Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  “Too Tall, Puck. How you doing?”

  “I can see you fine. It would be better if it weren’t for all the blood and guts in the cockpit.”

  “How are your co-pilot and crypto-tech?”

  “Ok, just covered in dead bird goo.”

  “Well, you tenderized him, Too Tall. He should fry up nice when we get to the boat.” On intercom, “We’re pulling ahead, Spike.”

  “Got it. Starting another slow left turn to line up for a long approach.”

  Puck says, “Ok, Too Tall. We’re going to take an easy left turn to line up for a long approach.”

  “Got it, Puck. We’re with you.”

  “Pulling ahead, Spike.”

  “Got it, slowing to 110 knots.” The F-14 starts swaying back and forth, fighting a stall. She raises the nose, giving it a little more power, barely able to see the ship ahead.

  “Knight 211, Magic 417, Eagle approach. Call the ball.”

  Spike on intercom, “Got it.”

  Puck on radio, “Roger, ball.”

  Too Tall says, “I can’t see it.”

  Puck on intercom, “We’re wobbling a bit.”

  Spike says, “Got it.”

  “Magic 417, call the ball.”

  The Landing Signal Officer (LSO) on the flight deck says, “Magic, you’re a little high.”

  Puck starts calling the altitude, “400…300.”

  Too Tall says, “Roger, ball, 4, 2.”

  Puck, “200…150.”

  The LSO says, “Looking good, Magic. Now, cut”

  The EA-6B hits the deck, catching the 1 wire.

  Spike rolls on the throttle, breaking left, rocketing the F-14 back into the sky. Puck says, “Gold Eagle, Knight 211, pulling up and left.”

  “Roger, Knight 211. The sky is yours. Mark fuel state.”

  “Eagle, Knight 211. Fuel is 1 decimal 8. Request to re-enter marshal.”

  “Roger, Knight 211, come to 210 for the downwind. You’re the last bird up.”

  “Roger, Gold Eagle, coming to 210 for the downwind.” The F-14 descends on the downwind leg, makes the break four miles behind the carrier and lines up for the landing. In the deep darkness, the Vinson looks like a dimly lit postage stamp.

  “Knight 211, Eagle approach. Call the ball.”

  “Roger, ball, 49.”

  The F-14A+ hits the deck in a beautiful landing. The three-wire screaming as it slows the plane to a stop against the power of full afterburners. Power needed if the aircraft misses the wires and needs to get airborne again. The wire slowly pulls the F-14 backwards, as Spike returns the throttles to idle and then raises the hook.

  Retracting the wings to the storage position, she slowly bumps the throttles and moves the plane out of the landing zone. The yellow shirts direct them to a parking spot, chain the plane down, and only then, do they signal for engine shut down. Puck and Spike work through the post flight check list as the engines spool down. Then their plane captain opens the steps and knocks on the side of the aircraft. Only then does Spike raise the canopy. They disconnect their harnesses and complete the post flight checklist.

  Climbing out of the plane, Puck say, “Spike…”

  “Yeah, Puck?”

  A tall, young, sandy-haired man in a flight suit runs up, “That was amazing flying, Spike. Damn amazing.”

  “Thank you, Thud. You and Speedy, ok?”

  Puck hits the deck at her side, “We best get to debrief. We all know Book doesn’t like people running late.”

  PRI-FLY ABOVE THE BRIDGE

  The Air Boss, Commander Charley Forrester, watches them leave the flight deck. He turns to the Mini Boss, “What do you think of women flying fighters?”

  The Mini Boss, LCDR John Gooding says, “I’m all for it. How else could you get a blow job from a senior officer?”

  “Not from her. You’d get frostbite on your pecker.”

  “Yeah, but Hoolihan, she’s alright.”

  “There will be none of that here gentleman,” says Captain Lee, as he walks up behind them.

  An enlisted woman wearing sound powered phones behind them, says a belated, “CAG on deck.” The Air Boss gives her an angry look, then says, “Yes, sir.”

  The CAG, or Commander of the Air Group, is Captain Richard “Dixie” Lee. He owns all the air squadrons and squadron operations. He gives the two officers a thoughtful look, “Is there a problem, Commander Forrester, Lieutenant Commander Gooding?”

  “No, sir.”

  Lee shakes his head, “We all have a job to do. Let’s focus on it, gentleman. I’m up here to tell you we need to double check the tie downs tonight. Meteorology says it will be bumpy. Carry on, gentleman.”

