dollars for the rent-a-car people. The collision with the palm tree and
the tennis court fence didn’t do that Datsun’s bodywork any good.”
Marusko removed his glasses. When he spoke again, it was with a low,
almost quiet voice, the voice which CAG Marusko used when he was in his
most dangerous mood. “So, four grand will settle things with the
civilians and you luck out, but by God you still have to settle with me,
Wayne. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily! Do we understand
each other?”
“Yes, sir. Perfectly, sir.” Almost four thousand dollars! As a Navy
lieutenant, Batman received $2,596 this month, a figure which included
both flight pay and the temporary bonus of hostile fire pay for his
service in Korea, but he was still going to have to take out a Credit
Union loan to raise that much cash all at once. He’d be paying this one
off for quite a while.
“It occurs to me, Mr. Wayne, that a change of scenery would be
beneficial for both of us. It will remove you from the temptations of
exotic Bangkok …
and it will get you out of my sight. It happens I have an empty slot
for a special duty assignment. How does U Feng sound to you?”
Batman’s jaw dropped. “U Feng? But that’s … oh, shit!”
“You have a problem with that, Mister?” Marusko’s voice was whip-crack
tight again.
“No, sir. No problem, sir.” U Feng! And the worst of it was, he
hadn’t even made it with Becky or Arlene. His attempt in the pool had
been just that … and a dismal failure after all that he’d had to
drink. And Becky had promised him another chance tonight.
“It is now 0914 hours. I want you and your RIO in the Ready Room,
suited up and ready to go, by 1430 hours this afternoon. I’ll have your
orders cut by then. Launch is at 1500.”
“Yes, sir.” There was nothing more to be said.
“Get out of here!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” He fled.
Behind him, Marusko picked up the Shore Patrol report again and began
re-reading it. His reserve broke at last, and he collapsed back in his
chair, laughing helplessly.
1445 hours, 16 January
CATCC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Made It Bayerly crossed his arms and surreptitiously leaned against the
bulkhead of the darkened room.
“Air Boss says they’re ready to go on Cats One and Three,” a third class
radarman at one of the consoles said.
“Okay, Paterowski,” Senior Chief Hansen said. He looked bored, sitting
back in the room’s command chair with a mug of coffee in his hand, his
headset perched at an angle to uncover one ear. “Tell ’em we’re ready
to pick up.”
“They’re going to launch the helo first.”
“Makes sense.”
Bayerly glanced over at the status board, where a young third class was
writing backwards on the transparent plastic. The Sea King’s mission
was listed as Bangkok, a run to the That Airlines helipad in the city
and back.
That would be Tombstone Magruder’s helo.
Damn the man, anyway. Bayerly’s thought was raw pain and anger. The
word had quickly spread throughout the ship that the three civilian
visitors to the carrier the day before had been from a high-powered
Stateside news program, and that one of them, a real looker of a woman,
had asked specially to interview Commander Bigshot Magruder. So now the
lucky bastard was on his way to Bangkok.
Bayerly glanced to his left. Several other naval flight officers from
various squadrons were there, standing in various attitudes of
relaxation or boredom. It was standard practice for NFOs to stand
stretches of duty in Air Ops, where they could be asked for advice
during a crisis, especially one involving a man in their unit. Since
he’d been relieved of flight duty, it was natural that Bayerly put in
more than the usual duty time for VF-97. He didn’t like it, though. He
didn’t like it one bit.
The other officers had been all but shunning him since his suspension,
almost as if he’d already lost his wings. Even now, McConnell,
Rostenkowski, and the others seemed to be avoiding his eyes, and he