GB – VMFA XXXIII

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.”

GB VMFA XXVIII

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.

GB VFMA – XXXII

Posted 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.”

GB – VMFA XXX

Posted 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.”

GB – VMFA XXIX

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.

GB – VMFA XXVI

Posted by asm826 on September 14, 2006

The roar of the last Phantom taking off faded out as the aircraft disappeared into the dark clouds that hung over the mountains in the distance. The flightline was empty. The fourteen members of the rear party walked back into the hanger.

GB – VMFA XIX

Posted 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.

Part L Another trip to the tanker, bad news

A quarter mile to go, almost there, five seconds, all the world he cared about a-tiptoe, holding its breath. The big tanker pulling abeam the fighter on approach.

The blue shirt working his way aft to the deck edge elevator, tripping across an night enshrouded tie-down chain, reeling suddenly to his right, arms grasping for purchase in the darkness, legs churning underneath him, fighting for his footing, stumbling across the foul line before falling to his knees, head bowed. Disgraced.

The arresting gear officer facing forward on the starboard side aft, his back to the approaching Hornet, seeing the blue shirt fall across the foul line and taking his thumb off the dead-man switch, like he’d been trained.

The deck status light turning from green to red. The sudden shout on the LSO platform, “FOUL DECK!”

The momentary pause, considering, rejecting, releasing: “Wave-off, wave-off. Foul deck.” Hitting the pickle switch’s guarded button, the red lights flashing on their backs. Regretfully. Nothing to be done – just the way things are.

An explosive, unitary curse on the bridge, in the tower, in the cockpit of the AT2’s jet undergoing maintenance. A chorus of disbelieving shouts and curses in CATCC, in the ready room, in maintenance control, across the ship.

Full power and catch the AOA, harsh language in his mask before taking a ragged breath and keying the mike, “311 airborne.”

“311 approach, roger. Take angels one-point-two, your tanker at right one o’clock and one mile, report plugged and receiving.”

“311.”

Part XLIX A night approach, the world awaits

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.”

Part XXXV Landing – a fair pass, taxi to the bow

Established now on downwind now the timeline seems to accelerate, and the wingman races to complete his landing checklist, dial his radar altimeter warning bug down to 400 feet (the LSO warning: “Never go below 400 feet without a ball” flits in his head). His abeam distance is 1.3 nm – a little tight – and he drops the right wing for a moment to build some separation before reversing back to the left to start his descending approach turn as the carrier’s fantail goes by, this time in the opposite direction.