  CHAPTER 2

  USS CARL VINSON, 03 LEVEL AFT, 2103 DECEMBER 19TH, 1990

  Spike, Puck, Thud, and Speedy walk through the crowded warren of corridors below the flight deck on the 03 level to their squadron ready room. For the aircrew of the Black Knights the ready room is home. As they enter, six officers are already seated and a tall, graying man in working khakis and a gold leaf on each collar is standing at the podium. He gives them the stern look of a displeased schoolmaster as they come in.

  “Hey Spike, do we need to change your call sign to Pathfinder?” asks a grinning curvaceous red-haired woman.

  “Gloria,” sighs Sam.

  LCDR Carleton at the podium says, “That’s enough. Ok, attention to the debriefing. Lieutenant JG Hoolihan?”

  The red-head, Lt. JG Gloria “Hot Pants” Hoolihan, says, “Well, sir, a pretty standard mission. Launch and climb to 35, went out to point Yoke and orbited with no contacts. The Stoddert requested a high-speed flyby on the return leg, and with the captain’s permission, we obliged. Came home, trapped, no excitement.”

  “Anything to add, Ensign Stanley?”

  Ensign Byron “GQ” Stanley, Gloria’s RIO, says, “That’s about it, sir. The light breaker popped on launch, and I put in a gripe on the radar because the joy stick is a bit loose, but otherwise, routine.”

  “Ok, Lieutenant Swedenborg?”

  Lt. Stephan “Swede” Swedenborg says, “Hot Pants pretty much covered it.” Some of the guys snicker and Swede gives them a stern look, continuing, “Straight forward CAP mission. We have a hydraulic leak in the right main gear that the guys are fixing tonight.”

  “Lieutenant Jacobs?”

  Lt. JG Kyle “Ghandi” Jacobs, Swede’s RIO, says, “Brother Swede and Miss Hoolihan covered it, sir.”

  “Ok, next flight. Lieutenant Hunt, how did your flight go?”

  “Very well, sir. Launched, climbed to angels 25 on our way to X-ray. Did the 1V1 with the unit we relieved, then loitered. We were 25 minutes into loiter when Ensign Gonzales spotted a Japanese fishing vessel in distress. We reported it, investigated, and they sent in the Hewitt to render aid. Returned to base, Ensign Jackson trapped, then we trapped after Magic 417. They had a little trouble getting down, sir.”

  “Oh, come now, Lieutenant. We needn’t be modest. Let’s include the heroics of the night.”

  “Heroics, sir?” Sam cringes inside. Please no.

  Carleton gives her a long look, “That will do. Everyone dismissed. Lieutenant Hunt, a minute please.”

  As everyone else files out, Eric walks up to the podium with Sam. Carleton glances at him and says, “That will do, Lieutenant Hawke.” Eric shrugs and leaves.

  Carleton turns back to Sam, “That is a 45-million-dollar aircraft that you were showboating with out there. Wing gliding with an EA-6B! What were you thinking?”

  Sam looks down, silent.

  “Well, come on.”

  “Sir, I was not showboating. A colleague was in trouble. I had to help.”

  Carleton shakes his head, “One misstep, one error, one slight misjudgment, and I’m writing home to your parents right now. Do you understand, Lieutenant? Do you?”

  Someone clears their throat behind Carleton and Captain Lee says, “No, Lieutenant Commander, I would be writing that letter. That was the
most beautiful bit of flying I’ve seen in a long time. Gutsy as hell.”

  Carleton says, “Sir, if something had gone wrong…”

  “Nothing went wrong, Commander.” Lee turns to Sam, “Lieutenant Hunt walk with me. Excuse us, Commander.” Lee turns and walks out of the door.

  Sam says, “By your leave, sir.” He says nothing and she turns and follows Lee.

  As they walk through the ship, crewman step aside and Lee greets them as they pass, shaking hands as he goes. “Captain Johnson wants to see you on the bridge. He asked me to fetch you. How are you doing, Sam?”

  She finally exhales, “I’m good. How are you, Rick?”

  “Ok, busy. But that’s a good thing. You okay with Carleton?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

  He stops and turns toward her, “If you were having problems would you tell me?”

  “Sir, he is just sore because I got on his six earlier in 1V1.”

  “You beat him?”

