Knowing about the arresting hook system on carriers and the old adage that "Navy pilots do not land, they arrive," I understood the young officer's meaning.  Because of this abrupt landing no personal luggage is carried on your person or under your seat.  The Lt. also described the intended right break landing (45-60° bank) pattern approach at 1200' to wheels to the deck where we would come to a stop in less than 400 feet.  If IFR and the ceiling is less than 250, Lt. Sladsky said we would head for the shore because 250 feet is the decision height for the carrier's ILS due to the pitching and rolling of the decks.  A low fuel state or "bingo" as it is called would also send us to the shore.  Finally, the Lt. concluded by telling us that after landing we were to depart the COD promptly as instructed and not stop to take pictures as doing so could present a danger to us and to Navy personnel.  He did promise there would be plenty of time for pictures later and he was right.

Having completed the ground briefings, each of our group was handed a set of foam earplugs and escorted out of the terminal to our waiting chariot COD, a C-2A Greyhound.  Made by Grumman Aerospace Corporation at a unit cost of just under $39 million, its two Allison T-56-A-425 turboprop (PT-6) engines each produce 4600 shaft horsepower which provide for a 300 knot cruising speed, a 30,000 foot service ceiling and a range of 1300 miles.  This aircraft can deliver a payload of up to 10,000 pounds and easily accommodate up to 26 passengers or a combination of passengers and cargo.

We boarded the C-2 from its large aft cargo ramp and door.  Although this door's powered winch allows straight in rear cargo loading and downloading for a fast turnaround, we loaded our bags in a "fire bucket brigade" fashion at the instruction of 2 of the C-2 crew of 4.  We also loaded several sacks of mail.  With the right engine running and the cargo and mail secured, we boarded along with other Navy personnel who were returning to ship.  The passenger seats in the COD all face the rear and are divided in 2 rows of three seats.  It was quite cramped to say the least.  Once seated and securely strapped in, one can only see the three high back seats directly in front of you and the others in your row.  It is dark inside the COD as there are only 2 small circular windows at the most aft seats.  Indeed, after the cargo door was closed I felt more like  I was in a submarine than an airplane because you couldn't see a thing.

Our flight crew began yet another briefing which included float coats, emergency overhead exits, bingo fuel states, seat belts and shoulder straps, cranials (helmets without earphones or microphone), goggles, and our trap (landing) positions, i.e., arms crossed holding on to your shoulder straps with feet flat on the floor and our head down.  This briefing started and finished during our taxi period, and interestingly, it was all done by yelling very loud without the aid of earphones or a public address system.

Top photo depicts the before, while the Bottom photo shows the after. All that is missing is the wind and the sound

It is a regular practice after a series of takeoffs and landing for crew members to walk together across the entire deck looking for FOD that might be ingested into a jet engine.

The takeoff roll lasted 20 seconds and I couldn't help but notice that the COD had a great deal of rudder authority and climb power.  I also couldn't help but notice that all the Navy personnel were soon asleep and all of us civilians were wide awake.  Although the flight was clearly a no frills type (no peanuts, no cokes, no water, no pilot announcements, no movie, no window, no headsets) it was a thrilling one for us visitors.

The COD leveled at its cruise altitude and the flight there was smooth.  Our cabin pressure was 4000 feet.  I was thankful for the foam earplugs which helped lessen the constant drone of the engines.  I wanted to talk to the Navy personnel next to me about life on a carrier, but the loud engine noise and earplugs made it impossible to do absent yelling.  Accordingly, I came to understand why the regulars slept.

With 45 minutes to go to arrival time, the crew passed out the cranials and goggles and then began our 5th briefing.  We were loudly informed that about 25 miles out from the Truman that we were to dawn the cranial, goggles and tighten our seat belts and shoulder harnesses.  The trap briefing concluded that a crewman would wave his arm 3 to 5 seconds before the trap and it was then that we were to assume the trap position.

During our decent, about 5 minutes to trap time, the crew signaled us to put on our cranials and goggles.  It was noticeably more quiet with the cranial on.  Moreover, no one was asleep anymore and all were active in their seats.  One could sense a high level of energy from all those on board and it was clear that there was no fear, but rather, a feeling of exhilaration that permeated the COD.  Being blind in our nearly darkened passenger compartment, I could only imagine the two pilots' adrenaline levels going up as they approached our deck landing.  I pictured their view of our final approach to the waiting arresting wires while at all times considering the wind, the pitching and rolling deck, the ship's forward speed, and the "bolt" (go around) if necessary.

My day dreaming of the approach was then interrupted by the real thing when the COD made a hard bank and was followed by another hard bank to wings level.  The next instant the 3 to 5 second trap warning wave was given and "bam", we were trapped.  The jolt was indeed exciting.  It was only after being yanked to a stop that the engines were idled.

Rescue helicopters are launched before any landings or takeoffs just in case they are needed.

Within seconds the rear cargo door was lowered and helmeted deck hands wearing float coats entered the COD and assisted us out and across the deck to the Island which is the structure that towers above the flight deck.  We did not take our bags because we were told that they would be delivered to us later.  Walking across the deck and looking back at our COD, I was surprised to see that its wings were already folded back to make space on the landing deck.

Our deck handler guides chaperoned us  into a medical emergency room (Aux. BDS) at the base of the Island where we were greeted by no less than the ship's Executive Officer (XO), Commander J.R. Haley.  The XO briefed us on the location and use of the E.E.B.D. (emergency escape breathing device) in case we experienced a fire or smoke while on board.  We also learned that this flight deck emergency room was used any time a deck injury occurred because it was sometimes medically more expedient to bring a doctor to the patient than bring the patient to the doctor.

With more than 3400 flight hours, more than 1000 arrested landings, and having served on the carriers USS Carl Vinson (CVN 70), USS Ranger (CV 61)(including combat in Operation Desert Storm), and the USS Independence (CV 62), the XO was a naval aviator's aviator who spoke with a great deal of professionalism, knowledge, confidence and good manners.  His remark to us that everyday carrier life was both  interesting and dangerous, was one we all committed to memory and were soon to learn for ourselves.

Although the XO's briefing was short, it none the less was comprehensive.  We learned that construction started on the Truman in April of 1989, it was not launched until September 1996, and was not commissioned until July of 1998.  The size of the Truman is staggering.  It is 1,096 feet long, which is almost as long as the Empire State Building is high.  The height from the waterline to the mast is 20 stories and the width is 251 feet at its widest point - the flight deck area is 4.5 acres.  She displaces 97,000 tons of water and can exceed 30 knots.  Each of Truman's anchors weigh 30 tons.