Research and Development Centre, The Pentagon - Washington. February 25th, 2030.
The room was windowless and cold. A strip of fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead as a dozen officers and engineers gathered around the room’s many design tables, their faces pale blue in the light of the touchscreen displays. On the main screen, a wireframe of the F-35C rotated slowly beside a set of red-inked payload charts. The numbers weren’t encouraging.
Commander Spencer-Ray tapped a stylus against his screen. “Look, I don’t care how stealthy it is. The Lightning can’t carry the damn load. We’ve hit weight, range, and sortie rate limits again. You want deep penetration strikes? Great. You want to knock out an entire island group’s air defence grid? You need more metal in the air.”
A civilian analyst — lanky, late thirties, unshaven — leaned forward. “Stealth is a proven concept Commander, it works.”
“Sure, stealth’s great until it comes at the cost of actual firepower. We’re talking four JDAMs, maybe six if you go semi-stealthy. That’s not going to cut it when you’re facing hardened targets and mobile batteries.” Spencer-Ray stated flatly. “But that’s not what we’re here for, NGAD is tanking, and the Hornets are reaching the end of their service life. We’re here to find their replacement and it’s not the F-35.”
From the back of the room, a grey-haired man coughed. Charles McKay — a retired McDonnell Douglas engineer, brought in as a consultant for the NGAD fallout — crossed his arms.
“You know... we pitched this before. Back in ’76. McDonnell Douglas made a serious push to navalise the F-15. It could outrun and outfight anything in the air. Hell, it had the legs to go twice as far as the Tomcat.” He paused. “But steam cats killed it. Too rough on the front gear. No folding wings either. Navy didn’t want to fund a second carrier fighter. So it died on the vine.”
There was a long silence.
Then a younger engineer — Nguyen, fresh off a stint with the EMALS testing crew at Lakehurst — looked up. “That was before EMALS.”
Eyes turned to him. Spencer-Ray frowned. “Go on.”
Nguyen stood, calling up a diagram of the Electromagnetic Aircraft Launch System.
“Steam hits like a hammer. EMALS? It’s a scalpel. Smooth acceleration, programmable load curves. You don’t need to overbuild the front end. We could fly something the size of a Strike Eagle from a carrier without pulling it apart.”
Charles McKay raised an eyebrow. “Still got the corrosion problem. And wing fold?”
“Funnily enough, that’s already in the F-15EX’s roadmap,” Nguyen replied, warming to the topic. “We’ve got modular avionics, strengthened mains. The EX is already built like a flying tank. Add a corrosion-hardened skin, folding outer panels past the weapon stations, and a proper tailhook assembly—we’d have a naval strike platform ready in months, not years.”
Spencer-Ray leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about building a new naval strike aircraft... using something we already have in production. Something that can carry Hypersonics, HARMs, standoff cruise missiles—”
“And fuel to burn,” said McKay. “It’d eat the Super Hornet’s lunch and then come back for dessert.”
On the screen, Nguyen tapped out a new title: F-15N BLOCK I – SEA EAGLE CONVERSION STUDY
***
The Pentagon, Office of the Secretary of defence - Washington, April 2040.
The room was thick with tension. Craig Du Plessis, Deputy Prime Minister of New Zealand and the Minister for Defence Production, sat at the end of the long oak table, flanked by New Zealand''s Ambassador to the U.S., Catherine Paterson. He had flown in especially for this meeting. Across from him, Linda Caldwell, the U.S. Secretary of Defence, sat stone-faced, flanked by General Philip Montgomery, the U.S. Chief of Defence Force, and several aides. The weight of the conversation was almost palpable.
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Craig,” Caldwell began, her voice steady but firm. “Our situation has changed. The global demand for F-35s has outstripped our ability to meet it. We have commitments to our own forces, to NATO, and to our regional allies. We simply can''t afford to divert any more to New Zealand at this time, or Australia for that matter.”
Du Plessis’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep his cool. “I understand the situation, Secretary. But you’re aware of our predicament. The new carrier, Ranginui, is nearly ready, and we’re short on the aircraft to make it operational. The air group we’ve assembled isn’t enough. We’ve placed orders for more F-35Cs, and we’ve paid for them, we need them—now.”
