Oh, well, he thought, as he neared his jet, Firebird 301. It’s a beautiful day, and my job is to fly.
“Good morning, Dubose,” Wilson said as he returned the salute of his plane captain.
“Good morning, sir!” the young man replied, standing at attention in front of his jet. Although Wilson’s name was stenciled under the canopy, Dubose’s name and hometown were stenciled in black letters on the nose wheel door. Dubose felt as if he actually owned the multimillion-dollar jet and let the pilots fly it.
Wilson stowed his gear in the cockpit and began his preflight routine as Airman Dubose followed. On one wing station was a rack of six Mk-76 practice bombs. He and new guy LTJG Jumpin Joe Kessler were going to drop them on a towed target in Coral Sea’s wake before they set out to update the surface picture around the ship. All was in order, as usual, and Wilson chatted with some of the flight deck troubleshooters before he climbed into the cockpit.
He saw Weed preflighting a jet next to him, a single-seat Rhino from the Hunters of VFA-62, and noted his jet was carrying two racks of five practice bombs. Wilson shrugged off the double load of ordnance to the test program. He called to Weed and pointed at the weapons.
“Where you going with those?”
Weed smiled as he walked over to Wilson. “More Fire Scout testing. I’m gonna drop these things on smokes, and the Fire Scout will record the hits.”
“What fun,” Wilson said. “Where you going?”
Weed hesitated just long enough for Wilson to notice. “Depends where the Fire Scout is. I’ll find out airborne. What are you guys doing?”
Wilson gestured aft. “Dropping these on the sled, then searching around the ship. Showing the nugget the ropes.”
“As you have done so well for so many years, old man,” Weed joked.
Wilson smiled at the barb. “You were right alongside me most of those years.”
“But you are senior, and you’re a skipper now, the old man. Sorry to have to point all this out.”
“See you out there,” Wilson chuckled. Same old Weed.
With nimble steps Wilson climbed the boarding ladder and plopped himself in the ejection seat. Dubose followed. After connecting Wilson’s oxygen and g-suit hoses, he slammed home the upper Koch fittings that attached Wilson’s harness to the parachute embedded in the seat mechanism.
“Where are you going, sir?” the plane captain asked his CO.
“We’re gonna stay here and bomb the spar, that sled they’re towing behind us.”
Dubose looked over the fantail and saw a white spray being kicked up by the target sled in the wake behind the ship.