Vaughn stared at Bersticer for a moment as tile words sunk in. If they couldn’t launch the strike against the Indian supply columns . . .
They had failed. He had failed, and before they’d even had a proper chance.
His fists clenched at his side, the frustration, the rage of the past twelve years surging up inside like a black, unstoppable tide.
It’s not fair! he thought. It’s not fucking fair!
ARMAGEDDON MODE
221
0803 hours, 26 March
CATCC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
“I want that airplane, CAG,” Tombstone said, cold steel behind each word. “It’s criminal idiocy to keep me here when we need aviators out there!”
CAG looked at Tombstone witii level eyes. “What are you going to fly?” he said. “Two-oh-one just augered in.”
“Two double-nuts,” Tombstone replied immediately. “It’ll fly.”
He’d been spending his time since being put in hack catching up with his squadron’s paperwork. Tomcat 200, the aircraft in Viper squadron traditionally reserved for the CAG when he flew, had not been operational since before Wonsan, Stored in the aft hangar bay for repairs at the time, the F-14 had been damaged during the battle at Sattahip Bay in Thailand when a rebel attack sent a rocket through an open elevator door and into the parked airplanes on the hangar deck. It was one of the two aircraft in VF-95 with a maintenance downcheck.
Maintenance personnel had only finished installing a new engine a week earlier. The job had been inspected, but not tested. No one knew for sure yet if Two-double-nuts would run.
Or fly.
“Stoney, I know how you feel,” CAG said gently. “But I can’t authorize a damn-fool stunt like—”
Tombstone jerked a thumb at the bulkhead speaker. The voices of several aviators could be heard calling to one another. “My God, look at that!” a voice was saying. “One-oh-three, we have bogies inbound! Bogies inbound at fifty miles!”
“Those are my people out were, damn you,” Tombstone said, his voice carrying a deadly edge to it. ‘ ‘My people.”’
“The plane’s not armed.”
“It’ll take twenty minutes to slip some Sidewinders on her. It’ll take that long just to get the rest of VF-97 aloft with only two cats working.” Tombstone’s voice raised suddenly to a shout, and every head in CATCC turned in their direction. “Damn it, CAG! I’m going with or without your say-so, but I’m going!”
“You’re an asshole, Stoney,” CAG said. He shook his head.
222
Keith Douglass
“And if you don’t watch your mouth the brig is where you’re going!”
The two men stopped, staring eye to eye. Then CAG looked away. “So you’d better go before you say something that makes me put you there. Who’s your RIO?”
“Me, sir!” Hitman said. Tombstone turned, surprised. He’d forgotten Costello was behind him. “Hell, Stoney,” Hitman continued with a shrug. “I’d rather be your RIO than stay here and get shot at!”
“Get into your flight gear, gentlemen,” CAG said. “And get the hell out to your ship. I’ll inform the Boss you’re coming.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Shut up and git Before I shoot you for desertion.”
Tombstone got.
“Commander?”
Tombstone stopped and turned. Three sailors were sitting at one of me consoles, watching him. By the light of a nearby radar screen he recognized the one who had spoken: Seaman David Howard, the sailor who’d become a hero at Bangkok.
“Good luck, sir,” Howard said.
“That’s right, Commander,” one of Howard’s companions said. The name stenciled over the pocket of his dungaree shirt read. “Gilkey, F.” The man gave him a sharp thumbs-up. “Beat the shit out of the bastards.”
“We’re right behind you, sir,” the third man, a second-class radarman, said. His shirt carried the name Benedict. “Kick some ass for us!”
It was strange. Tombstone did not know Gilkey or Benedict. A supercanier was large enough that it was possible to live and work aboard her for months on end and never meet all the people aboard.
But these men certainly seemed to know him. Young Howard must have been shooting off his mouth, he decided. Still, it was a good feeling to know that he had men like these in his corner.
It would make the sky a lot less lonely.