“I’m not here to make promises I can’t keep,” Caldwell replied, crossing her arms. “As for the F-35s you’re asking for, there’s just no production capacity left to fulfil your order—not in a timely manner, anyway. We’re taking losses too and our own forces are struggling to get their full allocation. And with the state of things right now, we can’t just pull from our own fleet.”
Du Plessis’s voice remained even, though frustration was creeping in. “So what are you suggesting? That we sit on our hands while our fleet sits empty? We’ve committed a lot of resources to this. The Ranginui was meant to bolster regional security, and you know how important it is for us to maintain a strong deterrent in the Pacific.”
Caldwell paused, then gave a slight nod to General Montgomery. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“Mr Deputy Prime Minister, we understand the urgency, we’ve already offered to lend you the Lincoln air group to stop gap you for now, but as Secretary Caldwell said, it’s not just a matter of giving you what you want. It’s a matter of meeting commitments to our own national security. But,” he continued, a bit more cautiously, “we do have another option we’ve been exploring for ourselves. It’s not ideal, but it could work for your needs, if you''re willing to consider it.”
Du Plessis raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
General Montgomery exchanged a look with Caldwell, then nodded. “What if we could provide you with the plans for a navalised version of the F-15EX? We’ve been developing it off and on, for most of the last decade, for our own carrier operations—more robust than the Hornet, a lot of potential. It’s not the F-35C, but it could fill the gap until we can meet your F-35 order.”
“A naval variant of the F-15, is that even possible?” Du Plessis asked, incredulity in his voice. “That’s not exactly what we were planning for. We’re talking about advanced stealth capabilities here, not a heavy hitter from the past.”
Caldwell leaned forward slightly, her tone softening but still serious. “It’s more than that Craig. The F-15EX has been revamped for a new generation of warfare, you know this, you already have them in your air force, Jesus, you make them locally for Christ’s sake! With the new systems we’ve integrated for naval use, it’s capable of some incredible things, the model we’ve been working on is designed specifically to operate off of carrier decks. It’s not just another fighter—it’s a proven platform with modernized systems.”
Du Plessis glanced over at Paterson, who had remained silent up until now. She gave him a small nod, but he could see the scepticism in her eyes. She wadn’t buying it. Neither was he.
“I’m not interested in a stopgap, Linda. We need real capability, now. We’ve been patient with this process, but we’re leading the charge here and I don’t see how a retrofitted fighter no matter how good it is, is going to replace the cutting-edge technology we need to defend our waters.”
Montgomery held up a hand. “Hold on. I’m not saying the F-15EX/N is a direct replacement for the F-35. What I’m offering is a compromise. The aircraft is ready to go, and we can offer you the rights to it. We’ve been working on the design for years, but the reality is, it just wasn’t going to fit into our own needs with our own timeline. If you can make it work, you can take it and run with it—complete ownership of the modifications and the future production.”
Caldwell added, “And in return, we’d provide you with the first batch at a significantly reduced cost—given that we can’t fulfil your F-35 order in the time you’re asking for.”
Du Plessis thought for a moment, weighing the offer. His fingers drummed on the edge of the table, he was a savvy operator himself, a career politician, he knew a shine job when he saw one, and he could read between the lines. What the American’s were telling him was that they couldn’t supply any more F-35s, their industrial base, which had been declining for years simply could no longer cope. They were unlikely to see any F-35s in the near or maybe even the distant future.
But he had to admit, the F-15 idea did have merit. The Air Force couldn’t say enough good things about them. Maybe they could make this work, and a locally produced variant, could lead to overseas sales, or at the very least, a shorter replacement time if they took loses. In making this offer, the American’s were trying to save face here. But he still felt like he had to make them work for it, he couldn’t just roll over easy.
“So, you’re essentially asking us to take on an aircraft that’s still experimental in terms of its carrier operations, and in exchange, we get a promise that the F-35 deal will eventually go through?”
