CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

Unlike the aircraft of CVW-20 that were based aboard the Jefferson, the COD Greyhound was not permanently a part of the carrier’s complement. It would be shot off the Number One Catapult as soon as its cargo and personnel were offloaded, the bags of mail from Jefferson’s crew lugged aboard, and its tanks refueled.

Tombstone was waiting as the COD’s rear ramp whined down and a line of men began climbing down onto the deck. All wore civilian clothes and life jackets, ah” were lean, hard, and young. One saw Tombstone and broke into a broad, lopsided grin.

“Tombstone, you son of a bitch!”

“Coyote!” Their hands clasped, then they embraced, pounding each other’s backs. “God damn, Coyote, welcome aboard!”

Lieutenant Willis E. Grant, call sign “Coyote,” had been Tombstone’s very good friend since they’d first been stationed together at Miramar several years before. Both assigned to VF-95 out of CVW-20, they’d joined Jefferson before she left

ARMAGEDDON MODE

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San Diego almost nine months earlier. Coyote had been Tombstone’s wingman until a MiG-21’s missile had knocked him out of the sky over the Sea of Japan six months before. Coyote had been captured by the North Koreans, escaped with the help of a Navy SEAL team reconning the camp where he was being held, and been wounded. He’d been medevaced to Japan and finally wound up at the Naval Regional Medical Center, Camp Pendleton.

They walked toward the island. “So!” Tombstone said. “How’s the leg and arm?”

“No problems.” Coyote flexed his arm, demonstrating. “I was out of the hospital inside of six weeks, but they had me humping in the RAG at Miramar until last week. Then they decided you guys needed me.”

Tombstone grinned. “RAG,” for Reserve Air Group, was an obsolete term still used by Navy fliers for the Fleet Readiness Squadrons from which the carriers drew their replacements. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. We’ve been managing okay without you.”

“Ah! Ah!” Coyote held up an admonishing finger. “Can that ‘Lieutenant’ crap, mister. I pulled another half stripe. Came through while I was in the hospital.”

“Well! Congratulations! It’s about time. Lieutenant Commander, huh?”

“On the road to fame and glory, son. My future career looks rosy as one of our Navy’s elite.”

Coyote’s banter raised a small sting in the back of Tombstone’s mind. It was ironic. Here his friend had finally made it back to VF-95 . . . and Tombstone was going to be leaving for good in another few weeks.

Well, that was Navy life. Good friends and good-byes.

“Hell, what’s this elite garbage?” Tombstone said roughly, covering his feelings. “You look like a damned civilian to me.”

Coyote looked down at his civvies. ‘ ‘Yeah. Didn’t have time to change. They routed that COD out of Masirah. We had a few hours in Dawwah, but they wouldn’t let us wear our uniforms. The locals are sensitive about American servicemen on their turf.”

They entered the island and removed their helmets. A seaman took Coyote’s life jacket. “Well,” Coyote said. “I’d

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better get checked in. Hey, I hear your uncle’s not the Flag anymore. How’s the new guy?”

Tombstone’s lips compressed, then he shrugged. “Still settling in. You hear about our dustup last night?”

“No. What went down?”

“I imagine they’ll fill you in. We had a run-in with the Indian air force.”

“No shit?” Coyote whistled.

“No shit. We knocked down three of theirs.”

“So it’s gone to a shooting war!”

“Just this side of one anyway.”

“Were you in on it?” Coyote grinned. “You get yourself another kill?”

The question bothered Tombstone. “Yeah. I got a kill.”

“Then you can tell me about it. How about lunch?”

“I’ve got the duty down in CATCC. I’ll see you tonight at chow.”

“Roger that.” Coyote flashed a broad grin and was gone.

Heading in a different direction, Tombstone clattered down a ship’s ladder to the O-3 deck, then made his way past Combat toward CATCC once more. There was a lot more he’d wanted to tell Coyote. His being grounded, for one thing, and the doubts he’d felt the night before when he kept asking for clearance to fire, with no response. Fog of war was one diing, but Tombstone had the feeling that someone at a high level had not been snapping off the decisions in an efficient and military manner.

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