Dancing with the Dragon

Knifing through the calm seas off the coast of southern California, USS Abraham Lincoln and her battle group turned into the wind for the last aircraft launch of the evening. High above the Nimitz-class supercarrier, a luminous commander's moon dominated a black canvas splashed with millions of twinkling stars. Except for a few isolated thunderstorms in the southern California operating area, the balmy night was perfect for carrier training exercises. The slippery flight deck, dangerous enough during the day, but extremely hazardous during night operations, was alive with airplanes, tow tractors, yellow-shirted aircraft directors, and green-shirted aviation boatswain's mates prepping the two forward catapults. Bathed in a soft haze of red floodlights, shadowy figures with yellow flashlight-wands carefully guided pilots around the crowded maze of airplanes waiting to taxi to the catapults. From bow to stern, the 4.5-acre flight deck of Abraham Lincoln was a genuinely hostile environment of screaming jet engines, blazing exhaust gases, whirling propeller blades, guillotine-like arresting gear cables, and foul-smelling catapult steam mixed with jet fuel and salt spray. Listening to the low whine of his two jet engines, Lt. Comdr. Sammy Bonello saw two wands of light suddenly flash on in front of his plane. The time had arrived--no turning back now. Following the taxi director, Bonello released the Super Hornet's brakes and taxied his sleek two-seat F/A-18F across the jet-blast deflector behind the starboard bow catapult. Despite all my years as a fighter pilot, these night carrier operations still give me the creeps, he thought. Unlike day operations, when pilots can visually and viscerally tell if a catapult shot is good, night operations rob aviators of critical visual cues. When the catapult fires, the pilot accelerates under heavy G-forces straight into a seemingly endless black hole. The sensation is an eerie feeling of being completely at the mercy of fate. To say the least, night catapult shots and landings (traps) on the boat are character-building exercises. Manning the backseat of the supersonic, twin-engine strike fighter, Lt. Comdr. Clarence "Chick" Fossett went through his checklist and then gazed across the busy flight deck. Even with the additional anxiety of night operations, Bonello and Fossett could wring the best from the Super Hornet's combination of performance and firepower. The single-seat F/A-18E and two-seat F/A-18F are evolutionary upgrades of the combat-proven F/A-18C/D Hornets. The newest night-strike fighters are able to conduct unescorted missions against highly defended targets early in a conflict. This evening Bonello and Fossett would be flying a routine training mission with a more junior crew from the VFA-113 Stingers of Carrier Air Wing Fourteen. Fossett, the weapons-systems officer, adjusted his oxygen mask and then looked down at a sailor holding a lighted weight board. Noting their total weight for the catapult shot was correct, he gave the teenager an okay signal with his flashlight. "There's a confirmation on sixty thousand pounds." Chick glanced at his kneeboard. "Lookin' close this evening." "Yeah, we'll be a little tight on gas." Feeling the normal amount of oxygen escaping from his mask, Sammy completed his takeoff checks and set the trim for takeoff. He glanced at the full moon and then looked at his instruments. "If we run short on gas, we'll hit the tanker." "We're always short." Fossett glanced at the catapult officer. "That's what makes this so damn much fun." Sammy adjusted his helmet visor. "If we lose an engine, I'm gonna concentrate on the HUD--you back me up." The head-up display could easily spell the difference between a deadly crash and a successful single-engine landing back aboard the ship. ProjWeber, Joe is the author of 'Dancing with the Dragon' with ISBN 9780891417996 and ISBN 0891417990.