Chapter 5
Press Hop
Two days later...
Serena writes in her notebook...
According to the press kit, the USS John C. Stennis is a Nimitz-class
aircraft carrier that falls into the Theodore Roosevelt or Improved Nimitz
subclass. Launched in November of ‘93 and commissioned December of ‘95, her
projected service life is over fifty years, the length of which will be
increased by numerous overhauls. Displacing 88,000 tons of water empty, she
is one of the world’s largest vehicles. She sits as tall as a twenty-four
story building and covers four and a half acres. A maximum speed of thirty
knots is attained by two nuclear fission reactors driving four propellars
that weigh over 33 tons each. When at rest, the “Johnny Reb” (as her crew
calls her) is held in place by two anchors from the decomissioned USS
Forrestal (CV-59) that are equal in weight to her props.
She has four catapults to launch her air wing of eighty-two aircraft. The
current air wing is optimized for strikes and includes two squadrons of 14
F-14D Tomcat fighters, two squadrons of 12 F/A-18E Super Hornet multirole
aircraft, a detachment of 6 A-6E Intruder attack planes, a detatchment of 4
EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare aircraft, 8 S-3B Viking anti-submarine
aircraft, 6 SH-60 SeaHawk helicopters, 4 E-2C early warning aircraft, and 2
C-2 Greyhound transport planes.
I’ll be backseating with VF-143, the World Famous Pukin’ Dogs today. The
Dogs have seen action in every conflict since the Korean War. They now
operate the F-14D Tomcat...
“Okay,” Wax Burnan said, “This up here is the ejection handle. We get into
any trouble, you give these a yank, okay?”
“Alright.” Serena shrugged. She stood next to him on the boarding ladder in
her flight suit. Her pigtails were pinned up underneath the white helmet
with the VF-143 logo on it. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” the pilot nodded, “Don’t touch that, that, that, that, that, that,
that, or that.”
“Okay.” Serena shrugged again.
“Let’s go.”
Tomcat 509...
“Cat four!” Serena was pressed deep into the ACES II ejection seat. After
just two seconds of her press ride, she hated flying. Her arrival had not
been the least bit fun. Being thrown into the air wasn’t too great either.
She looked at the complicated RIO’s panel in front of her. The most
dominant feature was the large radar screen and smaller multi-function
displays. She had a control stick and throttle to be sure, but this was
definately second seat.
“Pukin’ Dog 509, passing two-point-five. Switching pinhead
three-zero-one-point-six.” Wax pulled back on the stick of the F-14 and the
Tomcat began pointing further skyward. Soon, he leveled off. “Pukin’ Dog
509, arching. I’m outbound and up for checks.”
“Pukin’ Dog 509, sweet and sweet, continue outbound.”
“So,” the avaiator asked, “How long you known Mercury?”
“Mercury? Oh, Amy! Since we were in eighth grade.”
“Long time.”
“Yeah.” Serena agreed. “How did she get her callsign, anyway?”
“I ain’t to sure.” Wax shrugged, “But from what I hear, she has a lot of
stuff with the astrological sign of Mercury on it. Like there’s this one
little palm computer she keeps in her flight suit. It’s like nothing I’ve
ever seen. It’ll do just about anything. It has the sign on it. So does her
wristwatch. I guess that’s where she gets it.”
“How long have you known her?” Serena inquired.
“Since she came aboard the Reb.” Wax answered. “We pal around a lot. She
and I are usually off duty at the same time. She’s a real smart person.”
“I know.”
Before the conversation could continue, there was a report over the radio.
“Pukin’ Dog, we have contacts. Bears and Fulcrums bearing three-three-zero,
angels fifteen, red hot. Clear to intercept.”
“Roger, Eagle Eye.” Wax said. “Well, Serena, looks like we are gonna see
some action. Do you remember all those things I told you not to touch?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re gonna get to touch ‘em. You see that row of switches next to the
radar screen. Flip the one that says TWS on.”
“Done.”
“Now, there’s a group of boxes with numbers on the radar screen. What do
they say?”
“Um...two say 29 and four say T95.”
“Okay, there’s a cursor in the middle of the radar screen, see it?”
Cursor, cursor. There it is. “Yeah.”
“There is a hat switch on your control stick. Use that to move the cursor
over one of the boxes that says T95 and then press down on it.”
Serena moved the little hatswitch with her thumb. Once the cursor was over
an appropriate box, she tapped down. That box was highlighted.”
“Okay, now there are some switches next to your left arm. I need you to
turn all of those into the green position.”
