up with Darkstar, the KA-6D tanker dispatched from Jefferson to top off tanks
that would be running low after a flight of over nineteen hundred miles. That
was about the range limit for an F-14, and Mercury Flight was still a hundred
and fifty miles away from the safe haven of the carrier. Stramaglia had
listened as the refueling problem had developed, feeling as helpless as the
rest of the men in Air Ops. For blue-water operations like this there was
little margin for error.
When the radio channel finally carried Commander Magruder’s triumphant
whoop, a cheer had gone up in Pri-Fly. Stramaglia had taken a long sip from
his coffee mug to hide the smile on his face. He was a firm believer in
maintaining appearances, and it wouldn’t have done to allow the other men in
the crowded little control center to see just how relieved he was at Mercury
Leader’s successful refueling.
Jefferson’s Air Boss, Commander Jack Monroe, didn’t bother to hide his
feelings. “Hot damn, Stoney Magruder’s back!” he said. “That’s better’n the
time he set down with half his turkey shot away and his RIO bleeding all over
the backseat!”
Monroe, Stramaglia knew, had been Assistant Air Boss on Jefferson’s last
overseas deployment. He was one of the veterans of the carrier’s engagements
in North Korea and the Indian Ocean, and it was obvious that he shared in the
ship-wide adulation for Commander Magruder, who’d become famous for his part
in those operations.
Stramaglia huffed into his coffee. He had known Magruder before the
youngster had scored his first kill … and the enthusiasm of men like Monroe
never failed to irritate him. Not that he had anything against Magruder. He
just didn’t think there was a place for what amounted to outright hero worship
aboard the U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson.
“CAG?” A young third class looked up from a console nearby. “Tango
Two-fiver reports they’ve picked up that Bear. It’s still closing on us.
Range is five-fifty, speed five hundred knots. Same course and bearing as
before.”
Stramaglia nodded and put down the coffee cup. “Commander Monroe, if the
celebrations are over I think we’d better get the Alert planes off. Now, if
you please.”
Monroe’s grin faded as the Air Boss turned his attention back to the
routine of the flight deck. “You heard the man,” Monroe said harshly. “Let’s
get with it, people!”
Stramaglia turned away, ignoring the rising hubbub of voices as Monroe’s
white-shirted crew began relaying reports and instructions to and from the
flight deck. He knew he was fast earning a reputation for being a tough,
heartless bastard, but that was a role he was prepared to fall into if it
would guarantee that Air Wing 20 stayed alert and ready for anything. They’d
made it through the refueling crisis without having to sacrifice one of
Mercury Flight’s planes, but there was more than one problem to keep
Jefferson’s crew busy tonight. Like the Soviet Tu-20 Bear bomber they’d been
tracking for the last several hours.
It was Monroe’s job as Air Boss to direct operations on and around
Jefferson’s flight deck, but Stramaglia had wider duties. His title was
CAG–it derived from the obsolete designation of Commander Air Group–and he
was the commanding officer of Carrier Air Wing 20, the assortment of
ninety-plus aircraft that gave the carrier her teeth. Everything that
happened in the air for hundreds of miles around Carrier Battle Group 14 was
his responsibility, from refueling problems to Soviet planes to whatever else
the fates chose to throw in their path.
And with tensions between the United States and the new Soviet Union
higher now than they’d ever been in the bad old days of the Cold War, Joseph
Stramaglia was taking his responsibility seriously. That was why he was in
Pri-Fly tonight, senior rank and position not withstanding. When his boys
were in the air, he didn’t sleep or catch up on paperwork. If he wasn’t up
there with them, then he was somewhere like Air Ops where he would be on hand
to lend his experience and skill to helping them out if they got in trouble.
Despite the outward show of temper, Stramaglia was proud to be a part of