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North Latitude 12.73, West Longitude 66.18
The Caribbean Sea
0355 13 February 2007
“I have a confession to make, sir,” Castillo said as a man wearing a soft leather helmet and goggles and holding illuminated wands crossed on his chest approached the UH-60 with Policía Federal Preventiva markings. The Black Hawk helicopter was sitting, with rotors turning, at the extreme aft portion of the Bataan’s flight deck.
“This is not the place, my son. But make sure you see me before you take communion,” Colonel Kingsolving said, playing along.
“I think you better follow me through, sir,” Castillo went on, his tone serious.
“Something wrong, Charley?” Kingsolving asked, now with concern in his voice.
“I think you better follow me through, sir,” Castillo repeated. “Or take it.”
“Too late to take it,” Kingsolving said. “There’s the ‘go’ signal. If you don’t want to abort, I’ll follow you through.”
“Here we go,” Castillo said.
He lifted off, hovered for a moment, and then reduced forward speed from twenty knots to ten. The deck moved out from under the aircraft at a speed of ten knots, and a moment later, he was looking at the stern of the Bataan.
The UH-60 dipped its nose toward the sea, picked up speed, and then began a steep climbing turn to the right into the dark sky.
“You all right? You want me to take it, Charley?”
“I’ve got it. I’m all right now,” Castillo said.
Out his window he could see one of the 160th’s Black Hawks being quickly pushed to the aft of the flight deck.
“Interesting departure,” Kingsolving said. “Where’d you learn how to do that, at Pensacola?”
“What I was going to confess, sir, was that I don’t have very much experience in night-launching a UH-60 from a carrier.”
“Oh, shit!” Kingsolving said, after considering that for a moment. “Please don’t tell me that was your first.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t tell you that.”
“I had a look at your flight records, Charley, while they were trying to make up their minds whether to give you The Medal or court-martial you the last time you manifested suicidal behavior involving a UH-60. You remember that? When you went after Dick Miller?”
“If I thought that going after Dick was suicidal, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“You were the only aviator in Afghanistan who didn’t. I was astonished to see that as long as you’ve been flying, you’ve never dinged a bird—getting shot down not counting. Never. Not any kind of a bird. Do you have an explanation for that?”
“Clean living and a pure heart?”
“You don’t think what you did just now was suicidal?”
“Straight answer?”
“Please.”
“No, I didn’t. You following me through on the controls took care of the safety factor, and now I know how to launch at night in a UH-60 from a carrier. You never know when that might come in handy.”
Kingsolving didn’t reply.
“Kidnapper One and Two, Keystone Kop,” Castillo said to his microphone. “I’m going to circle the ship at two thousand feet. Join up on me five hundred feet behind.”
[TWO]