“It’s not ideal,” Caldwell admitted, “but it’s the best we can do. We’re not leaving you empty-handed, Craig. We’re offering you a proven platform that can integrate into your carrier operations immediately. And the intellectual property—the right to produce the aircraft domestically—will give you long-term security.”
Du Plessis met her gaze. He exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Alright, we’ll take it. But I need a timeline. How quickly can we get these F-15EX/Ns up and running?”
“Within six months,” Montgomery answered without hesitation. “Maybe quicker if you apply the adjustments to airframes already in production. You’ll have the first batch. And we’ll make sure you’re ready to integrate them into your operations. We’ll help with training, we’ll support the program.”
Du Plessis glanced at Paterson again, who nodded this time, her expression unreadable.
“Fine. But I want a guarantee that our F-35 order will be prioritized once production ramps up. We’ll need those to complete the fleet.”
“You have my word,” Caldwell said, offering her hand.
Du Plessis shook it firmly. “We’ll make it work. But don’t think this deal is over yet. You’ll be hearing from us.”
As he stood and left the room, the weight of the decision settled over him. The deal was struck, but the true challenge was just beginning.
Outside the office, as the two New Zealanders walked towards the car that would take them away. Du Plessis turned to Paterson. “I guess it’s true, Rome really has fallen, and the enemies are at the gates.”
“Let’s just hope we can weather that storm.” She replied.
***
Boeing Plant – Hamilton. June 30th, 10:20 LT
Craig Du Plessis was no stranger to factory visits as the Minister for Defence Production— ribbon cuttings, photo ops, and handshakes with machinists were part of the job. But this felt different, it felt like he was coming home.
The Boeing plant in Hamilton hummed with energy. Overhead, gantries moved with a kind of graceful precision, carrying parts of massive airframes that gleamed under strip lighting. Beneath one scaffolded fuselage, the matte grey of the RNZN paint scheme shimmered in the sunlight. On the tail fin in block letters, the word ‘NAVY’ — stylized beneath a proud, sweeping Haast Eagle in flight. The first of the new Sea Eagles.
“She’s a beast,” Du Plessis muttered, almost to himself.
At his side, Ari Cohen-Tait, Boeing Defence NZ’s chief airframe engineer for the program, nodded. “She’s built to launch from carriers, Minister. That wasn’t easy. We had to throw out a lot of assumptions.”
Du Plessis raised an eyebrow. “How much is new?”
“The bones are still EX,” Ari said, leading him down the production line. “But we reinforced the mains, swapped in a lattice-structured tailhook and arrestor frame, redesigned the nose strut with dual dampeners for EMALS compatibility. Reinforced the main gear for carrier landings and added a retractable fuelling probe to mesh our UAV refuellers. Most importantly — folding wings, outer section only, past the pylons.”
Du Plessis ducked under a fuselage strut, taking it in. “And the corrosion?”
“Double-sealed avionics bays, hydrophobic nano-coat on internals, marine-grade composite fittings. The air force boys wouldn’t recognise her anymore. She’s the navy’s now.”
“Did you have much trouble adapting the line for the different build?” Du Plessis asked.
“One or two, but nothing major, the Americans have really stepped up to help us out, technicians, engineers, CAD designers and plant foremen all flew out with the first six birds. They even brought with them a ton of spare parts, like the strengthened landing struts.” Ari replied, he took a breath while the Deputy prime minister knelt to run his hand over one of the reinforced landing struts. “They really have made the whole process immeasurably easier.”
Stolen story; please report.
Ari smiled as Du Plessis stood and wiped his hand on his trouser leg, once a pilot, always a pilot. “With the head start they’ve given us, technical specifications, designs, and Airbus New Zealand Ltd out of Blenheim, reverse engineering the parts we don’t already have, we can certainly make everything locally. That will cut down on supply chain and downtime issues.”
Several minutes later, they approached the main production area where the assembly lines moved with precision. “The whole process is streamlined here—local parts and systems, all made in New Zealand. We’ve got robotics and automation in place to keep things efficient. We learnt a lot from Project Kahu in the 80’s and some of that knowledge and experience is still available to us.”
