“As of now I’m putting one squadron on Alert Fifteen at all times. Javelins
will be first up. Owens’ll post the rest of the rotation.”
“Yes, Sir.”
CAG’s order made good sense, Magruder told himself. It meant that the
four fighter squadrons aboard would each pull long hours waiting in the ready
rooms each day, suited up and ready to respond to an emergency. But at least
they could put eight or ten planes in the air on short notice … although it
would give the Air Boss headaches to keep so many aircraft ready for a quick
launch.
“That’s it for now, Grant,” Stramaglia said after a moment. “But make
sure you have a little talk with your people about what happened today.
Because if Powers or any of those other hotdogs runs wild again, I’ll have
your hide!”
Coyote left hastily, looking pale. He wouldn’t meet Magruder’s eyes on
his way out.
When he was gone Stramaglia steepled his fingers on his desk and looked
at Tombstone through narrowed eyes. “You think I was too hard on him,
Magruder?”
“He’s a damned good man, sir,” Tombstone said. “And he can’t nursemaid
every nugget up there.”
“And he’s also your friend.” CAG shook his head. “There’s no room for
friendship in a job like this, Magruder. Think about that. Someday you might
have to treat a friend that way.”
“But-”
“From where I’m sitting the important thing about what happened this
morning is the fact that we just shot up two Russian airplanes. If by some
miracle the Russkies don’t treat that as an act of war, we’ve got to make
damned sure there aren’t any repeats. And if they do come after us I’ve got
to make sure those damned hotdogs are on a short leash. Your buddy Grant’s
the one who’s responsible for the Vipers, so he’s the one I have to land on
with both feet. If you don’t like it, mister, then you’d better not plan on
ever sitting in this chair.”
Tombstone swallowed and nodded slowly. He didn’t like it, but CAG was
right … as far as he went. But surely there was a better way to handle it.
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. Lesson over. Now get the hell out of here so I can start
figuring out how to save a squadron commander’s neck when I file my report.”
Magruder was halfway out the door before he realized what Stramaglia had
said. Perhaps the man really did care about the officers in his outfit after
all.
Coyote met him in the passageway.
“Thanks a lot for all the support, buddy,” he said bitterly, blocking
Magruder’s path. His face was flushed, and his eyes were angry. “You
could’ve said something to get that bastard off my back. Instead you just sat
there and let him dish it out!”
“C’mon, Willie-”
“Never mind! I guess that’s what happens when you get the big promotion,
huh? All of a sudden keeping your own nose clean is more important than
helping out your friends.” Coyote turned away abruptly and started down the
corridor.
“Coyote-” Magruder began. Then he shrugged and turned away. It was no
use arguing with Coyote now anyway. Maybe when he calmed down …
How could he think I wouldn’t stand by him? Magruder wondered, hurt and
angry. He’d gone to bat for Coyote after Grant had left, even knowing that
Stramaglia was likely to come down on him just as hard as he had on Viper
Squadron’s commander. Didn’t Coyote realize that he’d never let a friend down
that way? Or was the friendship too strained by time and distance now to hold
up any longer?
He was beginning to think Stramaglia was right. There was no room for
friendship in his job now.
1510 hours Zulu (1010 hours Zone)
Situation Room, the White House
Washington, D.C.
“The President of the United States!”
The men and women gathered in the underground chamber surged to their
feet at the announcement from the Marine guard at the door, but President
Frederick Connally waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as he entered,
impatient with the ritual. Didn’t these people realize there were more
important things to worry about than observing the formalities?