unhappy reminder of his new duties, and he felt as if every eye was on him and
every tongue was wagging with the story of the crash and his decision to give
up flying.
An aviator who lost it, who couldn’t go back up again, became a pariah
among his peers, and the center of gossip for half the carrier. Bannon
suppressed a shudder as he found a chair. It was hard to face the crowded
corridors aboard Jefferson with the specter of failure forever before him.
Probably the crash was forgotten, and outside of his own squadron no one
had even noted Bannon’s decision. The half-dozen officers from the Air
Department at the next table, still wearing their motley array of colored
jerseys that identified their individual duties and roles on the flight deck,
were no doubt entirely preoccupied with the increased tempo of operations that
had kept them busy ever since CAG had ordered the higher state of readiness
for Jefferson’s extra fighter contingent. They looked too tired from duty to
be interested in Roger Bannon’s sins.
But that thought wasn’t even comforting. It only intensified his
feelings of guilt. When he had taken Commander Magruder’s advice and asked
for some time off flight status, CAG had posted him to duty as an aide in the
Air Wing office, a job that consisted of little more than running errands and
pouring coffee for the regular staff officers. So now, while the rest of the
carrier was bracing for the confrontation everyone knew was coming with the
Soviets, it was as if he was taking a vacation from his duty.
Yet the thought of climbing back into the cockpit of his Intruder still
gave him the shakes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fly again without
reliving the horrors of the crash and the guilt of losing Commander Greene.
He took a sip of coffee and tried to consider his future objectively. If
he turned in his wings and walked away he would have to live with the
knowledge of failure for the rest of his life. They probably wouldn’t even
let him stay on board Jefferson longer than they absolutely had to. It was
never considered wise to keep a failed aviator on his old ship. Short of
resigning his commission and looking for a civilian pilot’s job, he might
never fly again.
And yet flying was all he had ever wanted to do. As a boy he’d hoped to
earn his wings and then look for a shot at astronaut training, but once he’d
been in the cockpit it was enough just to be in the air, in control, free of
the restrictions of an earthbound existence. Until he’d run up against the
Deputy CAG and lost his confidence, Bannon had been in love with flying, and
even Jolly Green’s criticism hadn’t been enough to dampen his enthusiasm for
his chosen life.
That had only come after the criticism had stopped forever. After
Greene’s death.
He shook his head slowly and stared down at his cup. He would have to
face his fears again if he was ever going to be whole … but he didn’t know
if he had that kind of courage inside him.
Then the blare of the klaxon jerked him out of his reverie. “Now hear
this! Now hear this! Battle stations! Battle stations! All hands to battle
stations. That is, battle stations! This is not a drill!”
His battle station was in the Air Ops module of CIC, with CAG. Bannon
pushed back his chair and stood, gulping the rest of his coffee. Then he was
caught in the swirling mob of men rushing from the wardroom.
Thoughts of the future would have to wait.
0857 hours Zulu (0857 hours Zone)
CIC ASW module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Southeast of the Faeroe Islands
“We just got an update in from SOSUS Control, sir. Feeding in the new
info now.” The AW/2 looked too young to be in the Navy, but he knew his job.
Lieutenant Eric Nelson leaned forward to study the electronic display map as
new contacts appeared.
“I don’t like the looks of these,” he said softly. “Rodriguez, what’ve
you got on this contact?” He used his keyboard to highlight one of the