Ari and Du Plessis both ducked under a folded wing, to avoid an oncoming trolley loaded with avionics, bound for the finishing room.
“From the first frame to the final touches,” Ari continued, after the trolley was well ahead of them. “This aircraft has been designed, built, and tested in less than half the time it would have taken a few years ago. The engines, avionics, and structure are all sourced locally under license, and the entire production is geared for speed without sacrificing quality.”
They stopped before the first completed aircraft. The canopy was open, cockpit systems live, and a technician ran final checks through a helmet-mounted interface.
Du Plessis smiled. “And she flies?”
Ari grinned. “Like a brick shithouse on afterburners.”
“What about the extra weight?” Du Plessis queried, running his hand along the nose of the aircraft. He was eyeing the retractable ladder with a sense of longing he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “How does it affect the performance?”
“Negligible, if we were running steam catapults the story would be very different, but with the less aggressive electromagnetic system on our carriers, the extra weight isn’t a dealbreaker.” Ari smiled when Du Plessis reached for the ladder and started to climb. “We did have to remove some of the hardpoints for efficiency, so it’s not quite the same as the Air Force version — but performance, range, and speed are unchanged.”
Du Plessis looked around inside the glass cockpit, running very out of practice eyes over the displays. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie compared to the old Mirages and Grippens he flew as a young man. The seat still felt the same though, as he eased himself into it. Ari had followed him up the ladder.
“What’s that suite on the right display?” he asked, tapping the edge of the touchscreen.
“That’s the EPAWSS,” Ari said. “Electronic warfare package. Threat detection, jamming, spoofing, cyber-resilience — real cutting-edge stuff. Spoofs enemy radars, It sees them coming before they even know what to look for.”
Du Plessis let out a low whistle. “That’s not just survivability. That’s… dominance.”
Ari nodded. “Exactly. It’s the reason we think she’ll come back from missions no other aircraft could walk away from.”
Du Plessis Smiled. “When can I see it fly?”
***
Test Flight/Proving Range, Boeing Plant – Hamilton. June 30th, 11:30 LT
The low growl of the twin General Electric F110-GE-129 afterburning turbofan engines echoed across the tarmac like distant thunder. From the control tower, Ari Cohen-Tait and Craig Du Plessis watched as the F-15EX/N Sea Eagle prototype — tail number NZ-001 — rolled into position at the edge of the test strip. Its canopy was shut, control surfaces twitching through pre-flight diagnostics, the full glass glowing a faint green inside the cockpit.
The test pilot today was Lieutenant Commander Riley “Smoke” Anders, a US Navy exchange pilot attached to the EX/N test program. Years in Hornets and Super Hornets had made him one of the Navy’s best carrier jocks. Now, New Zealand was borrowing his expertise.
“Tower, Sea Eagle One. Spooling up. Standing by for clearance.”
Ari keyed the mic. “Sea Eagle One, tower copies. You’re clear for launch. Winds light and variable. Happy hunting, Smoke.”
“Roger that. Lighting the fires.”
The engines surged with a roar that shook the glass. Twin plumes of fire spouting from the rear. A moment later, the Sea Eagle thundered down the test strip, afterburners kicking in with a sharp crack. In what seemed like too short a distance, the grey-blue streak lifted off cleanly, nose up, gear folding away with crisp mechanical grace. The aircraft climbed hard into the cloudless sky, banking west toward Pirongia Forest Park.
Du Plessis exhaled through a grin. “Goddamn, she looks good in the air!”
Ari chuckled. “If you liked that, watch this.” He leaned over and thumbed the mic, “Eagle One, you are cleared to enter test area.”
“Sea Eagle One, entering test airspace,” Smoke called, his voice calm over comms.
He levelled off at twenty-five thousand feet, then pulled into a hard climbing turn — testing g-tolerance and thrust vectoring. The Sea Eagle responded like a dream, no shudder, no hesitation.
“She climbs like a homesick angel,” Smoke muttered, mostly to himself.
