time he’d seen her, climbing into an aircraft. Her face at their
wedding, brilliantly radiant. And later. Tomboy in bed, the small,
voluptuous frame responding to his every touch, her passion rising to
meet and, exceed his. He shook his head, let his mind linger one last
time on the lush curves and smooth swells of her body, and
then”Tomboy?
You’re not pregnant, are you?” There was horror in the voice, as much
as he hated to have it there. If she were, and she hadn’t told him,
then flying this mission was perhaps the most foolhardy thing she had
ever done in her life. Her condition would require an evaluation by a
flight surgeon before she could remain in flight status.
“No, you idiot, of course I’m not pregnant. What in the world gave you
that idea?” Tomboy’s voice was lightly amused. “Jesus, Tombstone get
your head in the game.”
“Okay, I just wanted to never mind.” Now was not the time; then again,
there might never be a decent time to discuss it, not after the blunder
he’d just made with his new bride. “Where did you say that UAV was?”
“There.” Tomboy inserted a special target designator in his heads-up
display. “Our only chance to keep Batman from using the UAV is to go
after the target ourselves. You know that, I know that. Let’s get
moving.” Her crisp tone of voice brooked no argument.
Tombstone corrected his course and bore in on the Cuban naval base.
“Trouble,” Tomboy announced calmly. “Stoney, I’m getting targeting
indications from the carrier. I think they’re talking to our little
unmanned friend over there. Now if I see there it goes. It’s changing
course, Stoney, climbing, getting some altitude.”
“How far behind us is it?” he asked.
‘Ten miles now.”
He shook his head. Not enough time. Air distance, in this case,
though in the arcane geometry of the sky, time, and distance seemed to
merge into a single lethal pucker factor.
How much fuel did the UAV have left on board? Would it be able to
accelerate to a max cruising speed of Mach 3, or would it have to
choose a more fuel-efficient speed?
That depended on how long it had already been in the air, and whether
he’d be required to make any other moves to avoid detection. Two other
factors he didn’t know.
Damn it. Batman, you could have told me. It might have given me an
edge might even have talked me out of this last-ditch effort. As it
stands now, I have no choice about it.
If I can stop you from making a possible nuclear strike on Cuba, I have
to. The EMP-we’ll kill more of our own pilots than the Cubans can.
“You know, there’s one other possibility,” his backseater said. “This
UAV may not even be under Batman’s control.
Remember the arguments on installing that remote targeting and firing
option on the Arsenal ship? Sure, they would have needed some
cooperation from Arsenal to launch UAV, but what if all targeting and
deployment control is directly under JCS now? Arsenal may have some
relay communications gear or some other way to override, but I doubt
it. That’s what the politicos would have wanted direct control over
the missiles once they’re launched. That turns the whole carrier
battle group into just a remote control weapons launch platform,
doesn’t it? Next thing you know, they’ll be able to fly an F-14 off
the deck with the pilot sitting in it like a monkey. I don’t like this
one little bit.”
Tombstone considered the matter. “It’s possible, I suppose.” Even as
he admitted it. Tomboy’s explanation seemed more and more probable.
“If Batman’s not controlling it, you can bet he’ll be on the circuit
telling JCS we’re inbound on the target. Might make them abort the
launch.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Tomboy answered. “The hard way.”
0650 Local (+5 GMT) South of Cuba The water was almost blood
temperature. It soothed his strained muscles like a hot tub, coaxing
the pain and soreness out of his back and legs. Bird Dog gradually
relaxed into the flotation device, letting it carry his weight.
It was over now for him at least for this battle.