  “No, I over anticipated and he got me.”

  He smiles, “Spike, you’re one hell of a pilot. Hell, you’ve been on my six before. If he gets out of hand, tell me, ok?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ok, I’ll leave you here. Take care.”

  She watches him walk away, “You too, Dixie,” and starts the five-story climb to the bridge.

  BLACK KNIGHTS CO’S OFFICE

  LCDR Carleton knocks, then walks into Commander James “Pappa” Holtz’s office. “Captain Lee seems to think it was a great idea to have a green split tail pilot showboating with a 45-million-dollar airplane. That bitch is going to be impossible now.”

  Holtz shakes his head, “Why are you pissed? I mean, she pulled it off, didn’t she?”

  “No, boss. She just got lucky up there. That’s it, she is lucky. What the hell does the CAG see in her anyway? I think her name should start with a ‘c’, not ‘h’.”

  “Book, rein it in. Understand, damn it, I don’t like women in uniform any more than you do. I think women in uniform are a hazard to navigation. We don’t need a whole bunch of hormones flying around the ship when the shit hits the fan. It’s going to be nothing but trouble.”

  “Then why don’t you get rid of her?”

  “You can’t just fire someone because they don’t have a dick, Book.”

  “Why not? All you have to do is take away her flight cert, simple as that. She can’t fly. She goes away.”

  “Why in hell would I do that, Book? She has a better landing record than you do. She’s a stone-cold bitch, don’t get me wrong. She just doesn’t make mistakes. Look at it like this, Book. The Navy has changed. Warfare has changed. Women are flying aircraft now, and that’s not going to change. I hate it, too, but I deal with it. If she makes one little itsy-bitsy mistake, I’ll send her home on rails. But, until then, you shut up and put up with it. Book, you’re never going to make commander with an attitude like yours. You have to shut your mouth and do your fucking job.”

  “I do rein it in in front of her. But, you and me, we can talk, right?”

  “Yes, we can talk, which means most of the time I talk and you shut up,” Pappa pauses. “You know she was an E-2 driver before she went to jets. Captain Lee wrote her recommendation to fighter school. I heard they deployed together in the Med.”

  “Oh, I see! So, the CAG has a piece on the side,” says Book.

  “You just stop that talk! It ain’t no such thing. If word got around that’s what you were thinking, Book, Lee would have you cleaning shitters the rest of the cruise. Besides, anybody stick their dick in that, it would freeze to ice and shatter into shards.”

  Book finally laughs, “So true.”

  “You know she got her call sign, Spike, at the fighter training squadron. When she flew E-2’s, they called her “CIB”. It stood for ‘cold intellectual bitch.’”

  “Did she know that?”

  “From what I heard, she carried it like a badge of honor. Book, just keep off her ass and let me deal with her, ok?”

  “Okay, boss. But, I don’t like it.”

  THE LADDER TO THE BRIDGE, 2141 HRS (1141 ZULU)

  Lieutenant Hunt, climbing the ladder hears over the 1MC, “Flight quarters, flight quarters. All hands to your flight quarter stations to receive a medevac helo.” Finally, she reaches the bridge and stops before entering. The bridge is the navigational brain of the ship. It is filled with watch standers in pressed dungarees. This is the commanding officer’s domain. Where airdales rarely come.

  Lt. Warren, the Officer of the deck (OOD), stands next to the captain’s chair briefing him, “The Long Beach has a wounded sailor, partial amputation of a hand. Camden has a helo up returning from the Stoddert and has offered to make the transfer. Long Beach and Camden are coming alongside and medical has been informed.”

  Captain William “Hoser” Johnson says, “Very well, Lieutenant Warren. Mind the helm closely while we have the ships alongside.”

  Lieutenant Warren is a nuclear power officer who normally runs the 1 Plant Reactor Electrical Division. He smiles, “Yes, sir. Shall I call a master helmsman?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  A petty officer walks up behind Lt. Hunt, and says quietly, “Ma’am, you have to request permission to enter the bridge,” then raises his voice, “Request to enter with dispatches.”

  The OOD says, “Enter.”

  Sam says, “Request to enter and speak with the Captain.”

  The OOD looks her over, cocks his head, and says, “No flight suits on the bridge.”

  Captain Johnson looks up, “I’ll waive it this time OOD, she’s the 14 driver who helped the 6B onto the boat.”