He nosed down, accelerating past Mach 1.2, then pulled into a knife-edge pass along the ridgeline. Below him, the dense greens of Pirongia blurred into streaks of motion. Trees gave way to craggy cliffs and tight valleys — a perfect playground.
He dropped to two hundred feet AGL, hugging the contours of the land. The terrain-following radar pinged and adjusted his flight path in real time. Through the canopy, the forest whipped past in a green blur. He rolled inverted, snapped into a high-G barrel roll, then punched through a narrow saddle between two peaks like he was threading a needle.
“Holy shit,” Du Plessis muttered, eyes flicking between watching the action on the follow cameras positioned throughout the test range and watching the radar screen jump. “He’s nuts.”
Ari grinned. “He’s Smoke.”
Back in the air, Smoke pulled vertical again, climbing into the upper test ceiling before flattening out. He tested the roll rate at high altitude, then flipped into a cobra maneuver — the nose pitching up to stall, then settling smoothly as the fly-by-wire system took over.
The EPAWSS lit up briefly, simulating an inbound radar lock from a mock adversary site buried in the bush.
“Nice try,” Smoke muttered, flicking the jammer on. A moment later, the threat signature vanished from his scope, and the Sea Eagle vanished from the tower’s radar.
Du Plessis looked at the screen in awe. “What the fuck… how the hell did he do that? I mean, I knew they were good, but that’s insane!”
“He spoofed it,” Ari confirmed, pointing to the console. “EPAWSS kicked in, masked the whole bird. That’s the future right there.”
Du Plessis glanced over. “Walk me through it.”
Ari leaned in slightly, eyes on the screen. “EPAWSS — Eagle Passive Active Warning and Survivability System. It’s not just jammers. It’s a fully integrated electronic warfare brain. Detects threats across the EM spectrum, analyses them in real-time, then decides how to respond — noise jamming, deceptive signal returns, even cyber-spoofing. It can bounce a radar ping back with a false range and heading or ghost the aircraft entirely.”
Du Plessis blinked. “So it doesn’t just hide the jet. It lies about it.”
“Exactly. The F-22s and the F-35s are all about angles and deflecting radar, so are the foreign knockoffs. What EPAWSS does is convince you it was never there in the first place. It sends the enemy’s missiles chasing shadows. And it’s learning — every flight, every simulated lock, every engagement scenario we throw at it, it gets smarter.”
Du Plessis folded his arms, still watching the radar. “I want to see it from the back seat.”
Ari eyed him closely, eyebrows raised. “I thought you might.” He then turned to the flight controller. “Call Smoke back to the strip. He’s gonna get a passenger.”
***
Boeing Plant – Hamilton. Flight Ops Locker Room. June 30th, 12:05 LT
Craig Du Plessis stood in front of the mirror, wrestling with a G-suit that had clearly seen better days — and slimmer pilots.
“I used to fit into these things,” he muttered, giving the waistband an aggressive tug. It gave a little, but not enough.
Ari Cohen-Tait smirked from where he leaned against a locker, arms folded. “They shrink in storage. Happens all the time.”
“Yeah, sure they do,” Du Plessis grunted. He finally got the zip up, stomach protesting slightly. “Jesus. Ten years ago, this was second skin. Now I feel like a sausage in a Kevlar wrapper.”
From the far side of the room came a deep chuckle. Lieutenant Commander Riley “Smoke” Anders was still in his flight gear, glancing over with the ease of a man who lived in his suit. “Don’t worry, Minister. Gs don’t care what you had for breakfast. They’re equal-opportunity bastards.”
Du Plessis gave him a wry look. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
They moved into the pre-flight bay, where a tech handed out helmets and adjusted straps. A junior officer stepped forward with a clipboard. “Alright, sir, before we strap you in, I’m required to brief you on the risks—”
Du Plessis cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Save the speech. I flew Mirages with the South African Air Force. If I’m going to die in a fast jet, I’d prefer it be a beautiful one.”
Smoke raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “No shit? Mirage F1s?”
Du Plessis nodded. “Early-model Gripens, too. Before I traded afterburners for Parliament.”
