Everyone says Pete Cardinal sounds just like John Wayne on the radio. People who have never seen him are often surprised to meet a six-foot mustang lieutenant instead of a six-four admiral. Leaving San Diego with just a year to go before retirement, he's headed to a cushy desk job in Memphis. Or so he thinks . . . Pilots Jerry and Psycho are just getting a handle on their secret mission's special weapons and tactics when a crash landing ruins their day. Also ruined is the career of the guy who put bad fuel in their plane as well as Pete's plan for an easy year in Memphis. Bidding his family a hasty goodbye, he heads for a bay in Vietnam where he isn't sure he will live to see tomorrow. With Pete's support from the mother ship, Jerry and Psycho can focus on their mission, eliminating North Vietnamese supply boats using an obsolete seaplane meant for hunting submarines. In this military tale, things that actually happened meld with war stories (things that might have happened) to bring to life a little known episode from the Vietnam War.

WHEN PIGS FLEW

By Paul Cardinal

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Paul Cardinal
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-4637-6

Chapter One

The huge gray and white, gull winged seaplane swooped out of the sun like an angry bird of prey. Thunder from two, three thousand horsepower radial engines startled the crew of the orange and white crash boat with the big "43" painted on the bow. Pete Cardinal mopped sweat from his brow and returned a dark blue ball cap to his head. One hand reached for twin throttles. Fingers opened and closed on the helm.

Water whipped into froth as the plane's two giant propellers skimmed just over the surface. Beneath the plane's engine nacelles, doors swiveled open exposing four black torpedoes. Over the plane's bulbous nose, Cardinal locked eyes with the two pilots. He thought he could make out a smile as a dark cylinder splashed into the water.

Cardinal studied the weapon's entry point and called down the hatch, "What do you hear Phillips?"

"Fast screws. She's running hot and deep," said the acoustic gear operator.

A sailor's hat blew into the ocean as the big plane buzzed over the boat's deck. Cardinal looked over his shoulder and frowned at the big Tee tail speeding away. His attention returned to business at hand.

"Is it locked on to us?"

"Too soon to tell."

Cardinal drummed his fingers on the throttles.

"It's veering away," announced Phillips.

Cardinal took a deep breath, "Has it got the target?" "Sounds like it. I've lost the torpedo in all the noise."

"Looks like your fish found its momma," called Cardinal over the radio, "But you missed the drop marker by fifty feet."

"It's a homing torpedo," replied Lieutenant Jerry Edwards from the cockpit of the P5M Marlin, "All I have to do is get it in the water."

"Them's the rules today. The boss men want you to hit the smoke pot," said Cardinal, "And could you come in a little lower next time?"

"Negatory, Sitting Duck," said Edwards, "My plane captain gets all pissed off when he has to scrape squids off the props."

"Next pass, remember. Red target. Orange boat," teased Cardinal.

"Roger that cowboy," replied the plane, "Ready to give us another shot."

"Wait a couple minutes while your first fish floats up and our chase boat reels it in," said Cardinal watching the other boat accelerate in pursuit of the flotation bag deployed by the dummy torpedo.

* * *

"Jackson, you want to take the seat?" Jerry asked the navigator, "I think I'll get some coffee while those boat jockeys are chasing down that fish."

"Get me some too," said the burly co-pilot, "I had a late one last night."

"So Ben, how was that nurse?" Jerry asked while unbuckling his seat belt and squeezing past the navigator.

"She was a gymnast in college. You wouldn't believe the things she can do." Ben tapped a fuel gauge that hadn't moved since they took off.

"You plan to see her again?" asked Jackson raising the seat so he could see over the instrument panel.

"Every chance I get."

"Sounds like this could get serious," Jerry squatted between the two pilot's seats.

"It could." Ben continued tapping the gauge till it swung to three-quarters of a tank.

"I thought you were the one who would never get serious."

"That's the great part. I can get as serious as I want. Three weeks from now we ship out and I get the lay of my life as a farewell gift," Ben schemed.

"You are playing with fire, bud," Jerry warned standing to watch a boat lower a diver into the water, "One of these women will track you down and poof, you'll be setting up shop in one of those little two bedroom houses over in Imperial Beach."

"They'll never catch the fox," Ben assured.

"Yeah, right," scoffed Jerry, "Right now I'm picturing a foxes tail tied to the radio antenna of a station wagon heading for the commissary. You want anything in your coffee?"

"A little sugar to remind me of the gymnast."

"You're so sad." Jerry edged past the navigator's station and stopped to examine the tactical display console, "Wow, Clarke, you've been busy. I've never seen so many contacts. Are the subs leaving at the same time?"

"I think these are all false hits by the magnetic gear. The skipper took some spooks for a ride in this plane last week. The MAD gear hasn't been the same since."

Jerry shook his head, in passing slapped the shoulder of the plane captain and stopped at the gimbaled coffeepot. While filling two cups he asked the ASW operator, "What kind of crap are you feeding up to the TACCO?"

"The gain is just way off," said the tech, "Look! The MAD gear picked up the engines in that damn wooden boat towing the target."

"Hmmm. I wonder if that would help me hit the target?" Jerry asked.

"It would help you hit the boat," said the tech.

"That's the one thing we will not be doing today."

Noticing the intent look on the radio operator's face Jerry took a few more steps back and asked, "Radio Moscow?"

"Some ham guy in Spokane reciting Shakespeare."

Jerry took the pro-offered headset long enough for a quick sonnet, "Ben needs this coffee before he falls asleep at the yoke."

The radio operator shrugged and returned to the bard. Jerry retraced his path down the flight deck and carefully balanced the coffee cups while climbing the short ladder to the pilot compartment.

"You ready to miss another target?" said Ben taking in the rich aroma that comes only from coffee made in Navy pots that have never been cleaned.

"I got the target, I just missed that stupid drop point," said Jerry passing off a cup and standing aside while Jackson slipped out of the seat.

Jerry tried to sit down, but banged his head on the ceiling, "You were only here for two minutes, Jackson, did you have to mess with the seat?"

"What good is the seat if I can't see out the windows?"

"That's what you get for being five eight."

"That knot on your head is what you get for being six three."

"I think I should wear my helmet all the time instead of just at take-off." Jerry rubbed his head.

"That would save us the glare off that blond hair of yours," said Ben, "Grownups shouldn't have hair that blond."

"Women have blond hair all the time," said Jerry.

"They get it from a bottle," said Ben, "That's what I mean. It just ain't natural."

"You guys awake," the radio squawked.

"You sure your swimmer doesn't want to take a few more laps," said Jerry tightening his straps.

"Maybe later. Let me get up to speed so that rattle I'm towing can make enough noise to attract your torpedo."

* * *

Pete Cardinal set the throttles for fifteen knots. The seaplane came in low from the west. The torpedo splashed into the water. Cardinal shrugged. The smoke pot again dodged the bullet. Phillips confirmed the dummy weapon was running toward the target.

"You'll have to shoot straighter than that if you want to ride with me," Cardinal joked.

"Who am I talking to, John Wayne?" questioned Jerry.

Pete Cardinal could only smile. Everyone said he sounded just like John Wayne on the radio. People who had never seen him before were often surprised to meet a six-foot tall lieutenant junior grade rather than a six-four Admiral.

"You got the Duke," Cardinal returned, "Release a little later next time, pilgrim. You were short, but remember I said a little later. I don't want you putting a fish up my ass."

* * *

"How was the surfing this morning?" asked Ben watching the air bag pop to the surface.

"It was a bit calm today," said Jerry banking to starboard, "It was hardly worth going out if it weren't for the fact that it's always worth going out."...