  The OOD shrugs and says, “Enter,” then to the lee helm, “Ahead 2/3rds. Steer 080.”

  The helm repeats, “Ahead 2/3rds at 080, aye, sir.”

  Johnson says to Sam, “Grab a cup of coffee and the cookies are good, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m sure they are, sir.”

  “Go ahead. One cookie won’t ruin your figure.”

  Watching the approaching ships through the windscreen, he says, “That was some nice flying, Lieutenant. I flew 4’s off the Enterprise in “Nam, and qualified on the 14 when the Navy transitioned. Tell me, how did you guide him down?”

  She can see out the windscreen the vista of the flight deck, aircraft tied down for the night, and the USS Long Beach steaming alongside only 1000 yards away. Sam turns back to the Captain, in rigid control, “My RIO handled the positioning of the EA-6B, sir. All I had to do was fly the bird, sir.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, not only good at flying, but good judgment, too. Who’s your RIO?”

  “Lt. JG Hawke, sir.”

  “Is this our first tour in the F-14?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  As they watch, a Chinook settles onto the Long Beach’s flight deck, just as lightning strikes near the battle group. The OOD interrupts, “Captain, you might want to look at this.”

  A large web of lightning begins flashing above the ships, spiraling down towards the sea, a tornado of blue white light. As the lightning web slowly gets closer, the winds gust up, and the Vinson flight deck crew run out onto the deck, preparing for the Chinook.”

  THE AUSTRALIAN OUTBACK, 2141 (1141 ZULU), DECEMBER 19TH, 1941

  Inside a three-story room, 100 feet on a side, stands a metal column. On the column is a sphere with a spike. The spike tapers to a fine point just short of a closed retractable roof. On the opposite sides of the room are two banks of electrical capacitors, each in its own cage. In a corner is a small glassed in control room. Inside, two men face each other.

  “Dr. Heinlein, let’s see what his Majesty’s government has spent all this money on, shall we?” He gestures to the device, “Just what does this thing do?”

  “General, have you not read the briefing materials?”

  “Yes, but I thought it something out of a H.G. Wells novel and not to be taken seriously.”


  “Herr General, we are at war. This,” waving at the room, “will win the war and crush the regime of the horrible man, Hitler. Tonight, we make history.”

  “This is personal, Dr. Heinlein?”

  The doctor gives the general a measuring look, “Yes, Kristallnacht. My uncle and two of my brothers were killed. I barely escaped. The monster must pay.”

  A technician approaches, “Doctor, all is ready. The final capacitor is charged.”

  “Very good, Stephen, inform the others it is time to come to the control room.” He steps up onto a platform containing an electrical console with a mass of gauges and instruments on three levels. He motions to the general to join him as the technicians file into the room and find their places at consoles facing the device. The control room glass goes all the way to the ceiling, shimmering with a golden sheen.

  “Would you wish the honor of throwing the main switch, Herr General?”

  Stepping down from the platform the general says, “No, Doctor, it is your device. The honor should be yours.”

  “Stephen, open the roof, please.” The technician pushes a button, motors spin up, whining, and the roof panel slowly opens. “Gentleman, all gauges reading correctly?”

  “Yes, Doctor, all the readings are correct. The capacitors are at maximum. The skies are clear. We are ready,” answers Stephen.

  “Very well, gentlemen, we look forward to our future.” He throws the switch. The banks of capacitors release all of their power into the device at once. Even protected by the Faraday cage of the control room, the men’s hair stands on end. Static electricity dances over their bodies, running around the room in a terrifying display. Only the general does not pass out, but even he must hold onto the console to keep from falling.

  BRIDGE, USS CARL VINSON, 2152 (1152), 19 DECEMBER, 1990

  Captain Johnson grabs the ship to ship radio, “Long Beach, this is Vinson actual, ground that bird.” Grabbing the hand mic, “Clear the flight deck and all weather decks. All hands seek shelter immediately.”

  Then the lightning meets the sea.

  On enormous static charge builds in the ships surrounded by the lighting tornado. A Tesla coil of energy strikes the Vinson’s flight deck dead center and the static electricity discharges, running from person to person, structure to person, in a brilliant dancing hell. Sam is driven to the deck, her hands frozen fists, unable to break her fall. She sees Johnson hit the deck, going to his knees, electricity dancing up his torso, the look on his face more that of surprise than pain. Then the world goes black.