“Done.”
“Good job.” she didn’t see Wax smile. “Do you have a nickname or anything?
Serena just doesn’t flow very well.”
“Um... Moonchild. How’s that?”
“Runs better.” Wax replied tersely. “I’m getting a tone. Pukin’ Dog 509,
fox one!” As he said this, there was a harsh thump and the jet somehow felt
lighter. Not a moment later, a grey object streaked upward.
“What was that?” Serena asked with journalistic curiousness.
“That was an AIM-54C Pheonix missile. It’s a long-range intercepter. With
any luck, we can take out the bad guys from here. Now if and when that box
disappears, put the cursor over another just like it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Moonchild, you’ll do fine.” Wax told her, looking over his
shoulder. “If we get into a furball, I don’t want you to eject until I say
‘Moonchild, eject, eject, eject,’ got that?”
“Sure thing.”
Wax returned to his HUD just in time to see two targets go down. “Splash
two Bear.” Serena retargeted as she was told, and once again, Wax fired.
Both of the Tomcats’ shots missed this time. By then, Serena noticed a
beeping noise. Somehow, she new that they were close enough to start
shooting at them. As she glanced at the radar screen, her suspicions were
confirmed. One of the 29 boxes had a line leading to the center of the
screen. Someone had them locked up.
Suddenly, the beeping became violently urgent. The world twisted crazily
and she was pressed back into her seat. “This is Pukin’ Dog 509. I’m engaged
defensive Adder! Moonchild, there are two buttons next to your right arm.
Hit the first one twice.”
Serena did so, and tiny shards of metal boiled int the wake of the fighter.
The beeping didn’t go away, even when Wax pushed the engines over to
afterburner. They were rising fast now, slowly turning toward the bandits
again. The warning blair died down just as Wax called for fox three.
Serena noticed that there remained only three boxes. The two 29s and one
T95. Suddenly, the last T95 box dissappeared, but both 29s were locked on.
And both fired. Serena performed the ritual once again as the scream of the
afterburners boomed behind her. She was pushed back into her seat again as
Wax turned into a high angle avoidance climb.
There was a sudden jolt sideways. If Serena had any remaining hopes that
this was a natural phenomenon, they were dashed as the panel in front of her
lit up like a christmas tree. The computer was screaming a dozen different
warnings at once, from “bleed air right” to “left engine fire.” Reacting on
instinct, the journalist searched around, found a black and yellow button
that said Extinguisher, and landed her fist on it hard enough to hurt. There
was a rush of noise as the fire extinguisher went to work on the engines. It
was then that one of the MFDs crackled and shatterd in her face. She
reached upward to finger the ejection loops above her head.
“Moonchild, e-” Before Wax could continue, she yanked hard on the loops.
There was a flash of sparks as the canopy was jettisoned and the outside
wind hit her at six hundred knots. Her last concious memory was of suddenly
being thrown into the air as the Tomcat fell away.
Serena woke up just as her boots were being swallowed by the blue ocean.
Her whole body slid into the water as she was submerged for a breif time.
She came up for breath and, as instructed, palmed the strap buckles at her
chest and crotch. After the parachute was safely floating away, she inflated
the floats in the legs of her flightsuit. She then tore her helmet off and
unclipped her oxygen hose from her belt. She began to tread water, which was
much easier with the floats helping her.
As she looked skyward, she noticed two other Tomcats had joined the fray.
Both of the Russian jets were now retreating, but one of them lost a wing to
a missile and soon began the spin earthward. The other hit his afterburners
and made for home.
It frightened Serena when she noticed no other parachutes and couldn’t see
Wax anywhere. Common sense overtook her a second later. He was probably too
far away for her to see. She would just have to wait until she was rescued.
That reminded her of her next task. She pulled a velcro pocket on her
shoulder open and slid one of the water-proof smoke grenades into her hand.
With a crack against her palm, it began spewing day-glo orange smoke from
the end and she tossed it a few feet from her.
She noticed a strange light playing over the smoke. She looked into the
reflective visor of her helmet in time to notice the crescent moon on her
head fade away.
“Pinhead, Pukin’ Dog 120, we have a plane down. They’ve both got good
chutes. Launch the SAR helo.”
“Roger, Pukin’ Dog 120.” the Air Con with the callsign Pinhead said. He
sent the message over to the Air Boss, who then ordered a pair of
helicopters prepped for search-and-rescue.
“What’s the word?” CAG asked from behind.
