painkillers the corpsman kept handing him. For the first time, he
noticed the grease and grime covering his khakis, evidence of the
damage control battle that had been fought here the day before. “Guess
I should have worn coveralls.” The logistical problems of trying to
get them over the splint would have baffled him.
The chief engineer followed his gaze to look at the spots, then dropped
his gaze lower down to the splinted leg, the khaki pants hanging in
shreds. “I could have reminded you, Captain.”
The captain shook his head. “No.” He glanced back up at the chief
engineer. “I’ve already been reminded enough of the basics today.”
1345 Local (+5 GMT) USS Jefferson Tombstone hung up the receiver after
taking the Arsenal CO’s report. His eyes met Batman’s across the
table, and he smiled slightly.
Batman nodded. Not many of Tombstone’s staff members would have
believed it, but he himself had seen the somber admiral smile on several
occasions. This was one of them.
“Sounds like the man’s got his shit together, doesn’t it?”
Tombstone returned the nod, the merest inclination of his head. “He
does. So what now?”
“You’re asking me? Hell, Tombstone, you’re the one with two stars.”
Tombstone shook his head gravely. “It doesn’t make me infallible.
Tell me what you think.”
Batman stood and started pacing around the compartment. Finally, he
looked back at his old flying mate. “I think this is a come-as-you-are
war. No fancy preparations, no amphibious force standing by hell, we’re
close enough to the U.S. to get anything we need on short notice. This
is the O.K. Corral, and we’re here, and the hell with how Washington
wants the war to be won. I say we disable the remote controls on the
Arsenal ship and shift targeting back to where it belongs the
captain.
Factor him into our strike plan, get the aircraft back up in the air
where they were meant to be, and let’s go for it. We can turn those
missile silos into glass, or at least shredded metal, in less time than
it takes for the chaplain to say the morning prayer in Congress.”
“We’re getting rudder orders from D.C. I suspect they’re going to
insist that the Arsenal take the lead again in the attack.”
Tombstone’s eyes were backlit with anger. “What’s your take? You’ve
spent more time in D.C. than I have.”
Batman sighed. “If we propose a classic strike, they’ll say no. By
the time we could convince them, we may have missiles inbound from Cuba
headed for the continental U.S.”
“Agreed. So?”
“So fuck them we don’t ask. We just take care of business and our
people and deal with the consequences later. That’s why we’re wearing
the stars to take the incoming fire.”
Tombstone stood as well. He stretched, let out a long groan, then
shook himself like a wet dog. “Do it. See how easy having two stars
is?”
1400 Local (+5 GMT) The White House The President stared out at the
Rose Garden from the Oval Office, his back to the two men standing at
attention in front of his desk. Let them wait it was one of the
prerogatives of his office as commander in chief that he could keep the
chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the chief of naval operations
braced up for as long as he wanted.
He wondered what he would have said thirty years ago when he was a
grunt on the ground in Vietnam if someone had told him he’d one day
have this much power. He would have laughed, he suspected. Laughed
and made some joke about somebody smoking too much pot. In country,
where soldiers reckoned their lives by how many patrols they had left
to do, a future devoid of artillery and snipers would have seemed an
impossibility.
I blew it. Not only did I make the same mistake my predecessors did
during Vietnam, but I have even less excuse than they did. I was
there; I should have known better. At least I can fix it this time.
And maybe the next President that’s tempted to micromanage will know
better.
He turned back to the two men, his face grave. “As of now we’re out of