before they could attack the fleet.
But how could he put across everything that he felt in a few words?
“The point is,” he continued, “that all of us were just doing our jobs.
That’s not very exciting or romantic, I know, but that’s the way it was.
An American ship and its crew had been captured on the high seas in an
act of piracy, and the President sent us in to bring them out. We did.”
“You are entirely too modest, Commander.” She leaned forward, and
Tombstone caught a whiff of perfume as she lightly touched one of the
ribbons on the top row of his award display above his left shirt pocket.
“Is this the Navy Cross?”
She’d indicated the blue ribbon with its single white stripe. “Yes, it
is.”
“And that’s only the second highest decoration the U.S. Navy can award
its people. Why do you think your superiors singled you out of all
those thousands?”
He grinned uneasily. “If you figure that out, let me know.”
“According to the official report,” she said, “you refused to eject from
your damaged aircraft because your copilot was wounded and would not
have survived if you’d left the plane.”
“RIO.”
“Pardon?”
“He was my RIO, my Radar Intercept Officer, not my copilot.”
“And you don’t think you should have gotten a medal for that?”
“I think the guys on the carrier should have won a medal. Let me tell
you, it took real guts deciding to let me bring my shot-up Tomcat down
on the deck! If I’d crashed and burned, I could have done real
damage.”
“The report also says you managed the battle above the city of Wonsan
and were personally responsible for downing six Korean aircraft.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that make you a hero?”
“I’m proud of the job our boys did. It was a job that had to be done.
I’m not particularly proud of shooting down those other aircraft, no.”
As he said the words, Tombstone knew that he was lying. He was
immensely proud of his ACM victories. That was the sort of achievement
that every Navy pilot strove for, proof that his training and long hours
of flying and practice had paid off, proof that he had the ultimate
“right stuff” in a one-on-one contest with the enemy.
But at the same time, Tombstone hated to be reminded that those
victories represented six dead men. Never mind that they’d been trying
to kill him or his comrades at the time. Those had been men in those
MiGs, all of them pilots like him, probably with families, wives, kids
…
It was not something to dwell on, and he bitterly wished he knew how to
steer this interview in another direction.
Pamela seemed to sense his discomfort, and turned away. “Cut!” she
said.
“Okay, people, let’s take a break. Save the lights.”
“Looked good,” Griffith said, lowering the camcorder. “Why’d you quit?”
She stood and stretched with a smooth, sinuous movement of arms and
shoulders. “I’m tired. We need to regroup.” She turned and smiled at
Tombstone, her golden hair swirling just above her shoulders. “You’re
coming across very well, Matt. Was something bothering you about that
last line of questioning?”
He smiled. “it showed, huh?”
“Only to someone who’s interviewed as many guilty congressmen as I
have.”
She sat down again and laid one perfectly manicured hand on his knee.
“You’re doing splendidly!”
“I was a bit uncomfortable with where things were going,” he confessed.
“I really don’t like talking about this hero stuff.”
She laughed. “Not only handsome, but modest too! How are we going to
get you to open up about yourself, Matt?”
He could sense that she was trying to build him up, to put him at ease,
and he felt a vague displeasure at the attempt to manipulate his
feelings at the same time that he admired the way she was pulling it
off.
“Miss Drake, I-”
“Please!” she said. “It’s Pamela!”
“Pamela. Can’t I convince you that being a hero doesn’t really have
anything to do with just doing my job?”
“You might convince me, but I doubt that our viewers would understand.
You’re an air ace, a Top Gun. You’ve gone into single combat with the