into a cloud, most of it is absorbed and doesn’t get reflected. That which does can give us a generalized pattern, but it may or may not be enough to locate a ship on the water below.”
“Say the storm is in waves or squalls with clear patterns in between. Then the Hawkeye could do its work on the ocean and try to find the ship?”
“Right and that’s what we’re hoping for.”
A petty officer brought in some papers for the CAG. He glanced at them. “All right, we are about a hundred and seventy miles from that next atoll, Bikar. Our last spotting of the freighter had it on a heading that would put it right on the atoll. The storm might nudge them off course and will certainly slow them down. But at even ten knots, it could be at the island in seventeen hours.”
Murdock stood and began pacing the small compartment. He shook his head and almost said something once, then changed his mind and went on walking. His mindwas a jumble of plans and drawbacks and problems. The damn weather.
“Captain, can you get in voice contact with the manager of the airfield on Bikar?”
“We’ve been trying. Evidently it’s a part-time job and we don’t get any response. We obtained his call letters from the capitol in Majuro.”
“Captain, we need somebody on that atoll, to check the airport and the dock if they have one. In this weather it might be impossible to parachute in. Could a Sixty find the atoll in this wall-to-wall rain?”
“Find it and drop you off?”
“What I was thinking. We’d need radios that would reach your CIC.”
“Radios would be no problem. The Seahawk might. We could go up to thirteen thousand feet and get over the storm, but then you’d have to come down through it to find the atoll. The radius range would be okay. Finding the damn atoll in all that ocean is the tricky part.”
“What’s the visibility outside right now, Captain?”
The CAG looked at one of his aides.
“Sir, we’re at zero-zero sometimes; now and then we get a quarter of a mile. We have no scheduled flight operations for the duration of the storm.”
“So we’d have to hit it within a quarter of a mile or we wouldn’t find it at all,” Murdock said. “You have any pilots that good with a chopper that they can hit the eye of a needle?”
“I hope so, but I’m not sure I’d let anyone try it.”
Murdock scowled and stared at the bulkhead. “Does your latest weather map show any clear spaces between the squalls? Like valleys between the peaks?”
The CAG looked at another officer at the table.
“Yes, sir. The squalls are about twenty miles wide, and moving to the east at about fifteen knots. About every hour and a quarter we should have a fairly clear space. There will still be some high clouds and remnants of the preceding storm, but visibility should be ten to fifteen miles.
“Good,” Murdock said. “Now, how big is this window? How wide is that clear valley?”
The same officer spoke. “We never know for sure. Depends how fast the weather cell immediately behind is traveling. If it’s moving at, say, twenty knots, it’s overtaking the first one and cuts down on the length of time for the clear spell. If it’s moving at half the speed of the one ahead of it, the window is open longer.”
“That would be my suggestion, gentlemen: that we find that window, move in with two Sixties loaded with our sixteen SEALs, with firm radio communications, and that we drop in on that atoll. We have twelve hours to find a suitable window. In that time the storm may let up, go around us, or die out.”
“At ten thousand feet the Seahawk can do about two hundred miles per hour. Say we’re a hundred and fifty miles from the atoll by then, take you less than an hour to get there. Would the bird stay on the ground with you?”
“Preferably. We’ve been stranded in some strange spots without any transport.”
“Depending on your mission on the atoll, we could bring you back in the next window or wait,” the
“Say the storm is in waves or squalls with clear patterns in between. Then the Hawkeye could do its work on the ocean and try to find the ship?”
“Right and that’s what we’re hoping for.”
A petty officer brought in some papers for the CAG. He glanced at them. “All right, we are about a hundred and seventy miles from that next atoll, Bikar. Our last spotting of the freighter had it on a heading that would put it right on the atoll. The storm might nudge them off course and will certainly slow them down. But at even ten knots, it could be at the island in seventeen hours.”
Murdock stood and began pacing the small compartment. He shook his head and almost said something once, then changed his mind and went on walking. His mindwas a jumble of plans and drawbacks and problems. The damn weather.
“Captain, can you get in voice contact with the manager of the airfield on Bikar?”
“We’ve been trying. Evidently it’s a part-time job and we don’t get any response. We obtained his call letters from the capitol in Majuro.”
“Captain, we need somebody on that atoll, to check the airport and the dock if they have one. In this weather it might be impossible to parachute in. Could a Sixty find the atoll in this wall-to-wall rain?”
“Find it and drop you off?”
“What I was thinking. We’d need radios that would reach your CIC.”
“Radios would be no problem. The Seahawk might. We could go up to thirteen thousand feet and get over the storm, but then you’d have to come down through it to find the atoll. The radius range would be okay. Finding the damn atoll in all that ocean is the tricky part.”
“What’s the visibility outside right now, Captain?”
The CAG looked at one of his aides.
“Sir, we’re at zero-zero sometimes; now and then we get a quarter of a mile. We have no scheduled flight operations for the duration of the storm.”
“So we’d have to hit it within a quarter of a mile or we wouldn’t find it at all,” Murdock said. “You have any pilots that good with a chopper that they can hit the eye of a needle?”
“I hope so, but I’m not sure I’d let anyone try it.”
Murdock scowled and stared at the bulkhead. “Does your latest weather map show any clear spaces between the squalls? Like valleys between the peaks?”
The CAG looked at another officer at the table.
“Yes, sir. The squalls are about twenty miles wide, and moving to the east at about fifteen knots. About every hour and a quarter we should have a fairly clear space. There will still be some high clouds and remnants of the preceding storm, but visibility should be ten to fifteen miles.
“Good,” Murdock said. “Now, how big is this window? How wide is that clear valley?”
The same officer spoke. “We never know for sure. Depends how fast the weather cell immediately behind is traveling. If it’s moving at, say, twenty knots, it’s overtaking the first one and cuts down on the length of time for the clear spell. If it’s moving at half the speed of the one ahead of it, the window is open longer.”
“That would be my suggestion, gentlemen: that we find that window, move in with two Sixties loaded with our sixteen SEALs, with firm radio communications, and that we drop in on that atoll. We have twelve hours to find a suitable window. In that time the storm may let up, go around us, or die out.”
“At ten thousand feet the Seahawk can do about two hundred miles per hour. Say we’re a hundred and fifty miles from the atoll by then, take you less than an hour to get there. Would the bird stay on the ground with you?”
“Preferably. We’ve been stranded in some strange spots without any transport.”
“Depending on your mission on the atoll, we could bring you back in the next window or wait,” the
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