Page 82 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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soothing voice to Chi-Chi, out and up the metal steps to the flight deck where a

helicopter hovered off on the port side and two F-14 Tomcats, looking wicked
and dangerous, were standing close to the starboard catapult area. The catapult
crew swarmed around the lead aircraft, mixed with technicians, while the
second Tomcat stood back and staggered well out of the
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aircraft’s engine nozzles.
Chi-Chi and her pilot made for the first F-14 while Bond’s man pointed at
the second machine.
The REO’s cockpit, behind the pilot, was cramped and, once he was

strapped and plugged in, Bond realised that it was not the most comfortable of
crew positions, though he had little time to think about that. The lead aircraft
had started its two Pratt & Whitney turbofans and was manoeuvred into place
on the launch ramp.
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Everything happened very quickly. The flurry of men fitting the catapult
moved expertly to one side, the great metal baffles rose from the deck to take
the full blast from the jets which rose to a deafening roar even within the
waiting airplane, then, with a suddenness, the F-14 was hurled forward,

leaving a trail of steam along the catapult, dropping slightly then nosing up,
gear rising, before it rocketed into the sky.
Bond was still watching it streak upwards as their engines started and they
slowly moved into place on the catapult. He could see the catapult officer with

his glowing yellow wand off to the right, and could feel the whole craft vibrate
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as his pilot brought the engines up to maximum throttle. He found himself
looking, hypnotised, at the catapult officer who straightened up and raised his
wand in a sweeping motion, bringing it down like something out of a Star Wars

movie, so that the flashing yellow rod was aimed directly below the aircraft, at
the catapult. Bond tensed, pushed his head back against the padded seatback
and waited, counting to himself . . . One . . . Two . . . and the catapult fired, the
gigantic punch in his back, his body pushed almost wildly out of control as they

accelerated and were thrown into the air. It was so quick that, mentally, his
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stomach was left behind, about eight feet above the carrier’s deck, while his
body was now at a thousand feet and climbing.
Bond preferred the more civilised ski-jump technique of his old friend the

Harrier.
They made exceptional time, bumping and buffeting at maximum altitude
with engine noise mixed with the wind. There were two stops for midair

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