VaB
Well-known member
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2001
- Posts
- 512
Just got an email from a buddy who's deployed far from home over Christmas and it got me to remembering one of my Christmases in some place other than where I wanted to be.
My last boat deployment. Christmas eve. Due to my level of juniority, I and my also very junior BN were fortunate enough to be scheduled for the last launch of the night. Section of Intruders going out to get some NVG practice while bombing a couple of smokes in the middle of the Med. A sane person might question the logic of 2 medium attack aircraft hurtling themselves at the dark dark ocean in the 30 degree dive bombing pattern, as fast as the fat pig would go, while wearing a pair of NVGs that turn the black night into a fuzzy green at the expense of any depth perception you might have had. But that was what was on the menu. Moonless night, of course, otherwise the 04s would have been out bagging their night traps, but I digress. My partner in crime was a little depressed at being thousands of miles away from home during the holidays, as was I. Therefore, I made it my secondary mission to try and cheer him up with a nice strong cat shot into the black, a smooth joinup on the lead, and some accurate pilot designates for him to find those stupid, stupid little smokes in the middle of nowhere so that we could get a couple of shacks and a few more checkmarks on the qual sheet. Before we were even broken down to start taxiing for Cat 4, lead calls up to say they are down and the spare never even manned up. "Sweaty, you're on your own". After making a few Hornet guys upset with the news that they wouldn't be getting their gas, we blasted off alone. Alone and unafraid. The unofficial motto of the Intruder guy. After an hour of punching holes in the sky, turning dead dinos into jet fumes, and several unsuccessful attempts at humor to cheer up Moose, we hit our ladder and it was time to marshall. The worst part of any carrier aviator's job, sitting in holding for 45 minutes waiting for your turn to push and find new ways to scare the hell out of yourself. During that time, Moose regaled me with stories of past Christmas times spent in Boston. Snow, lights, shopping, Christmas parties, all the things that make a city Christmas great. It's our turn to push. Screaming down the chute, dirty up at 15 miles. Clear and a million, but the ship is still a teeny tiny light in the distance and, unfortunately, I know it won't get much bigger. Then, I realize, I know how I can lift Moose's Christmas spirits. "3/4's of a mile, on and on, call the ball". Moose makes the call he could make in his sleep "Blaster 501, Intruder ball, 6.0". "Roger ball. 30 knots down the angle" comes the reply from the salty LSO. Moose starts giving me VSI calls whilst I make the ball dance on the datums. "Watch this" says I to the only guy as puckered up as I am at this moment. I squeaked my left hand back a little bit and left it there and could feel the mighty war machine start to settle toward the potato locker. The all-knowing, all-seeing (just ask them) LSO gave a calm, yet firm "Power" call. "Power". Then the pretty red lights came on, along with a frantic shouting, I can almost recollect it as a screaming, "WAVE IT OFF, WAVE IT OFF". I looked over at Moose and said "Did you see that? The pretty red and green lights? Merry Christmas buddy". With a tear in his eye, and a tremor in his hand that I'd never noticed before now, he replied "Thanks, John, that's best present anyone's ever given me. Now, can we this thing aboard so that I can change my skivvies?" "Sure thing". Later that evening, while enjoying some eggnog and a slider at midrats, the LSO's came to visit. "Little high start. Not enough power in the middle, underlined. Fly through down in close, underlined. Technique wave off". Seems that they had a present for me to, a nice red mark for me to put on the greeny board by my name. They didn't wish me a Merry Christmas, though. I just heard them muttering something about being permanent SDO if they ever heard me unspool the engines like that again. Oh well, it's the thought that counts. It was all worth it though, because I think that Moose was really touched by my gift of Christmas spirit. You see, every day after that for the rest of deployment, whenever we were crewed to fly together, he always had tears in his eyes.
Merry Christmas.
My last boat deployment. Christmas eve. Due to my level of juniority, I and my also very junior BN were fortunate enough to be scheduled for the last launch of the night. Section of Intruders going out to get some NVG practice while bombing a couple of smokes in the middle of the Med. A sane person might question the logic of 2 medium attack aircraft hurtling themselves at the dark dark ocean in the 30 degree dive bombing pattern, as fast as the fat pig would go, while wearing a pair of NVGs that turn the black night into a fuzzy green at the expense of any depth perception you might have had. But that was what was on the menu. Moonless night, of course, otherwise the 04s would have been out bagging their night traps, but I digress. My partner in crime was a little depressed at being thousands of miles away from home during the holidays, as was I. Therefore, I made it my secondary mission to try and cheer him up with a nice strong cat shot into the black, a smooth joinup on the lead, and some accurate pilot designates for him to find those stupid, stupid little smokes in the middle of nowhere so that we could get a couple of shacks and a few more checkmarks on the qual sheet. Before we were even broken down to start taxiing for Cat 4, lead calls up to say they are down and the spare never even manned up. "Sweaty, you're on your own". After making a few Hornet guys upset with the news that they wouldn't be getting their gas, we blasted off alone. Alone and unafraid. The unofficial motto of the Intruder guy. After an hour of punching holes in the sky, turning dead dinos into jet fumes, and several unsuccessful attempts at humor to cheer up Moose, we hit our ladder and it was time to marshall. The worst part of any carrier aviator's job, sitting in holding for 45 minutes waiting for your turn to push and find new ways to scare the hell out of yourself. During that time, Moose regaled me with stories of past Christmas times spent in Boston. Snow, lights, shopping, Christmas parties, all the things that make a city Christmas great. It's our turn to push. Screaming down the chute, dirty up at 15 miles. Clear and a million, but the ship is still a teeny tiny light in the distance and, unfortunately, I know it won't get much bigger. Then, I realize, I know how I can lift Moose's Christmas spirits. "3/4's of a mile, on and on, call the ball". Moose makes the call he could make in his sleep "Blaster 501, Intruder ball, 6.0". "Roger ball. 30 knots down the angle" comes the reply from the salty LSO. Moose starts giving me VSI calls whilst I make the ball dance on the datums. "Watch this" says I to the only guy as puckered up as I am at this moment. I squeaked my left hand back a little bit and left it there and could feel the mighty war machine start to settle toward the potato locker. The all-knowing, all-seeing (just ask them) LSO gave a calm, yet firm "Power" call. "Power". Then the pretty red lights came on, along with a frantic shouting, I can almost recollect it as a screaming, "WAVE IT OFF, WAVE IT OFF". I looked over at Moose and said "Did you see that? The pretty red and green lights? Merry Christmas buddy". With a tear in his eye, and a tremor in his hand that I'd never noticed before now, he replied "Thanks, John, that's best present anyone's ever given me. Now, can we this thing aboard so that I can change my skivvies?" "Sure thing". Later that evening, while enjoying some eggnog and a slider at midrats, the LSO's came to visit. "Little high start. Not enough power in the middle, underlined. Fly through down in close, underlined. Technique wave off". Seems that they had a present for me to, a nice red mark for me to put on the greeny board by my name. They didn't wish me a Merry Christmas, though. I just heard them muttering something about being permanent SDO if they ever heard me unspool the engines like that again. Oh well, it's the thought that counts. It was all worth it though, because I think that Moose was really touched by my gift of Christmas spirit. You see, every day after that for the rest of deployment, whenever we were crewed to fly together, he always had tears in his eyes.
Merry Christmas.
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