(Firebird 302, airborne 150 miles northwest of Barranquilla, Colombia)
Terrified, Trench half-rolled right by feel and shoved the throttles into burner while he pulled back on the stick. Breathing heavily into his mask, he realized he had some peripheral vision, but when he tried to focus his eyes ahead, he saw only black. With the marginal vision he had, he sensed he was in a climb. Yes, get away from the water! He forced his eyes open, causing them to bulge in an effort to regain sight and focus. I can’t see! God help me! Please God help me!
Trench couldn’t believe what was happening and didn’t know his altitude. Didn’t know the aircraft attitude! Too steep and he could run out of airspeed and stall it, even in burner. He looked up and right, hoping what little he could see on the periphery would guide him. It was no use. He could see the green pitch lines generated in the Head-Up-Display, but he couldn’t decipher them. He sensed he was flying west and by instinct rolled to the right, easy, and still in burner. Talking to himself, he counted the seconds of his turn, as if he were back in flight school, to determine a rough heading to north — and home.
This must be a nightmare, he thought and whimpered as he breathed through his mouth, not knowing his altitude, airspeed. I don’t know where the motherfucking ship is! Dammit!
“Please help me!” he screamed in the cockpit, frantic with nerves and moaning, crying in mortal dread. This is really happening!
Fuel. What’s my freakin’ fuel?! He then realized with more shock and horror that the burners were still plugged in! With a frustrated cry, he pulled the throttles to a midrange setting.
The clouds! He was heading toward the clouds. If he went into one, what little peripheral vision he had would be gone. He would be in complete blindness!
I need help! his mind screamed as he rolled left to stay clear of the cloud. Without depth perception, he was unable to determine how far away it was.
Knowing the XO and Big Jake were airborne on this event, he keyed the mike on the Comm. 2 squadron tactical frequency.
“Any Ridgelines up? This is Trench in three-oh-two! I can’t see! I can’t see!”
Silence.
He then keyed the Comm. 1 radio to call the ship. “Strike, three-zero-two!”
After a short delay, the Strike controller answered. “Go ahead, three-zero-two.”