Chapter 03
Nightmares Of A Broken Promise
It was a beautiful day, thought Navy Captain Jennifer Ann Conner as she sat looking up at the nearly clear blue sky on this mid May morning. Yes, a good day to go flying, she decided. She snorted. Any day was a good day to fly. Except during thunderstorms, she corrected herself.
That was not fun at all she had to admit thinking of her previous experiences. Like landing on a pitching carrier deck, during a thunderstorm, at night. That was more of a nightmare, she thought shaking her head, remembering the three times she had to do that.
She sighed. Conner felt refreshed and relaxed after four weeks of leave at home. She had then returned to Florida for training on some new upgraded electronics on the Navy's jet fighters.
She wiggled in her seat to make sure the straps were all tight and secure. She took a deep breath, testing the airflow through the mask. Then she scanned the instruments again. Good to go, she thought.
She was sitting in her F-18 Hornet waiting for the tower to give them clearance to take off. They were currently on hold, waiting on the runway for the cross traffic to land, a flight of eight newly assigned Hornets and then a carrier transport. And only two of the eight Hornets had landed. They were spread out about two to four minutes apart.
Must be new-bies, she thought.
She looked down the runway and watched the heat generated mirages shimmer. The air-conditioned cockpit helped against the early spring heat wave.
"Diamond Two to Diamond One," came the male voice of her wing-man, Horse. Who went with the real name of Lieutenant Commander Chuck Cooper.
"Diamond One," she replied. "What's up, Horse?"
"If they keep us here much longer, we're going to need a refueling."
Conner smiled. "Yep, I hear you." She again glanced at her fuel gauges. "If we go below three quarters. We scrub."
"Yeeeah," returned Horse slowly. "I do so hate flying on fumes."
"I hear ya," sighed Conner, darkly remembering that one landing she had made with low fuel. Their refueling tanker had to return to the carrier due an engine problem. The backup tanker wasn't even on the flight deck. So, as they approached the carrier she had the members of her squadron line up according to how much fuel they had, with lowest first.
Then, after landing last on the carrier, the engines of her fighter had cut out before she could taxi down the flight deck.
Another male voice spoke up, "Hey boss, I think there's an SP out here writing us a parking ticket."
Conner snickered, her dark memories evaporating. That was Horse's RIO or Radar Intercept Officer also called the weapon's officer, Lt. Frank Davis.
A female voice came from behind her. "Last time we waited this long we got booted." It was Conner's RIO, Lt. Alice Sweet.
"How'd you pay the fine?" asked Davis.
Sweet replied, "I traded in Horse's, jeep."
There was a burst of laughter. "So that's were my jeep went," said Horse.
"Tower to Diamond Flight, cut the chatter."
Conner chuckled. Her thoughts went to how well the four of them worked as a team. The other half of her squadron, the other two Hornet crews would be flying this afternoon. Why they were not all flying together was up to Command. And they did not explain.
"Sweet, you all set back there?" asked Conner, looking up into the small mirror to see the helmeted head of Sweet, sitting behind her in the cramped confines of the cockpit of the Hornet.
Sweet gave her a thumbs-up saying, "All set, Bitch." She then chuckled "I really love that name."
Conner smiled. "So do I."
"What a pair," said Sweet. "Bitch and Sweet."
Conner chuckled. "We do okay." `Bitch.' That was her call sign once she was in the fighter. Distinctive individual call signs were becoming tough to get. She had picked hers after her flight instructor had told her that if she would settle down and listen to him and paid real good attention she would be a `bitch' of a pilot.
She did. And she was. Attested to her by her twenty three years of service, having the rank of Captain, the 346 successful combat missions and her high carrier rating.
She smiled. Remembering that one for real dog fight she had been involved in.
It had involved the three out of four Iranian fighter jets that penetrated too close to the Carrier Group when they entered the Carrier's protective bubble. It was while she and Horse were flying air patrol during their last deployment in the Arabian Sea. It had occurred at their closest approach to Iran, two hundred miles off shore in international waters.
The approaching Iranian pilots had been repeatedly warned off, she remembered, and she had even buzzed them. Yet all four pilots had stayed on course, straight towards the carrier. And she had verified that all four were loaded with missiles and other ordnance.
Then she got the go to splash any of them that went past the 100-mile limit. The entire Carrier Group had gone on high alert.
Meanwhile the Carrier was scrambling other jets for intercept. No one was taking a chance of a suicide-minded pilot, never mind four of them, getting within range of any of the ships.
She did as ordered.
Conner remembered that it had been an interesting few minutes, that dogfight. Even before they had crossed the 100-mile line she got up behind the fighters and Sweet got a weapons lock on the lead fighter. She then gave them one last verbal warning.
Which, they ignored.
Then they crossed the line.
The rear Iranian pilot decided to take her and Horse on, or was ordered to. And he made the mistake of attempting to loop around over them. Perhaps he did not think a female pilot could or would even dare go against him.
Conner didn't wait and launched a missile at the lead Iranian jet that was already painted as a target.
She remembered that at the same time she had ordered Horse to take the single jet while she went after the other two who increased speed.
The three remaining Iranian jets split up and she went after the closest fighter. Sweet was quickly able to get a lock and Conner launched another missile after it.
Then, not waiting, Conner turned after the third.
The lead Iranian jet became a flaming fireball that spiraled down into the sea.
"One down," stated Sweet.
"Two down," reported Horse.
Conner continued chasing the remaining Iranian.
"Confirmed, three down," stated Sweet.
"Paint his ass, Sweet," said Conner, staying with that last racing Iranian as he bobbed up and down and twisted about, trying to keep her from getting a weapons lock. She kept after him.
"He's good," muttered Sweet.
Then Conner heard the tone indicating target lock at the same time she saw it on the heads-up display and she fired a third missile.
"But we're better," returned Conner as she took their fighter in a tight turn to stay with the Iranian.
Ahead of her the Iranian did a triple roll trying to throw her off and the missile.
But, still she kept after him. That pilot really began to twist and dodge trying to both avoid getting hit and to get closer to the Carrier.
"I have a lock," reported Sweet.
Conner was ready to fire off a second missile at the remaining fighter when there was a sudden burst of flame and smoke from the rear of that last jet. Then there was a secondary explosion as the jet's fuel tanks added to the explosion about five hundred yards ahead of them.
Flaming wreckage rained down into the sea.
"Still at 71 miles," reported Sweet.
"Secure weapons," ordered Conner.
"Nice," came Horse's voice. "Coming up on your left. Bitch."
She looked over at him and he had his thumb up.
"Tango Flight to Home Plate," she reported, "The Bitch says the sky is clear. Four splashed. Repeat four splashed."
Her wing man `Horse' made sure the entire ship knew she had splashed three of the bad guys before they had returned.
Then `Bitch' and company got a nice reception on their return. It was not like the movie with Tom Cruise in `Top Gun.' No music or a mob of crew-members rushing across the busy flight deck, but it was okay.
