A Veteran's Journey

You’ve seen movies with aircraft carriers, haven’t you? Top Gun (1986), The Final Countdown (1980), Behind Enemy Lines (2001), to name a few. You probably wondered what it’s like to work on the flight deck, too. Well, maybe not everybody, but stay with me on this.

Most of the time, movies only show one or two aircraft launching off the carrier. After all, that’s where the action is. But in reality—at least in the mid-70s when I was working on the flight deck of USS Kitty Hawk—we’d launch 20-25 aircraft, one right after the other during a normal flight operations cycle. Once those birds were in the air, we’d move aircraft around (called a “respot”) in order to get ready for the next launch cycle. A typical launch cycle on a good, clear day may take 10-15 minutes to launch all 20-25 aircraft.

After the second launch completed, we’d have to recover the first set of aircraft back on board. That’s fun, too. Once again, we’d “respot” the remaining aircraft to get them out of the landing area in order to recover the others. Typically, we’d move them to the bow (front) and to the starboard (right) side of the ship. There’s not a lot of time between flight cycles. While some of the birds may be able to refuel in mid-air, not all do.

Modern day aircraft carriers are built with the landing area at an “angle” to the mainline of the ship (see image below). I’ll spare you the details, but you can imagine the difficulty of a pilot trying to land an aircraft at 80-100 mph at a 12-14 degree angle while the ship continues to move in a forward direction, always heading into the wind.

At the end of the angle in what is commonly called the “crotch,” an aircraft director (ABH—Aviation Boatswain’s Mate-Handler), called a “Yellow Shirt,” because he (or s/he now) wears a yellow jersey, waits for the landing aircraft. That was one of my jobs.

This particular individual’s responsibility is to direct the recovered aircraft out of the landing area quickly and safely so the next aircraft can land. On a good day, aircraft land on the flight deck about one per minute. Not much time for mistakes.

In my opinion, this was the most exciting job on the flight deck. I was often told to “think about where you are and where you want to jump.”

The job was simple: wait until the aircraft landed safely, catching the arresting gear cable with its tail hook, run out onto the flight deck to meet the plane, making sure the pilot sees you (you’re about twenty feet away), and give him a hand signal to raise his tail hook in order to retract the arresting gear cable. If the hook raised properly, direct him to taxi out of the recovery area, turning him to the starboard (right) side, give him the hand signal to fold wings, and pass him along to another Yellow Shirt director. Then thirty seconds later, do it all over again. Easy, peasy, right?

On one particular day, we were running flight ops as usual. I was in the crotch directing aircraft out of the recovery area. It was a “Champagne Day,” as my mother used to say–gorgeous, clear and crisp.

During this particular flight op, we were launching aircraft from the bow catapults at the same time as recovering. We had recovered the first batch of F-14 Tomcats and A-6 Intruders and were bringing aboard the A-7 Corsairs. Simultaneously, we were launching F-14s off cat #2, right next to me. It’s extremely loud, even with two sets of ear protection, when you are that close to an F-14 in full afterburner.

After the third A-7 Corsair landed and I taxied him out of the recovery area, I was watching the next one approach–he was on final approach, about 30 seconds out. He was flying a little awkward. I naturally assumed he was a new pilot, still working on his quals, and not used to landing on a pitching flight deck. Meanwhile, an F-14 was preparing to launch right next to me. My attention was bouncing between the F-14 in full afterburner and the approaching A-7. I was squatting down, ready to spring into action when the A-7 landed.

As the A-7 hit the deck, it grabbed the arresting gear cable with its tail hook and the pilot applied full power–normal procedure. They do this in case the tail hook misses the arresting gear cable and they need to keep flying off the angle to return for another approach. The only problem was that this A-7 pilot not only applied full power, but also pulled back on his elevator at the same time. He had the cable in his tail hook, yet he was also in the air… fixin’ to make a big splat.

Let me pause here at this particular moment in time and relay to you the situation. For one, the A-7 Corsair was in the air about ten feet above the flight deck with an arresting cable in his tail hook, soon to splatter on the flight deck. I was less than fifty feet away. To my left, about twenty feet away, was an F-14 Tomcat in full afterburner, ready to launch. To my right, about five feet away, was a sixty foot drop down to Davy Jones’ locker. It was not looking like a good day. I basically had two choices: one, become instant toast or two, find out if Davy Jones really does have a locker.

At that moment, I think every flight deck crash training film I had ever seen flashed through my mind. I’d heard of an A-7 Corsair earlier on the USS Constellation that had done the exact same thing a couple of months earlier. But when that pilot slammed down onto the flight deck, the nose gear pierced the cockpit, right between the pilot’s legs. The pilot was OK, but the A-7 was not. No fire, thank God, but it took a while to clear the recovery area.

That was the thought I had currently in my mind.

I quickly jumped up. The Catapult Officer (“Shooter”) on cat #2 had seen what was happening and immediately went into an abort mode, shutting down the F-14. The A-7 slammed onto the deck, but the nose gear held and did not pierce the cockpit. The pilot was a little shaken, as was I. But we both managed to get the A-7 out of the recovery area without having to change skivvies. I was fine after that, but it did shake me up a little bit. My good friend and fellow Yellow Shirt, Smitty, came over and asked if I needed a break; I took him up on his offer. My dad told me later when I relayed this particular story, “Builds character, doesn’t it?”

Yes, the Navy did help mold my character, not only that particular day, but throughout my life. Teamwork is the key word here. The average age of sailors working the on flight deck back then was 18-19 years old. To work on a flight deck with a couple of hundred other guys, most of whom you did not personally know, you had to keep your head on a constant swivel as well as watch out for others.

Working on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier has often been called the most dangerous job in the world. I wouldn’t argue that. It was just part of my journey.

By the way, if you can spare two minutes, here’s a quick YouTube video that shows aircraft launching and landing on an aircraft carrier. While these jets are more modern, the procedures, the noise, and the excitement are still the same as back in the 70s. And yes, those that work on the flight deck are really that close to the aircraft.

Question: If you served in the military, what branch & when? How did that affect your own personal “journey?” I’d love to hear.

Until we meet again,
Andy

Andy Adkins is a US Navy veteran (’73-77) and the author of several books. His newest novel, NEVER FORGET, is the story of A Vietnam Veteran’s Journey for Redemption & Forgiveness. NEVER FORGET is FREE (eBook, PDF) for all veterans. Download your FREE copy HERE.