it did because, at every rank from seaman recruit to admiral, personal
initiative was stressed rather than blind adherence to orders.
Tombstone was well aware that breaking Coyote for anything less than
outright mutiny would be the worst thing he could possibly do.
“No,” he said at last. “No, I’m not grounding you.”
Coyote looked almost disappointed. Some of the fire in his eyes died.
“Then why the critique? If you don’t like the way I did things, just-”
“Damn it, Coyote, it’s not you I’m criticizing. It’s your performance.
You made a bad call up there this afternoon. Okay, it happens to all of us.
I’m telling you not to let it happen again. The middle of a war is no place
for hot-dogging or personal heroics.”
“Hot-dogging! God damn it, Stoney, I-”
“Hot-dogging! Shut up and listen, Grant! You assume that CIC knows what
it’s doing and you do what you’re told, especially when the safety of this air
wing and this ship are what’re at risk.” Tombstone stopped, scowling. “What
the hell were you doing on BARCAP this afternoon anyway?”
Coyote seemed surprised by the sudden change in subject. “Uh … I
needed the hours. Lansky had the duty but he got sick. I filled in.”
“Damn it, Coyote! You’re the skipper, the CO of the goddamned squadron.
You don’t ‘fill in’! You delegate!” Tombstone tapped a sheaf of papers on
his desk. “I’ve got down gripes on four birds in your squadron. You
should’ve been aboard making sure those aircraft were fit to fly, not out
flying BARCAP … and sure as hot damn not getting your own aircraft shot out
from under you!”
Coyote looked stunned. “I … I did what I thought was best-”
“Next point. First thing you do when you climb into a bird is arm the
ejection seats. You remember the procedure? You pull a little arming pin to
enable the trigger mechanism, and replace it after you’re down. Your plane
chief reported that the arming pins were still in place, which was why your
ejection seat didn’t fire. Was that deliberate? Or another fuckup?”
“I guess we forgot. Sir.”
“Forgot. Coyote, how long since you’ve had a decent night’s sleep?”
Some of the fire returned. “We’ve been at Combat Readiness Condition II
for three days now and you ask a damned-fool question like that?”
“You’re tired, Coyote. Tired men make mistakes. Mistakes get men
killed.”
“Sir! Permission to ask a question, sir!”
“Aw, cut the kadet shit, Coyote! What is it?”
“Sir, if you are not satisfied with my performance, sir, then I request
that you take me off flight duty and assign me to other duties, sir! Or
consider my request for transfer, sir!”
“Denied.”
“May I ask why, sir?”
“Damn it, Coyote, what the hell’s the matter with you? You’re a good
officer, a damned good aviator. You’re acting like a spoiled kid caught with
his hand in the cookie jar! I’m not grounding you and I’m not transferring
you. I need you here, bossing the Vipers. Leading the Vipers. Not being one
of the guys, not filling in for your buddies, not screwing up like some damned
snot-nosed ensign, but leading them! You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“First thing I want out of you is for you to have dinner, if you haven’t
eaten already, then go sack out, six hours minimum. Next, tomorrow, I want a
report on those downed birds. Talk to maintenance. Find out what they need
to get them up again. Third, you will continue on flight duty and you will
continue participating in CAPS, but you will not fill in for your people. You
will delegate. Got me?”
Coyote looked away, anger clouding his gaze. “Sir, I respectfully ask
that you reconsider my request for transfer to other duties. It is my
privilege to voluntarily step down from flight status if … if I …”
Tombstone’s eyes narrowed. “You want to turn in your wings? Why?”
The aviator seemed to shrink a little as the stiffness went out of his
spine. “I just don’t think I was cut out for this, sir.”
“Because you screwed up? Or because Nichols is dead?”
“I’m … not sure. Maybe a little of both.”