Smoke grinned. “Well damn, Minister. In that case… welcome back.”
“Call me Craig.’ He replied with a small grin.
***
Cockpit, Sea Eagle NZ-001– Hamilton. June 30th, 12:25 LT
The canopy hissed shut with a smooth whine and a soft click, sealing them in. Du Plessis settled into the back seat, helmet secured, suit plugged into life support, locking pins for the ejector seat removed and stowed. He watched as the cockpit displays came to life — everything digital, seamless, like his son’s Xbox. Smoke’s hands moved across the controls with the ease of repetition.
“Sea Eagle One, this is tower. You are clear for take-off. Wind is unchanged. Test airspace reserved.”
“Copy that tower,” Smoke replied, voice calm, hand pushing the throttles forward. “Sea Eagle One, rolling.”
The engines lit up like a controlled explosion. Du Plessis felt the Gs hit even before they were airborne — a low, eager shove into the back of his seat. Then the wheels left the earth, and the jet arced skyward like a missile.
“Still miss this?” Smoke asked over comms.
Du Plessis barked a laugh. “I feel like I’m twenty-five and slightly invincible again.”
***
Airspace Over the Waikato Foothills. 12:35 LT
They cleared the test range and banked west again, this time climbing high over the bushline. Pirongia lay ahead — a blanket of forested ridges and valleys.
“Goddamn this country is beautiful!” Smoke muttered to himself, before clicking the intercom button, “You good with a few manoeuvres Craig?”
“Smoke,” Du Plessis said, tightening his harness, “I’m here for the full bloody ride.”
Smoke obliged. He rolled the Sea Eagle inverted and dropped into a controlled dive, levelling off just above the treetops.
“You remember how to clench?”
“I think so…”
“Clench!”
Du Plessis felt his heart thump, the ground a green blur beneath them. Then came a hard bank right, pulling through 5 Gs with a roar of the airframe.
“Christ!” Du Plessis wheezed, releasing the breath he had been holding, laughing as the strain hit his chest. “She handles like a hot damn!”
“Wait for it,” Smoke grinned.
They punched through a narrow gorge, terrain-following radar mapping the route. At nearly 700 knots, it felt like threading a needle with a scalpel. A warning flashed on their helmet visors with a simulated SAM lock — the EPAWSS kicked in instantly. With the full glass cockpit and integrated helmet, things like a HUD were well in the past. Then one after another, more radar sweeps appeared, searching for the Eagle.
Du Plessis watched in awe as one by one the threats vanished from the screens. “Still can’t get over that. I didn’t even feel it shift.”
“That’s the system doing the work. Think of it like an invisible RIO — constantly thinking, constantly reacting.”
They climbed again, arcing high into the sky. Smoke eased them into a controlled stall, then into a cobra manoeuvre — nose up, momentarily flying backwards, then snapping level again.
Du Plessis let out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed this.”
Smoke chuckled. “You’re handling it better than some of my back-seaters in the Navy.”
“Don’t tell Parliament. They’ll think I enjoyed myself.”
***
Return Approach, Boeing Plant – Hamilton. June 30th, 13:50 LT
Smoke brought the Sea Eagle into a smooth descent, swinging wide for a clean approach to the Hamilton test strip. The arrestor hook deployed with a quiet thunk. The test strip had been set up with a mock arrestor gear set up, to test the stresses on the air frame and landing gear, without having to take the aircraft over the water.
“Tell me what it’s like to land on a carrier?” Du Plessis asked.
Smoke smirked. “No horizon. Deck moving. It’s either a religion or a trauma. Sometimes both. It’s equal parts mind numbingly terrifying and balls to the wall exhilarating all at the same time!”
The wheels kissed the runway with a thump, hook catching the arrestor cable. The jet jerked to a stop, engines winding down, canopy rising as steam vented from the fuselage.
Du Plessis pulled off his helmet, sweat matting his hair, a wide grin plastered across his face. “That,” he said, “was bloody fantastic!”
Smoke looked back over his shoulder. “You’re welcome any time, sir.”
