Posted by asm826 on October 24, 2006
Tom and Bill came out of the doorway as Gunny Ceisak and Sgt. Collins walked by. They waved and the Gunny stopped. Bill grinned, “How about a beer, Gunny?”
Gunny motioned up the street, “Alright, but let’s find a quieter place. I’ll buy the first round.”
“Good deal, we’ve had all the noise we need.”
Continue readingFiled under Carroll "Lex" LeFon, Carroll LeFon, Tales Of The Sea Service
Posted by asm826 on September 27, 2006
To those of you who have been taking the time to read my words, I apologize. I have made several starts at the last evening I had with Emie. I have found that thus far it has resisted my ability to write it for Lex’s site. It was an interesting evening, and it ended on the bridge, with her riding down in a jeepney to walk with me to the gate.
Continue readingPosted by asm826 on October 21, 2006
Crossing the bridge, Bill and Tom stopped and looked up river. The water swirled around the bridge supports. The level was several feet higher than the day before. The smell was muted, the flushing effect of the increased flow had carried the floating islands of waste out into the bay.
“I still wouldn’t swim in it.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s your last chance.”
Continue readingPosted by asm826 on October 7, 2006
The pilot stepped into the terminal and came over to the windows where they stood. His flight suit was soaked and small puddles started to form as the water dripped off the legs of his pants.
“Who’s in charge?”
“I am, sir. Gunnery Sergeant Ceisak.”
Continue readingFiled under Best of Neptunus Lex, Tales Of The Sea Service
Posted by asm826 on Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Tom shouldered the door open and walked into the Cubi Point terminal with his seabag slung up on his shoulder. Outside the main windows, a C-130 sat with one engine turning. A quick survey of the Marines gathered told Tom a lot about how the last night had gone for most of them.
Continue readingPosted by asm826 on August 25, 2006
Emie sat down at a glass topped table near the door of the shop. Tom and Bill joined her. The air conditioner over the door hummed and clicked, but it worked, pouring a stream of cool air into the ice cream shop.
Continue readingThe ship’s Captain stood by his chair on the bridge in his Service Dress Blues, his binoculars fixed on the channel marker just outside the carrier turning basin at Naval Station North Island, California. He briefly suppressed, and then just as briefly gave in to the temptation to sweep the pier with the binos, looking for his wife and children. Seven months. It had been such a very long seven months. There were thousands of people thronging on the pier, waving flags and signs – “Welcome Home, Son!” and “We Missed You Mommy!”
The civilian harbor pilot stood just to his right, in amiable but meaningless conversation with the Officer of the Deck – this was an experienced crew, and the pilot’s main purpose was to control the three tugboats that brought the great warship alongside the pier after it had made its final turn, gliding in.
Continue readingThe JG looked forward in the ready room to see his squadron CO and XO break from a closely whispered conference – his CO looked him in they eye even as the JG tried to answer the questions of his brother JO’s. The old man pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, raised his chin pugnaciously – and then nodded, almost imperceptibly. Nodded at him. Well done.
Turning his smiling face back to his brothers, it was all the young man could do not to weep.
Oh, I’m ready to land, am I? the wingman thought grimly. I guess I’d better be. Anyway, ready or not, here I come.
“311 flight break-up now,” a new speaker, the smoothly cool voice of an air traffic control petty officer, “These will be vectors for a Mode II approach, turn left heading 175 for downwind, descend and maintain angels one-point-two.”
“311 roger, left to 175, angels one-point-two.”
“311, approach, final bearing 005, Gold Eagle altimeter two-niner-niner-five.”
“Copy two-niner-niner-five,” too quickly, it was all happening too quickly, the JG thought, scrambling to catch back up on his penetration and approach checklists, feeling the cockpit start to press in on him again.
His lead’s voice on the aux radio now, cheerily, “Lead’s detaching. See you on deck.” Everyone’s trying to buck me up, the wingman thought. Wish I could be as optimistic as he’s pretending to be.
“See you on deck, skipper,” the JG replied, trying to sound confident, mentally adding, “I hope.”
Continue readingDown in CATCC, the XO gathered himself before speaking into the UHF radio handset, “Good news, Skipper – we’re taking you guys first – you need to head down to angels six to take a couple hundred pounds off the tanker – if that doesn’t unstick 311’s drop tank, have him stop transfer on the left. The trapped gas there will put him back in asymmetric limits for the landing. Worst comes to worst, he can use that gas after he bolters on the way to Shaikh Isa.”
“304, roger,” replied the squadron CO before switching to his aux radio. “Good news, pard – they’re taking us first.”
“311, roger,” answered the wingman, suddenly realizing that in the gloomy tension of his cockpit, his right hand had been “squeezing the black juice” out of the control stick while he had been waiting for the invisible and unknowable forces that governed his fate to come to a decision – any decision – about the next half hour of his life. Or maybe, he reflected, about the rest of it. “Good news.”
“Let’s head for the tanker.”
Continue reading
The Lexicans 