would eventually
realize their mistake but would be unable to fight the inexorable
mathematics of fuel consumption or the approach of darkness. And
wartime necessities may dictate that the carrier remain in silence
to protect her location, or even forbid the detachment of ships or
additional aircraft to search for the lost pilots. The most you can hope
for , Jack thought, is that it doesn’t happen to you.
“Red Rocket
Leader, this is Rocket Two Four.” One of the Dauntlesses.
“Roger, Two
Four.”
“I’m running
rough and hot. Oil pressure fluctuating.”
“We’re closer
to the roost than from where we came from, Two Four. Think you can
make it?”
“Negative,
Rocket Leader.” It was a kid’s voice. Young. Very scared. “She’s
getting worse every second.”
“Stay in
formation as long as you can, Two Four. If you have to put her
down, I’ll leave someone here to keep you company until we can pick
you up.”
“Roger, Rocket
Leader.” It had to
happen , thought Jack. Out of the almost one hundred aircraft
in the group, at least one had to develop trouble. Why couldn’t it
have been while they were still over the strip?
“Oh, Jesus,
she’s gone. Just like that. I’m putting her down, Rocket
Leader.”
“Roger, Two
Four. Three Two, follow him down and get a good fix. Drop your raft
if necessary. We’ll get you out of there, Two Four.” Maybe , thought Jack. If your wingman
gets a good fix on your location. If you make it out of the plane
before it sinks. If the ship can contact Pearl in time to get a
plane out before dark. If a squall doesn’t swamp your
raft.
“Banger One
Seven, this is Banger Leader. Everything all right?”
“Couldn’t be
better, Banger Leader. Quit your worrying.”
Some minor but
unexpected turbulence buffeted the Corsairs, bouncing them around
briefly before the pilots could compensate. They were so different,
these new birds, from the Grummans he was used to flying. Maybe
that contributed to his uneasiness. Jack looked across the
intervening distance into Lieutenant Bradley’s cockpit; the pilot,
who had his goggles pushed up and oxygen mask dangling, smiled
confidently and gave a thumbs-up.
The engineer
who designed these planes, Brogan had said, must have had a wild
hair up his ass, and Jack could understand what he meant. Most
aircraft critics said the Corsair was graceful in appearance, but
Jack had to disagree. The wide, thin wings dipped sharply away from
the fuselage. It was called an inverted gull wing configuration,
but from head on it was more reminiscent of a bat than a gull. Jack
had no idea what aerodynamic advantages were gained by this setup,
although it did allow for a larger propeller. This was because the
landing gear kept the nose of the plane higher than normal when on
the deck. But the higher nose position made taxiing more difficult
because forward visibility was cut—a condition compounded by the
fact that the cockpit was located near the center of the fuselage,
almost aft of the wing. Jack also found the position of the
horizontal stabilizer curious; it extended well aft of the
vertical. He was intrigued by aircraft design and sometimes wished
he had been an engineer. But basically he would rather fly the damn
things than design them. Despite its unusual appearance, the
Corsair had amazing power and speed. It handled like a dream
throughout the range of power settings and attitudes. We’ve come a long way ,
he thought, since
the Buffalo.
Far below him,
an irregularity on the surface of the ocean caught his eye. Jack
tipped the fighter to get a better look. A tiny toy ship was there,
a destroyer by the look of it; it was making a foaming bow wave and
leaving a broad wake fanning out behind it. The disturbed water
gradually reassumed its slatelike surface. The destroyer was headed
in their direction, almost precisely, and Jack figured it was
making speed to join the Constitution ’s group. As he watched, the speeding
ship abruptly changed
realize their mistake but would be unable to fight the inexorable
mathematics of fuel consumption or the approach of darkness. And
wartime necessities may dictate that the carrier remain in silence
to protect her location, or even forbid the detachment of ships or
additional aircraft to search for the lost pilots. The most you can hope
for , Jack thought, is that it doesn’t happen to you.
“Red Rocket
Leader, this is Rocket Two Four.” One of the Dauntlesses.
“Roger, Two
Four.”
“I’m running
rough and hot. Oil pressure fluctuating.”
“We’re closer
to the roost than from where we came from, Two Four. Think you can
make it?”
“Negative,
Rocket Leader.” It was a kid’s voice. Young. Very scared. “She’s
getting worse every second.”
“Stay in
formation as long as you can, Two Four. If you have to put her
down, I’ll leave someone here to keep you company until we can pick
you up.”
“Roger, Rocket
Leader.” It had to
happen , thought Jack. Out of the almost one hundred aircraft
in the group, at least one had to develop trouble. Why couldn’t it
have been while they were still over the strip?
“Oh, Jesus,
she’s gone. Just like that. I’m putting her down, Rocket
Leader.”
“Roger, Two
Four. Three Two, follow him down and get a good fix. Drop your raft
if necessary. We’ll get you out of there, Two Four.” Maybe , thought Jack. If your wingman
gets a good fix on your location. If you make it out of the plane
before it sinks. If the ship can contact Pearl in time to get a
plane out before dark. If a squall doesn’t swamp your
raft.
“Banger One
Seven, this is Banger Leader. Everything all right?”
“Couldn’t be
better, Banger Leader. Quit your worrying.”
Some minor but
unexpected turbulence buffeted the Corsairs, bouncing them around
briefly before the pilots could compensate. They were so different,
these new birds, from the Grummans he was used to flying. Maybe
that contributed to his uneasiness. Jack looked across the
intervening distance into Lieutenant Bradley’s cockpit; the pilot,
who had his goggles pushed up and oxygen mask dangling, smiled
confidently and gave a thumbs-up.
The engineer
who designed these planes, Brogan had said, must have had a wild
hair up his ass, and Jack could understand what he meant. Most
aircraft critics said the Corsair was graceful in appearance, but
Jack had to disagree. The wide, thin wings dipped sharply away from
the fuselage. It was called an inverted gull wing configuration,
but from head on it was more reminiscent of a bat than a gull. Jack
had no idea what aerodynamic advantages were gained by this setup,
although it did allow for a larger propeller. This was because the
landing gear kept the nose of the plane higher than normal when on
the deck. But the higher nose position made taxiing more difficult
because forward visibility was cut—a condition compounded by the
fact that the cockpit was located near the center of the fuselage,
almost aft of the wing. Jack also found the position of the
horizontal stabilizer curious; it extended well aft of the
vertical. He was intrigued by aircraft design and sometimes wished
he had been an engineer. But basically he would rather fly the damn
things than design them. Despite its unusual appearance, the
Corsair had amazing power and speed. It handled like a dream
throughout the range of power settings and attitudes. We’ve come a long way ,
he thought, since
the Buffalo.
Far below him,
an irregularity on the surface of the ocean caught his eye. Jack
tipped the fighter to get a better look. A tiny toy ship was there,
a destroyer by the look of it; it was making a foaming bow wave and
leaving a broad wake fanning out behind it. The disturbed water
gradually reassumed its slatelike surface. The destroyer was headed
in their direction, almost precisely, and Jack figured it was
making speed to join the Constitution ’s group. As he watched, the speeding
ship abruptly changed
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