landing area out of habit to ensure it was clear and was mesmerized by the barricade, where the high winds buffeted the thick nylon strands. Through the strands he could see shadows on the island weather deck galleries. Dozens of sailors were gathered there to watch the approach from the aptly named, “Vulture’s Row.”
“Roger, clear deck,” he said, and immediately returned his attention to the familiar FA-18 light pattern manifested by 406.
Shakey picked up the handle of the visual landing aid system and showed Sponge a centered ball. The rain was coming down harder now, pelting them in their exposed position. They both straddled the coaming, with one leg each placed on the flight deck. We’re probably going right into a squall, thought Shakey. Subconsciously, he pulled the collar of his flight suit up to cover his neck. Dutch, right next to him, cared much less about the weather than the fact that his squadronmate Sponge was in that jet.
Dutch saw Sponge drift left, as did CATCC. “Four-zero-six, one mile, drifting left of course, on glide path.”
“Four-zero-six.”
“Four-zero-six, slightly left of course, on glide path, three quarter mile, call the ball.”
“Four-zero-six, Hornet ball, point-niner.” Sponge sounded calm.
Shakey did, too, when he responded. “Roger ball, Hornet, working thirty-seven knots down the angle. Deck’s movin’ a little, yer ooon glide slope.”
Dutch sensed the escort ship on the horizon slide left. “Ship’s turnin’ right!” he shouted to Shakey, who immediately informed Sponge.
“Ship’s in a turn, come left… on glide slope… come left… yer goin’ high… on center line.”
“Talk to him!” Stretch called out.
Shakey keyed the handset microphone and held it depressed while he raised the MOVLAS handle higher. “Yer high! Easy with it.”
Sponge made an aggressive correction, just as the ramp pitched down. He was uneasy with his steep view of the deck and felt as if he were right on top of it — and already past the cut point. He lost the ball due to the barricade stanchion and his eyes became glued to the deck and the bewitching movement of the barricade strands.
