Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [322]
What he hadn't anticipated was the midair refueling. He felt the aircraft increase power and take a slightly nose-up attitude. Then through the front window he saw the wing of another aircraft. Murray hastened forward to watch, standing behind the crew chief, Sergeant Zimmer. He and Ryan were both hooked into the intercom.
"What happens if you tangle with the hose?" Murray asked as they neared the drogue.
"I don't know," Colonel Johns answered coolly. "It's never happened to me yet. You want to keep it quiet now, sir?"
Ryan looked around for "facilities." He saw what looked like a camper's John, but getting to it meant taking his seat belt off. Jack decided against it. The refueling ended without incident, entirely due, Jack was sure, to his prayers.
Panache was cruising on her station in the Yucatan Channel, between Cuba and the Mexican Coast, following a racetrack pattern. There hadn't been much in the way of activity since the cutter had gotten here, but the crew took comfort from the fact that they were back at sea. The great adventure at the moment was observing the new female crewmen. They had a new female ensign fresh from the Coast Guard Academy in Connecticut, and a half dozen others, mainly unrated seamen, but two petty officers, both electronics types, who, their peers grudgingly admitted, knew their jobs. Captain Wegener was watching the new ensign stand watch as junior officer of the deck. Like all new ensigns she was nervous and eager and a little scared, especially with the skipper on the bridge. She was also cute as a button, and that was something Wegener had never thought of an ensign before.
"Commanding officer, commanding officer," the bulkhead speaker called. Wegener picked up the phone next to his bridge chair.
"Captain here. What is it?"
"Need you in the radio room, sir."
"On the way." Red Wegener rose from his chair. "Carry on," he said on his way aft.
"Sir," the petty officer told him in the radio shack, "we just got a transmission from an Air Force helo, says he's got a person he has to drop off here. Says it's secret, sir. I don't have anything on my board about it, and… well, sir, I didn't know what to do, sir. So I called you."
"Oh?" The woman handed him the microphone. Wegener depressed the transmit button. "This is Panache. Commanding officer speaking. Who am I talking to?"
"Panache, this is CAESAR. Helicopter inbound your position on a Sierra-Oscar. I have a drop-off for you, over."
Sierra-Oscar meant some sort of special operation. Wegener thought for a moment, then decided that there wasn't all that much to think about.
"Roger, CAESAR, say your ETA."
"ETA one-zero minutes."
"Roger, one-zero minutes. We'll be waiting. Out." Wegener handed the microphone back and returned to the bridge.
"Flight quarters," he told the OOD. "Miss Walters, bring us to Hotel Corpin."
"Aye aye, sir."
Things started happening quickly and smoothly. The bosun's mate of the watch keyed the 1-MC: "Flight quarters, flight quarters, all hands man your flight-quarter stations. Smoking lamp is out topside." Cigarettes sailed into the water and hands removed their caps, lest they be sucked into somebody's engines. Ensign Walters looked to see where the wind was, and altered course accordingly, also increasing the cutter's speed to fifteen knots, thus bringing the ship to Hotel Corpin, the proper course for flight operations. And all, she told herself proudly, without having to be told. Wegener turned away and grinned. It was one of many first steps in the career of a new officer. She'd actually known what to do and done it