Flash Point by James W. Huston Page B

live missiles and checked the long, red safety tags that were in place to prevent an accidental firing on the deck. Woods climbed up the ladder and once on top worked his way to the back of the plane. He moved toward the twin black tails that jutted majestically into the beautiful sky, checking the exterior panels, the spoilers on the wings, and the overall airworthiness of the plane. He saw nothing to worry him. His Tomcat was pointed straight down the flight deck. The ship had increased its speed to twenty-five knots to generate more wind for the pending launch. The wind swirled around Woods as he thought of the power under his feet, the Tomcat, the carrier. He made his way forward along the back of the plane and stopped next to his ejection seat.
    He pulled out the six pins that were there to prevent an inadvertent firing of the seat. They were connected by one long, red nylon strap, ensuring that none of the pins was forgotten. Woods rolled up the strap and pins and jammed them into the map case in the cockpit.
    He threw his right leg over the side rail to the right of the stick that dominated the center of the cockpit, jutting up with its handle and array of buttons and switches. Bringing his left leg over, he settled into the ejection seat, adjusting the rudder pedals forward. Someone short had flown the plane last.
    Benson climbed up and placed the harnesses over Woods’s shoulders. Woods took each in turn and attached them to the two Koch fittings on the top of his torso harness. He then attached the lap belts on his two hip fittings and the two leg restraints to keep his legs in place in case of ejection. He pulled the lap straps tight and ensured the shoulder harness fittings were secure. The plane captain moved back on the fold-down steps seven feet above the steel flight deck and helped Wink strap himself in.
    They sat in the cockpit, Wink four feet behind Woods, canopy up, arms hanging over the sides. The sunshine felt gloriously warm through their green Nomex flight suits. Woods looked at the sky for any signs of coming weather but saw nothing but clear blue sky. He gave the signal for electrical power. In short order the plane captain hooked up the electrical cord from the yellow tractor-like vehicle that also served as the huffer — the high-speed air that turned the jet engines to get them started.
    “Coming down!” Wink yelled as he pushed the lever forward to close the double-length canopy.
    Woods moved his arms inside the cockpit. The canopy came down slowly, hesitated, then slammed forward into the locks.
    Woods gave the signal to hook up the huffer to send in high-pressure air and quickly started the two turbofan engines. He and Wink silently prepared for flight as each checked the weapons and aircraft systems.
    Woods gave a thumbs-up to his plane captain, who returned the signal. The chains were removed from the plane and the chocks were pulled away from the wheels. His oxygen mask was tight on his face, feeding him pure oxygen. Woods looked over at Boomer in the Tomcat next to them, also facing forward and nodded. Vialli nodded back as he pushed the bayonet fittings of his mask to his yellow and black helmet with the skull and bones on the sides.
    The yellow-shirt aviation boatswain’s mate signaled to Woods to taxi. “I’m going hot,” Woods announced to Wink, activating the microphone in his oxygen mask. Wink did likewise. They were both hot mike — they could hear each other breathing.
    Wink turned the rear seat radio to the frequency used by the Air Boss, the commander six stories above who ran the flight deck like a dictator. The frequency was quiet. Everyone knew what to do; talking wasn’t necessary.
    Woods taxied forward to cat 3 — one of the waist catapults on the angled deck. The two F/A-18s on the bow cats would go first. Woods watched carefully as he taxied slowly toward the plane director and onto the catapult. The yellow shirt straddled the catapult track and steam rose up all