Chapter 4
The deafening roar of jet turbines battered the exterior bulkheads of the USS Vanguard as Eleanor stepped out onto the catwalk overlooking the flight deck. The wind was fierce, whipping her blonde hair against her cap, but she stood firm against the railing. Below her, the flight deck was a chaotic, beautiful ballet of organized precision. Sailors in colorful jerseys—yellow directors, green gear-operators, red damage-control teams—moved with rapid, calculated purpose amidst the massive shadows of F/A-18 Super Hornets preparing for launch.
Master Chief Callahan spotted her immediately and marched over, handing her a pair of protective aviation goggles and a set of heavy sound-suppressing headphones. Eleanor slipped them on, instantly plunging the chaotic roar into a muffled, manageable thrum.
"Morning, Commander," Callahan shouted over the residual noise, his weathered face creased with professional concern. "Word travels fast around this ship. Heard about the incident in the mess hall. Kid named Jake from VFA-141. Good pilot, terrible attitude. Comes from a wealthy background, thinks the rules are optional."
Eleanor adjusted her goggles, her eyes scanning the catapult crew preparing the lead jet for launch. "A uniform doesn't care about a pilot's background, Master Chief. Up here, a bad attitude gets people killed. If he can't respect the petty details of discipline on the mess deck, how can I trust him to respect the safety protocols at thirty thousand feet?"
Callahan nodded grimly, folding his weathered arms across his chest. "I’ve already had a quiet word with his squadron commander. They’re keeping him grounded for tomorrow’s CAP mission to let him cool off. But I wanted your call on whether we push this up to Captain Henderson for a formal mast."
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Eleanor watched the steam hiss from Catapult Number Two as the massive fighter jet locked into position, its afterburners glowing a fierce, ethereal blue. She weighed the consequences. A formal mast would permanently stain the young pilot’s record, potentially ending a promising career before it truly began. Yet, letting it slide entirely would undermine her authority and send the wrong message to the rest of the crew.
"Not yet," Eleanor decided, her voice steady through the intercom. "Let him stand extra watch duty in the Bilge Inspection division this weekend. Hard physical labor and time to reflect in the bowels of the ship will teach him more about teamwork than a reprimand ever could. Let’s see if he has the character to take responsibility without whining."
