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Somewhere in the Mediterranian
It was dark in the control room of USS Abraham Lincoln. Only green lights from the display panel lit the smoky air. She was a fine Nimitz class supercarrier; any captain’s pride, currently Captain Anderson’s. He was at his pipe, as always. The First Officer and other men in the room watched closely along with him at the big round dials of the radar.
“How are they doing now?” barked Captain Anderson.
“Falcon 1 – report status” the junior at the com unit spoke with hesitation. Only ten minutes before the Captain’s arrival he had seen his panel showing data no officer had seen before.
“This is Falcon 1. We are on course, bearing zero niner zero, holding speed nine-two-five-zero. We have structural damage, but we are stable and in control. Please advise.”
“Holy shit! That’s over Mach 12!” One of the other juniors whispered.
“Bring them around on course three-nine and get them on deck”, the Captain ordered.
“Falcon 1 – you are instructed to change your heading to vector three-nine and reduce air speed for final approach. You are cleared for landing.”
“Roger that.”
The blinking dot on the radar screen began to change its path as ordered, and suddenly the speaker in the room crackled to life –
“May-Day May-Day! This is Falcon 1. We have a rupture in the engine casing. We’re going in a spin! I… can’t reach…”
“Eject-eject-eject!” shouted the Captain. He knew he didn’t have to; his best men were in there; but that made matters even worse – he couldn’t afford to loose them.
“The thrust.. can’t reduce.. yaw rate is..”
Everyone in the room knew the consequences of a sudden and uncontrollable yaw rate – it was when an aircraft spun around its vertical axis as though someone had whirled it rapidly. It was the most dreaded situation of a pilot; in many cases he was never able to reach his ejection handle right in front of him and pull it, due to the high g-forces pushing him back in his seat with a force many times his own weight. Here, it would have been much more.
“The throttle.. not resp.. we.. hydrau.. fail..”
There was a huge static in the communication. Then it was over. There was a final beep on the radar screen before the dot disappeared. The room fell silent. Dead silent. Captain Anderson took off his cap and walked to his cabin.
“Set course for rendezvous with the Admiral’s convoy.”
“I I Sir. Setting course. ETA – thirteen hours.”
The following morning Mrs. Andrew was awakened by a phone call.
“Mrs. Andrew?”
“Yes.. May I know who’s speaking?”
“I am Captain Briggs from the Naval Headquarters. I’m afraid I have a bad news for you. Your husband Flight Lieutenant Pete Andrew was killed in an accident during a
routine exercise last night. I’m sorry Mrs. Andrew. ”
“No! He was a very fine pilot.. He couldn’t have.. It’s got something to do with that secret operation now isn’t it? Tell me.. I want the truth!”
“Please calm down Mrs. Andrew. The truth is, your husband was a very fine pilot indeed, but accidents do happen. I’m sorry but I am unaware of any secret operation.”
“I knew it all along.. I had told Pete not to sign up for anything dare-devil.. Why can’t you just tell me?! He had told me he was working on a.. a different project.. but he wouldn’t utter anything more..” (she started crying)
“Mrs. Andrews please control yourself. We are all sorry for your loss. Please accept my deepest condolence. I shall get in touch with you shortly for the funeral service.”
Mrs. Andrew kept the phone down.
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