the targeting business.” He pointed his finger at the chairman. “You
and me both.”
“You,” he continued, jabbing the same finger at the CNO, “call up your
commander down there. You tell him that the Arsenal ship is hereby
transferred to his complete command, as theater commander. Give him my
objective sand give him his head. You got that?”
The CNO nodded, a grim smile starting at the corners of his mouth.
“Aye, aye, sir. we’ll get results that I can promise you.”
1420 Local (+5 GMT) Washington, D.C. Even with the urgency of his
information, it had taken the aide a good half hour to clear out the
petitioners clogging Senator Dailey’s anteroom. Finally, when his boss
motioned him in, he had his chance. He described what he’d seen in
Admiral Loggins’s office, not bothering to supply his own
conclusions.
They’d discussed the Williams-Loggins link too often for this
falling-out to have many surprises.
Senator Dailey leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the
ceiling. “So it finally happened. That’s what I was counting on. The
Keith Loggins I knew when I was on active duty had more balls than to
let somebody like Williams suck him into something shady. Wonder what
they broke up over.”
The aide shook his head. “I couldn’t hear everything, Senator. Just
enough to convince me it had to do with the battle group to the
south.
And we both know what side of the problem those two are on.”
Senator Dailey unfurled himself from the angle between his desk and his
chair, then reached across for the telephone.
He paused, studied his aide thoughtfully. “Let this be a lesson to
you. There’s an old saying” The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” I
think it’s about time I called Admiral Magruder and gave him the day
off.” He began dialing the number from memory.
“The day off?” the aide asked, looking puzzled. “Why is that?”
The senator smiled broadly. “Because in about fifteen minutes.
Admiral Tombstone Magruder is going to think it’s Christmas. Santa
Claus, played by little old me, is about to give him everything he ever
wanted or asked for.”
1615 Local f+5 GMT) USS Jefferson For the second time that day.
Tombstone Magruder hung up the telephone and laughed. “Just when
you’re getting ready to mutiny, the elected Powers That Be come through
for you.”
Batman smirked. “I was just getting used to the idea of it myself.
What did Senator Dailey have to say?”
Tombstone smiled back. “We’ve got everything we wanted and we’re
willing to do without authorization. Weapons free, aircraft
free everything. Evidently there’s been a falling-out amongst thieves
back in D.C and we’re back to being the good guys.”
Batman dropped his feet off the desk and stood. “Hell, Tombstone, we
always were the good guys. Sometimes they just forget that back
there.”
“Now that they’ve got it straightened out,” Tombstone said, “let’s see
if we can make it clear to the Cubans.”
1620 Local (+5 GMT) Air Operations Office, USS Jefferson Bird Dog
double-clicked his mouse, transferring the contents from his rough
drawing sheet into the cell on his war-game planning sheet. This plan
had everything he needed, everything he’d been taught to plan for
during his year at War College. He studied it again, trying to see if
he’d missed anything. No, it was all there logistics support,
objectives, and finally a succinct explanation of the desired end state
to this conflict. He knew that was a little bit beyond his duties as a
carrier staff puke, but it didn’t hurt to show off a little anyway.
Besides, this was going to be his big move, wasn’t it? No point in not
showing the admiral he had a little bit more on the ball than the
average lieutenant commander pilot. The sick uneasiness he felt over
Callie was merely a background throb of pain now, constant yet
submerged in his consciousness under the driving need to finish the
operational plan. He kept his eyes riveted on the spreadsheet, not
certain that he wanted to release it for review by the Air Ops chief.
Every minute he kept himself distracted with that prevented him from