into conflict is a political decision, I’ll grant you that. But
micromanagement of targets will lose this conflict faster than anything
we can dream up on this ship.”
“Admiral, if I could just,” Bird Dog began desperately, seeing his
newfound career as a staff officer slip away.
“No, I don’t think so.” Batman shoved his chair away from the table
and stood. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but you have to
take the War College with a grain of salt. Out here, mister, your job
is to keep pilots from going into the water for no reason and to no
military advantage.
Try again and make sure you understand the difference between using
assets to achieve a desired result and muddling about in decisions way
above your pay grade.”
Batman looked around the room slowly, catching each officer’s eyes.
“All of you keep that in mind. This briefing is over.” Batman strode
quickly to the door of his private cabin as the other officers
scrambled to their feet in belated courtesy.
As the admiral’s cabin door slammed shut, the chief of staff turned to
Bird Dog and regarded him gravely. “In my office in five minutes.”
1100 Local (+5 GMT) Washington, D.C. Senator Williams, the junior
senator from Virginia, shook his head gravely. “Keith, you can’t live
in a vacuum. What happens down to the south has a big impact on
operations.”
He glanced across the table to see if the admiral was paying attention,
then he turned his attention to his meal. “People are starting to
talk the wrong people.”
Admiral Keith Loggins, deputy AIRPAC, gazed down at his Cobb salad in
disgust. “The hard-boiled eggs aren’t done all the way through. I
hate it when they do that.”
“Pay attention, damn it, I’m trying to help you earn that next star.”
Senator Williams’s voice was viciously sharp.
“I am paying attention. Can’t I do two things at once?
Besides, the idea of using an aviation mishap for political advantage
turns my stomach.”
Senator Williams sighed and pushed his plate away. “You didn’t tell
those pilots to get loaded on testosterone and do stupid stunts with
those aircraft, did you?”
“Of course not. We didn’t shoot down the civilian bird, and they’re
not playing Romper Room out there.” Admiral Loggins pointed his fork
at the senator. “That’s one thing you people have never understood.
We’re in a dangerous business out there, and there’s bound to be
mishaps. There’s no way to prevent them.”
“Reality makes damned poor politics. Listen, Keith, you ought to know
that by now. Everything has a slant to it, a twist, an angle. These
F-14s of yours and Hornets that keep falling out of the airwell, the
taxpayers start wondering what their tax dollars are going for. The
average Joe, the one who gets out and votes, starts asking me why he
can’t buy a new car and we can afford to replace your toys. It’s a
problem.”
“But not mine.”
“Not yet.” Senator Williams motioned to the steward.
“You got any of that pecan pie from yesterday left?”
“What do you mean, not yet?” Admiral Loggins said uneasily. With the
selection board for vice admiral meeting in only two months, this just
might make a difference. “I wasn’t at sea on that carrier; I wasn’t
commanding that squadron. I took my turn in the basket, and I survived
that tour. They can’t hold me responsible for those mishaps.”
“We most certainly can,” the senator replied as he watched the steward
walk away.
Admiral Loggins noted the shift in pronouns with growing
apprehension.
“Hey, wait a minute. . . .”
Senator Williams returned the gaze of the senior officer.
“I work for the people, Keith. And the sooner you learn that, the
better.”
Damn it, I wish he would stop calling me Keith. Nobody in this
building gets away with that. “Just what do you mean?”
“Just what I said. You’re deputy AIRPAC people are starting to wonder
why you’re not doing something about this.”
“Like what? Fly every flight myself? I spent twenty years in the
cockpit and I never had a mishap.”
“Like do something for God’s sake, Keith, exert a little leadership.”