Читать книгу Damage Control - Gordon Kent, Gordon Kent - Страница 31

Soleck was keeping his eyes on the air traffic and his brain on the fuel. “Gup, as soon as you get their fuel states, start working out what they need to get to—” He looked down at his card of the day, registered the primary bingo field, the precleared field where planes could land in an emergency, as Mahe. This was certainly an emergency. “—Mahe, India. It’s on your kneeboard.” Guppy looked over at him, trying to say something about being in over his head. “Just do it, Gup. Fudge the numbers. Guess.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.” Soleck fed radio one into his helmet and dialed up AG 706 on the squadron frequency.

“AG 706, this is 703, over?”

Pause.

“703, go ahead.” That was Scarlatti, known to the air wing as “Mozart,” a nugget only a little more experienced than Guppy, and damn Stevens for taking Goldy. They were an inexperienced squadron and Soleck wasn’t sure he was ready to do what had to be done.

“Mozart, this is Soleck. Listen up; we’ve got all the gas that’s in the air and close to the stack. You and me. We’re going to have to set up a fueling station headed inbound as soon as AW gives us a bingo field, and we tank the Hornets until they can go feet-dry. You copy all that, Mozart?”

Pause. Soleck could almost hear the gears grinding in Mozart’s mind.

“Roger, 703, I copy. What do you want me to do right now?”

“Stay on your assigned track and altitude until I come up again. Stay on this freq and monitor guard and AW. I’ll get back to you. Soleck, out.”

“AW on one, sir.” Soleck wondered if Guppy had ever called him “sir” before. “And nothing from Mister Stevens.”

The AW said, “703, what is your status and give?”

Soleck was pretty sure that was Captain Lash—Alpha Whiskey—himself, not some designated junior officer. That alone told Soleck plenty.

“AW, this is 703. We have twenty-two thousand pounds to give on original mission parameters. AG 706 has the same. AW, I’m prepared to set a track to a designated bingo and tank en route. Request ID on senior officer in the air, and request location of bingo. My card of the day says Mahe Naval Air Station. Over?”

“Wait one, 703.”

Soleck breathed out, relaxed his grip on the controls a fraction. Somebody was in charge down there; the world had not ended; and AW was on the air.

“703, this is AW. I have Air Ops on handheld; I have to transfer fuel data via another line because they have lost their antennas. Copy?”

“Roger, AW.” Soleck tried to imagine the difficulty. Air Ops, if they were in business, would know the fuel needs of every plane—more important, unlike the bridge of a cruiser, Air Ops would be full of pilots who could work the numbers on fuel problems. And Air Ops was where bingo fields were set. But, according to AW, all that information had to flow across a handheld, probably a walkie-talkie.

The AW came back on. “I have Lieutenant-Commander Donitz as senior officer in the air. And 703, just so you know the whole deal, our best information is that Mahe is down or not responding. We have no response from Calicut, either. We’re trying to find you a bingo field, but something is going down in India, over.”

Soleck felt a cold ball form in his gut.