Wilson’s his heart beat faster as he tried to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
He got into the clouds and headed south, darting from cloud to cloud. After twenty miles, he turned east toward the ship and climbed to 10,000 feet. Selecting a max-endurance fuel setting, he undid his mask. He let it hang as he took in lungfuls of air, still shaken by the incident and Weed’s role in it.
Weed. What is he involved with? Murder? Summary execution?
Wilson’s mind raced. The Fire Scout, a new and valuable asset, had a weapons capability he had not known it possessed. What he had seen, and Weed’s involvement in it, was an ominous revelation that signified close coordination with higher authority.
What is this? National Command Authority and an undeclared war? CIA? Who is Weed working with?
The recovery was long complete, and he could now go and drop his bombs on the towed spar in the wake. Still disturbed by the experience and troubled by what it foreshadowed, he decided to make one run on a low-stress delivery. The United States had just crossed a line. And Wilson trembled to know he was witness to it.
He switched up tower frequency and listened while he found the ship on radar. He locked it and saw on the FLIR there were no airplanes buzzing overhead as the carrier turned back to the east. Good, Wilson thought, and set up his switches for his weapons delivery. Willing himself to compartmentalize, he began an easy turn to the northeast.
Rolling out of the turn, Wilson scanned ahead of his flight path and confirmed no aircraft near the ship, which was now less than 15 miles off his nose. Ingrained habit caused him to swivel his head to search for aircraft at his altitude — especially important around the ship. With his head craned to the right, he flinched in surprise and caused the jet to twitch as he tightened his grip on the stick. Next to him, on his right, was a Super Hornet in welded-wing parade formation. Inside the jet, eyes covered by his dark visor and his oxygen mask dangling, was Weed. He was not smiling.
(Firebird 301, airborne, Central Caribbean)
Shock, as strong as an electric charge, coursed through Wilson’s body at the sight of Weed’s jet next to him. Separated by only thirty feet as they cruised at 250 knots, Weed offered no hand signals. Wilson lifted his hands above the canopy rail and shrugged his shoulders to convey What gives? Weed had no reaction at all and continued to fly perfect form on Wilson’s wing. Weed then lifted his arm in salute and pulled up and away. Wilson watched him turn southwest.