Du Plessis climbed down slowly, knees not quite what they used to be. Ari was waiting at the bottom of the ladder.
“Well?” he asked.
Du Plessis just smiled. “I like it. If they pass the next test, you have my vote!”
***
HMNZS Ranginui Flight Trials, Off the coast of Whangarei – Pacific Ocean. July 15th, 10:20 LT
It had taken just over eight weeks for the team at ‘Oceania at Northport’ to complete the fitting-out of HMNZS Ranginui. She was almost ready to deploy — though for now, she lacked an air wing. The remnants of the late USS Abraham Lincoln’s air group were still ferrying across from bases in Australia. They’d taken hard losses during the opening salvos, and rebuilding was slow.
Ranginui herself, however, was in the final throes of her own workups. Speed, engineering, and damage control drills had already been ticked off, many en route. The last week had focused on radar and weapons systems, with the Air Force lending a hand — flying mock attack runs to test her Aegis suite. She was now, as far as anyone could tell, about as certified as a warship could be.
It turned out to be fortuitous that the Navy had a fully operational but temporarily air-wing-less carrier on hand — because another new system needed testing. One that might just solve some pressing capability shortfalls.
***
The carrier’s deck was slick with salt spray, but the seas were mercifully calm. HMNZS Ranginui cut through the Pacific like a steel blade, her island bristling with antennas and eyes.
Craig Du Plessis stood beside Cmdr Daniel Keats, the Commander of Ranganui’s Air Operations department, known colloquially on board as ‘Wings’. The first of the shiny new F-15EX/N Sea Eagles had just come into view on the horizon, this was going to be a baptism of fire, a real make or break moment. The other four of the five ship flight were just now coming into view.
“Today’s script?” Du Plessis asked.
“Twenty cats, twenty traps. Full payloads, combat profiles. We push them hard, they push back — or they break, only time will tell.”
The two men watched as the big aircraft came into land, Du Plessis winced when the heavier landing gear hit the hard deck with an audible thump, he half expected the spars to snap, but they held firm. The hook grabbed, just as the pilot pushed the beast to full power, and the plane came to a sudden stop. The engines powered down to just above idle and the pilot followed the yellow shirt’s directions. The scene was repeated verbatim as the next four Sea Eagles made their first traps of the day.
“Who’s flying the first aircraft?” Du Plessis asked.
“An American,” Keats replied. “Callsign’s Smoke.”
Du Plessis smiled, recognizing the name.
Moments later the first aircraft was already taxiing up to the catapult. The catapult crew signalled ready. The launch bar lowered and locked into place. The jet blast deflector came up and after a few checks of the control surfaces, the Sea Eagle’s engines roared emitting two cones of superheated flame, then the launch officer dropped his arm and the Sea Eagle shot forward, leaving the deck and immediately rolling out, soaring skyward.
By this stage the next was in place. With a smooth, controlled blur of motion the second jet was also flung into the sky — no lurch, no jolt. Just speed, roll out and climb. The rest of the flight followed suit straight after.
Several minutes later, the flight had made a turn around the carrier and once again approached the stern, hooks deployed. Each one catching the third wire perfectly, the deck vibrating under the arresting load.
Du Plessis leaned over the deck railing, watching it all unfold. “Steam wouldn’t have been gentle enough, would it?”
Keats shook his head. “Would’ve torn her nose gear out probably. EMALS it what makes this possible Minister.”
By the end of the day, all tests were passed. Full-load launches. Bolters and arrested recoveries. The aircraft handled deck ops like it was born for it.
Sometime during the tests they had been joined by Rear Admiral Scott Hutchinson. He too was quietly impressed with the show. “Mal is going to love these!” He stated to the sea air.
The Deputy Prime Minister caught the remark and silently agreed with the Admiral. The F-15EX/N Sea Eagle was going to be a game changer, not just for the navy, but the country as a whole, especially if they could prove their worth.
Du Plessis watched the last Eagle taxi to its chocks, wings folding automatically. He pulled off his cranial and gestured to the ship’s comms officer.
“Get me Wellington,” he said.