Mark had started with the carrier’s communications shack. No joy. They wouldn’t let him near the door without the day’s password.
His next stop, after he’d washed off the worst of the soda, was Pri-Fly, perched high above the flight deck. He managed to sweet talk his way into the tower, since the Mini Boss on duty owed him. Jim wore a bright blue turtleneck with “Mini Boss” in six-inch letters across his back, and his attention was focused on the aircraft landing over the stern.
The Air Boss, in bright yellow with his own title stamped large, offered Mark only the briefest nod and then turned back to watch the deck. Between them they juggled the flight operations from Primary Flight. When they dropped from launching off two catapults to one, everybody eased down and Mark judged that was
