“They study Grenada, too, for what it’s worth.” Tombstone shifted his
gaze to Bird Dog. “They do, don’t they?
And Beirut as well.”
Bird dog nodded, “i think this one will work, Admiral.
Tombstone stood and started pacing back and forth. Had it been any
other officer. Batman decided, it would have been a sign of nerves.
But with Tombstone it was more an indication of the pent-up rage and
anger seething through him, a physical release of that which kept him
from exploding in temper. It was from such small physical activities
that Tombstone got his reputation for being utterly unflappable and
granite-faced.
“We need to get going,” Sikes said finally. “If we want to leave on
time.” He glanced uncertainly from Batman to Tombstone.
Batman nodded slightly, giving permission. “Get your people ready.”
With another gesture. Batman cleared the room of the rest of the
personnel, indicating that they should go to their racks and get some
sleep while they could. When they were alone, he walked over to his
old lead and said, “Don’t sweat the load. Tombstone. You know this
has got as good a chance of working as anything.”
Tombstone wheeled on him. “If it were simply a matter of taking out
those missile structures, do you think I’d be worried? Hell, even that
damned Bird Dog could figure out how to do that! There’s no mystery to
how we operate.” His mouth clamped into a thin, taut line.
“Yeah. What? What is it that’s got you so wound up about this
plan?”
Batman pressed, already suspecting that he knew the answer. Should he
say it? No, with a man like Tombstone, it was better to let him come
to his own conclusions about when to publicly air a matter. If Batman
mentioned Pamela first, it would simply drive his old lead against the
wall, cementing his silence for good.
Batman felt Tombstone’s eyes searching his face, looking for something
there. The younger admiral willed himself into immobility. Finally,
Tombstone nodded, and the tension seemed to drain out of his body. He
flung himself down on the flat leatherette couch against one wall, onto
his back, feet propped up on the far armrest. The sudden change in
posture was as disconcerting to Batman as having Tombstone actually
smile.
“Don’t get diplomatic on me. Batman,” Tombstone said finally. He
turned his head and stared over at his old wingman, amusement tugging
at the corner of his mouth.
“We’ve known each other too long for this. You know what it is.”
“Then you say it first. Tombstone,” Batman challenged.
“Anytime I bring it up, you start back pedaling on me.”
“Pamela Drake.” Tombstone pronounced the name quietly, neutrally.
“That’s what it is. And that downed pilot, too.
Thor. Both of them but especially Pamela.”
“Can they get her out?”
Tombstone shrugged. “The SEALs seem to think so. And if they can’t
damn it. Batman, you know I’ll do it. I’m going to quit thinking with
my dick. She’s there illegally, against all U.S. policy, and
interfering with our operations.
If they can’t get her out, I’ll send a strike in anyway.”
“And Thor?” Batman’s voice was hard and cold. “What about him?”
Tombstone levered himself up and swung his feet back down on the
floor.
“Same answer, for a different reason.
Major Hammersmith’s paid to take chances. He’s a Marine; he understood
the risks he was taking. I’ll try my best to get him out, but if I
can’t . . .”
“You’ll go ahead with that strike, too.” Batman had not realized how
much he wanted to believe that wasn’t true.
Deep down, he’d known this was exactly what Tombstone would order, and
why Tombstone had been sent up to the battle force. Even before he
himself had suspected it, Batman’s superiors had known that he might
flinch from this last and deadliest military decision. He tried to
feel resentment, but all he felt was relief. Relief that the decision
was someone else’s, an unwillingness to face the ultimate reckonings of
life and death that took place in the correlation of forces.
“I think-I think I’m happy with one star. Admiral,” Batman said
slowly.
He stood, walked to the center of the room, and offered a hand to his