Three Minutes to Start

The clock on the instrument panel glowed red; three minutes until engine start. The wind across the deck seemed to deaden the other sounds – a plane next to mine starting, taxiing forward and being launched into the impenetrable darkness. This is not a normal launch where everyone starts their engines, taxis forward, spreads the wings, and moves onto the catapult in order and quickly. Get them into the air so that the guys in the dog pattern can land.
We will go on the catapult one at a time with a gap that may be several minutes, so the clock is what I watch. The strange staggered launch sequence is necessary because we all have a specific time on target and we are all on our own from the time of take off. The deck is moving slightly, enough to feel, but not the kind of movement that brings a spray of saltwater across the flight deck. It is dark, completely dark, there are no lights on the ocean surface, no stars, nothing. I can see the dim outline of the island, the superstructure of the carrier, but not enough to make out any of the details. There are some red lights in the “ tower.” I can see my plane captain dimly with the fire extinguisher, an outline from the red lighting. He must be able to see me with the cockpit lights glowing, reflecting from the clear visor in my helmet.
There is a blob of stack gasses, a sort of burp that comes out of the boilers. Thick air sooty, greasy and filled with sulfur. Wouldn’t be right to launch without the smell of sulfur in my mouth and throat. When will those new nuke carriers be here?
Two minutes to engine start and I check the box lunch to ensure that it is not going to move during the catapult shot, I check the latch on the navigation board that slides under the instrument panel – the overwater part of my flight is already drawn out – I hope we are close to the position I have entered – I check the canteen, it is still slightly cool, but it will warm up before I finish drinking it. The g-suit is plugged into the system. It’s uncomfortable, tight, zippers in the wrong places – it will be chafing my legs before I return. – It will be used only 5 seconds during the next 11 hours, but those are important seconds. Pay attention to the simple details, it will keep me from thinking too much.
One minute to engine start, the time is passing quickly now, in less than three minutes I’ll be airborne and alone. I check the light switches, the master light switch will tell the Cat Officer I’m ready to launch, and he will touch the deck with his wand. I review the engine start sequence, I go over the process of easing into the catapult and “cleaning up” the airplane after takeoff – and making sure I don’t fly into the water. I check the instruments: basic, simple, old style, lit unevenly by small red lamps– they all seem to be working, but the airspeed indicator won’t come to life until the wings are spread. I check the special control panel that operates the weapon on the centerline.
Thirty seconds, I see the director moving closer to the side of the plane, my pulse speeds up, there is a little jittering in my fingers, tightness in my throat and chest the leather gloves are already damp from sweat and they help hide my anxiety – I have to stay focused and attentive. I think about the sun rise three hours from now, the warmth of the sun, the feeling you get when the adrenalin has done it’s job and the body tries to recover, it wants to sleep, to doze, but I can’t let that happen. But that will be three hours from now – The clock moves to zero and I see the circling wand from the crewman signaling me to start the engine, and I get very busy.