Tombstone wiped his Tomcat’s controls, using the aviator’s mnemonic of
“Father, Son, Holy Ghost” as he moved the stick back, forward, left, and
right. He moved the foot pedals controlling the rudders for the “Amen.”
“Eagle Leader, this is Eagle Two. Tombstone, m’ man, how’re you reading
me?”
“Loud and clear, Batman,” Tombstone replied. He checked over his left
shoulder and saw Tomcat 216 behind him, preparing for a simultaneous
launch.
Batman had a new RIO in his backseat. Lieutenant Commander Aaron
“Ramrod” Kingsly normally flew a Tomcat, but his F-14 had been one of
those down-checked after the fire, so he was filling in as RIO this time
around.
Tombstone glanced back over his right shoulder at the ready light on the
carrier island. It showed green. He could see shadowy figures behind
the windscreens, both on the bridge and on the flag bridge. He thought
he saw one of the figures salute.
A yellow shirt signaled. Time to crank her up. He eased the throttles
forward, bringing the F-14’s engines to full power. The plane trembled,
yearning to be free of the deck once more.
The squad safety inspector, in green cranial and white jersey, completed
his final check and gave a thumbs-up. The Catapult Officer, identified
by his yellow jersey and green helmet, looked up at the cockpit.
Tombstone saluted.
Ready …
With a graceful twist, the Cat Officer turned, pointed forward, and
touched the deck. There was a surge of motion, of power, and Tombstone
was flattened into his ejection seat. The acceleration clamped down on
his lungs, squeezed his eyeballs back into his head, pressed his spine
against the chair as the Tomcat hurtled off the catapult ramp.
“Good shot! Good shot!” he called.
“Tomcat Two-oh-one airborne,” Pried-Fly’s voice answered in his
earphones.
“Tomcat Two-one-six airborne.” There was a pause. “Good Luck, Stoney.
Good hunting!”
“Copy that, Homeplate. Thanks.”
Sunlight exploded over the rim of the ocean as he grabbed for altitude.
The burst of noise and speed and golden light seemed to break a dam
inside Tombstone’s soul. He was alive … and in command of a
thirty-three-ton, high-tech fighting machine drilling into the clean,
endless blue depths of the sky.
It felt like coming home.
0628 hours, 21 January
Flag plot, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Admiral Magruder was leaning over a table on which maps of Thailand and
TENCAP photos were piled in seeming disorder. TENCAP–the acronym stood
for Tactical Exploitation of National CAPabilities–was one of the most
dramatic advances in battlefield management history. For the first
time, commanders in the field could call down up-to-the-minute
reconnaissance photos from American spy satellites in orbit. Until
recently, such high-resolution photos were processed first at the
National Photographic Interpretation Center in Washington, D.C., then
distributed down the chain of command by the CIA. It had taken weeks,
sometimes, for the men who needed the data to get it.
No more. These photos had been taken only hours before. They were in
infrared, penetrating the darkness. Individual people were clearly
visible.
Magruder found himself looking down on two men in ragged uniforms with
AK-47s across their shoulders; the glowing tips of their cigarettes
registered like tiny, diamond-brilliant stars.
In two hours, Bright Lightning would hit U Feng like a whirlwind. That
soldiers were already moving into position. They would go in when the
bombs stopped falling. The victory had to be clearly theirs, proof to
the dissidents and a panicky population that the Royal Army had things
well in hand.
Washington had agreed with his assessment. Nothing would discourage the
army mutineers or strengthen the legitimate government’s resolve faster
than a quick, sharp victory at U Feng.
“Admiral Magruder?”
He looked up. His Chief of Staff stood in the door. “Come in, Brad.
What do you have?”
“Eagle is airborne, sir. Thunderbird is over the coast now, on course,
on time. Pried-Fly reports that Chickenhawk is ready for launch.”
“Thanks, Brad.”
Eagle–six aircraft of VF-95–would escort Thunderbird–the Intruders of
VA-84–into U Feng. Chickenhawk was the code name for the F/A-18
Hornets of VFA-161. Their job would be flack- and SAM-suppression over
the target.
Faster, but with smaller fuel reserves, they were being launched last.
VF-97, once again, was being held in reserve, providing CAP for the