“Trench, this is CAG Matson. How close did you get to it?”
Trench hesitated, then answered. “Right on top of it, sir, about 200 feet down its starboard side. I made two passes.”
“Did you get a photo?” Wilson asked.
“Not a hand-held, sir, but I believe it’s on my FLIR tape.”
“Okay, we’ll take a look.”
Just then the flight surgeon interrupted. “Gentlemen, we need to get vitals and examine his eyes. Can you give us 20 minutes?”
“Yeah, Doc, go ahead,” answered Matson. “Trench, nice job. We are going to take care of you now. We’ll finish the debrief later.”
“Thanks, sir,” Trench responded, still shaken and unsure.
Wilson grabbed Trench’s arm. “We’ll be back to check on you soon. Relax now.”
“Sir?” Trench whispered.
“Yeah, go.”
“Sir, there was some… scenery on the bow.”
“Got it. We’ll come back later.”
“Thanks, sir.”
Matson and Hofmeister waited for Wilson in the passageway. “What was that?” he asked.
“There was a girl or girls on the bow as he rigged the yacht. I think it had a blinding laser, just waiting for one of us to fly by.”
“Yeah, we’re all lucky he lived to tell the tale. Let’s get his tapes reviewed, and I’m going to see the admiral. I want us to stay on top of this yacht. Come with me.”
They returned to Combat Decision Center located between Air Ops and the flag spaces. Scattered about were large radar repeater consoles with track-balls, communications handsets and controls, and manuals of standing orders and directives the size of phone books. Bulkhead displays showed the sea and air contacts located about Coral Sea, contacts called tracks in the vernacular of the watchstanders, and Matson asked the Battle Watch Captain, one of the admiral’s staff officers a question.
“What tracks do you have south of us?”
The Watch Captain studied the screen. “Sir, we have well over two dozen south of us. Can you narrow the bearing and range?”
Matson frowned, and gave it a shot. “Look from one-five-zero to two-three-zero, eighty to one hundred fifty miles.
The Watch Captain narrowed the search by “grabbing” that patch of waterspace and hit ENTER. The display expanded the tracks in the selected “pie” and Matson inspected them.
“Do you know what they all are?”
“Most of them, sir. These two guys are containerships. This is a fishing boat. This one is a DDG, USS Norman Kleiss. And this track — what is this guy?”
The officer moved the tracking ball, “hooking” it to read the heading and speed plus the identification assigned to the contact. Wilson watched with interest. Seeing his CAG take action was not only heartening but exhilarating, and he sensed, by the end of the day,