“Flip, Annie, this is Keith Meadows, one of our flight test pilots. Mongo, this is Skipper Wilson and XO Schofield.”
Mongo, tight-lipped and businesslike, threw in a curt sir and ma’am as he shook hands with the two commanders. Having his hand squeezed like a vise did not leave a favorable impression on Wilson. He’d seen this air of condescending superiority and evil-eye gaze before in the overachieving population of fighter pilots he part of, but it was rare. There were many, many more gregarious Weeds than taciturn Mongos.
“Mongo comes to us from the West Coast where he just finished his department head tour.”
“Oh, yeah?” Annie asked. “What ship?’
“Nimitz,” he answered. Offering the minimum response possible, the pilot effectively brought to the conversation to a halt, and Mongo excused himself with a pained smile.
“Are all your guys so affable?” Wilson asked Weed.
“Okay, he’s no Regis Philbin, but he’s a Jedi Knight when it comes to the Hornet and sensor fusion. My best tester. And, in his spare time, he paints with watercolors and arranges flowers. Yeah, okay… he’s a geek.”
Annie smiled. “Does he need to bunk with our JOs?”
“Nah, we’re good. The ship found a bunkroom for my guys.”
“Can he fly?” Wilson asked.
“Yeah, he can fly. He has that ability — like you guys — to use his head to analyze the airborne situation and transfer that into stick and rudder skills. He’s solid around the ship. Seriously, you won’t have to worry about him.”
Wilson nodded. “Okay, welcome to the Firebirds. We’ll get Stretch to put you guys on the day/night qual schedule — for tomorrow.”
“Stretch Armstrong is your Ops Officer? Terrific. And, hey, no rush for the night stuff. In a few weeks, when the moon is fuller, I’ll be ready to go!”
Wilson smiled. Same old happy-go-lucky Weed. He was pleased to have his old roommate back in the squadron with him. He looked forward to a fun at-sea period.
(USS Coral Sea, underway)
Shane Duncan had never been so nervous.
With sweaty palms she sat next to Macho and Jumpin in the last row of high-backed chairs in Ready Room 5. The folder on her lap consisted of “Order of Battle” information on drug cartel go-fast boats and the Colombian Air Force. After Skipper Wilson finished talking she expected to be next, and while she wanted to listen and absorb his every word, her mind wandered. In five minutes, she would be giving her first presentation, ever, in front of real pilots in this fleet Hornet squadron on an aircraft carrier at sea. This was the big leagues, for sure.