“Pukin’ Dog 509 is down, sir. Good chutes. They’re fine.”
“Good.” Muldoon nodded, “Get them both back as quickly as possible. Who was
in that jet anyway?”
“Lieutenant Burnan and that journalist chick. Hendrix, I think.”
The CAG nodded, confirming it.
The SH-60 Seahawk helicopter was derived from the UH-60 Blackhawk utility
chopper used by the Army. The main difference was that the Seahawk’s rotor
could be folded up for storage and that it had a smaller footprint, or
landing area, than the UH-60.
The pilot of this SAR helo was now positioning himself over the column of
orange smoke drifting lazily up from the water. Down in the water, a
blue-eyed woman with funny blonde hair gazed up at them, waiting for the
rescue harness to be lowered. As soon as it was within her reach, she pulled
it on and was unceremoniously hoisted into the air.
When given the go ahead, the pilot increased the cyclic control, pushed
forward on the collective, and turned the chopper for home.
The ejected journalist was on board moments later.
“You alright?” a medic asked, handing the dripping lady a thermal blanket.
“That water is pretty damn cold.” she said, accepting it. She had a dozen
small cuts splayed across her cheek and temple. There was glass still in
some of them, and her nose was bleeding. She’d be okay.
“This is Dragonslayer 404, we’ve picked up and are on our way home.”
“Roger, Dragonslayer.”
“Well, at least I have lot’s to write about.” Serena smirked as a doctor
saw to her cuts and bruises. “Tell me, Amy, how do you do this?”
The blue-haired aviator shrugged, “It’s just something I can do, I guess.
It doesn’t scare me at all. I don’t have the time to think about being
afraid.”
The doctor cleared Serena and the two friends walked along the cooridors of
the aircraft carrier.
“What do you think of this whole situation anyway?” Serena asked.
“You mean of the whole Kuril Islands crap?” said Amy, “It’s just two
countries who can’t stand to give up a milimeter of territory for greed’s
sake. Russia and Japan have been bickering about this archapelago for a
century and they’re not gonna stop now. Personally, I think it’s just as
silly as you and Rei used to be.”
“But that doesn’t answer my question.” Serena looked down at her friend, “I
mean, there’s a possibility these rebels have nuclear weapons at their
disposal. From what I know of these missile types, it’s enough to saturate a
good portion of both Japan and the US with radiation.”
“How do you know so much about nukes?”
“I’m in the press, remember? Anyway, this doesn’t scare you at all?”
Amy thought for a long time about what Serena was asking. If these rebels
got a bug up their butts and started shooting those missiles off, Amy might
not have a place to come home to. That is, if she came home at all. The
Reagan had been sunk by a well coordinated assault, so it wasn’t as if these
Russians had any qualms about attacking an aircraft carrier, even if it did
belong to the most powerful nation in the world. They had no fear of America
or anyone else, even if President Shepherd had sworn to wipe them from the
face of the Earth with the fury of God’s own thunder. This fearlessness made
them dangerous, perhaps more dangerous that any Negamonster they had faced
as yet.
“It...” Amy pursed her lips, searching fot the right word, “makes me
nervous. I certainly don’t like the idea of crazy people holding nuclear
weapons. I mean, all we need is the Strangelove factor and we’re set, you
know?” She opened the door to the lounge and noticed Wax sitting in a chair.
He had a pretty beat up face an his left arm was bandaged.
“Hey, Wax!” Amy greeted, “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, I’m alright. How’s your friend?”
“A little beat up, but I’ll live.” Serena shrugged.
“Sorry about your plane.” Lieutenant Anderson said, sitting on the arm of
his chair, “I heard you splashed two bogeys before you jumped.”
“I did? I thought I only got one.” the pilot was surprised.
“Yeah.” his female counterpart smiled, “From what they tell me, you got a
pair of TU-95s. Good job.”
“Thanks.” Burnan didn’t seem happy.
Mercury, sensing his sadness, said, “Come on. It was just a jet. They’ll
assign you a new one. At least you’re alive to tell the story.”
The young man shrugged and smirked. “I guess.” He then looked up at Serena,
“Tell you something, Mercury, your friend here’s pretty good at figuring
stuff out.”
“Really?” That was a shock.
“Yeah, she works pretty quick.” he confirmed, “Serena, are you sure you
weren’t meant to be in the Navy?”
“Me?” Serena snickered, “Nuh-uh! I was destined to be a writer.” And the
two women shared a laugh. They both knew Serena’s true destiny and were not
about to share.
