you would just bloody well invade, solve the whole matter once and for
all. Tiresome, this nattering back and forth. Ah, our food.” His
face brightened as he saw the waiter approach. “Famished, absolutely
famished.”
“What if we started giving you guidelines on how to resolve the Irish
question?” she said quickly before the waiter arrived. She was silent
while the waiter arranged her salmon salad in front of her, carefully
setting a small flask of vinaigrette at the left-hand side of her
plate. She waited until he’d left before continuing. “I suspect that
we’d suggest that you simply quit forcing the issue, withdraw your
troops, and let the status quo remain. Or even yield to Ireland.”
“Never. To both your solution and your intervention.” He looked up
from the neatly boiled stuffed flounder to shoot her a piercing gaze.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“But the Cuba question is much easier than that, isn’t it?”
Finally, she saw him give up. “You asked me for my advice, and I’ll
give you what I know. Europe will be most distraught. Do not count on
automatic support from all the Allies. Cuba is an important trading
partner to some, and there’s a large reservoir of anti-American
sentiment still fomenting about the Continent. The Cuban Missile
Crisis, all that sort of stuff. he dismissed it with an airy wave of
his hand. “mere recent history. Nothing to compare with many nations’
conflicts. You won’t find much sympathy there, not with U.S. weapons
still on European soil.”
“So what do we do?”
“Proceed very carefully. Very, very carefully, and play this very
close to the vest.” His expression suddenly turned somber. “It’s not
all that difficult to damage a warship, you know. Learned that in the
Falklands. Primitive mines and rusting diesel submarines are deuced
cheap solutions to a pesky little aircraft carrier or two. The last
thing the United States needs right now is international embarrassment
over a successful attack on one of her warships. Bear that in mind,
Sarah.”
The unexpected use of her first name jarred her for a moment, then she
assessed it for what it was a diplomatic exclamation point, a way of
insuring he had her total and complete attention, as well as conveying
the close and personal support the United States would always enjoy
from Great Britain. It was a familiarity that encompassed a
compliment, as well as an expression of trust. “Have you heard
anything?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
He shook his head. “I don’t need to.”
0955 Local (+5 GMT) USS Jefferson “Welcome aboard. Admiral,” Batman
said, taking two quick strides toward his old lead. “Good to see you
again, sir.”
Tombstone grasped the other man’s hand in a hard, warm grip. Life on
board the USS Jefferson looked like it was taking its toll on his old
wingman. A touch of gray, some lines around the corners of his eyes
that hadn’t been there a year earlier.
Still, the changes were more than physical; he could see it in Batman’s
eyes. There was a new air of security and determination, the kind of
command presence that only comes from single-handedly wielding the most
powerful assets in the United States military inventory.
Commanding the squadron now, that had been sheer pleasure. A chance to
finally shape a group of disparate people from an array of backgrounds
into a single fighting force. But command of a carrier group was
different, both in purpose and in its span of responsibility. Batman
would have had to make the same shift he had, from a tactical
perspective concentrating on fighter furballs and enemy weapons’
envelopes to a broader viewpoint. An operational viewpoint, one step
above and encompassing tactics. It was a tricky transition, and some
never made it. He’d known admirals who’d never gotten past that
tactical focus, never been able to successfully integrate tactics to
execute strategy, the heart of operational art.
And it was an art, not a science. It never would be, not as long as
wars were started by people and ended by them.
“We’ve set aside the V.I.P quarters for you,” Batman said carefully.
Tombstone felt Batman’s eyes searching his face for any sign of
disapproval. “Of course, my own quarters are always at your