sun 180 degrees offset from it. He yelped, slammed his eyelids down,
too late. The fiery incandescent ball seared his eyes, immediately
invoking a protective flood of tears. He dabbed at his eyes
ineffectually with one hand, wondering why it was taking so long to
die.
“You did it!” Tomboy’s voice was jubilant. “Damn it, Stoney, I don’t
believe it you hit the intercept dead-on.
That was the Sidewinder igniting, not the missile those poor suckers on
the ground below,” she finished, suddenly quiet. “Shit, I hate to see
what happens to anything underneath those two.”
“It didn’t detonate,” Tombstone said wonderingly. “I thought it might”
“It was a chance we took,” Tomboy said quietly. “You made the right
decision. Again.”
Tombstone drew a deep, shuddering breath, suddenly filled with a joyous
exhilaration. He was alive, still alive he’d just faced down the
deadliest weapon known to mankind and survived. After this little
encounter, the Cuban command and control center would be a piece of
cake.
“Come on, shipmatewe’ve got a mission to finish.”
0705 Local (+5 GMT) Washington, D.C. “Lost video,” the lieutenant
commander manning the weapons tracking console announced. He glanced
uneasily at the two civilians and the one admiral standing next to the
command console. He hadn’t tried to overhear. God knew he hadn’t.
But duty inside this war-fighting center of the most powerful nation in
the world occasionally made him privy to discussions that no lieutenant
commander should ever hear. So far above his pay grade that he
couldn’t even begin to breathe in the rarefied air of power filling the
unexpectedly small compartment. Would he survive this tour? He shook
his head, not knowing. Junior officers who happened to overhear
discussions not intended for their ears sometimes found themselves with
an immediate, high priority posting to a billet as fuel officer in
Adak, Alaska, there to languish out a three-year tour waiting to be
passed over for promotion. No one ever said it, but there were ways
that the admirals and generals had of communicating their desires to
the promotion boards.
A flurry of angry shouts and enunciations filled the air behind him.
The lieutenant commander hunched down behind his console, desperately
wishing he were somewhere else.
Finally, it was over. He heard feet moving rapidly behind him, a
harsh, barked order from a Marine sentry, then silence. One set of
footsteps started toward him, paused, and finished the short trip over
to stand behind him. He didn’t dare look up.
A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed it reassuringly; then a
familiar voice said, “Son, none of this happened today. You understand
that?”
The lieutenant commander nodded. “Yes, Admiral Loggins. Nothing
happened.”
“Look at me.”
It was definitely an order, and the lieutenant commander obeyed. He
tore his eyes away from the green spikes and blips still streaking
across his console and gazed into the hard, craggy face of Admiral
Loggins. Senator Dailey was standing two paces behind the admiral,
looking grim. His urge to jump to his feet was almost overwhelming.
“You just saw me keep faith with an entire battle group out there on
the front line,” Admiral Loggins said. His voice was soft and
ragged.
“I know what you’re worried about hell, I sat in that chair when I was
a lieutenant commander.
For the record and I have a witness,” he said, nodding at Senator
Dailey, “I take full responsibility for the actions that took place
here. You understand?”
The lieutenant commander struggled to find his voice.
“Yes, Admiral. Although,” he dared, “nothing happened today. I’m sure
I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about.”
The admiral’s face cracked into a small grin. “I didn’t think you
would.”
“Some things never change, do they?” Senator Dailey added. He shifted
his gaze to the admiral. “Still build ’em like they did when I was in
the Navy. Admiral, I see a lot of potential in this man. I think I’ll
be taking a personal interest in his career from now on. You hear
that, son?” the senator queried the young officer.
The poor lieutenant commander struggled to find his breath. One wrong
move, the wrong interpretation, and “Quit messing with him, Tom,” the