Afraid one of ’em’ll go on the rag and bleed all over the seat of one of
your airplanes?”
“Jesus, Wayne!”
“Sorry. Bad joke. Okay, how’s this. You’re afraid Conway’s people
can’t cut it, is that it? That they can’t handle the pressure?”
“Well, I used to wonder about how hard they’d push. Aggression’s
supposed to be a male thing, you know. Then I realized that any woman
who’d fought her way to the top of the pyramid in naval aviation sure as
hell didn’t have anything lacking in the aggressiveness department.”
“I’d say that’s an understatement.”
“I’m worried about the wing’s morale. The men as well as the women.
Damn it, we’re about to go into combat. People are going to be making
split-second decisions where a half second’s hesitation is the
difference between living and dying. People are going to die, Batman.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and saw again the horror aboard the
Jefferson after the last of the Battles of the Fjords.
Modern, high-tech warfare carried its own peculiar intensity. Four
Soviet Kerry missiles had struck the carrier at the height of the
battle, and fuel and munitions in the hangar bay had been set ablaze.
The fires had nearly claimed the ship. He could still remember the
scene on her flight deck, just after he’d returned to the Jeff aboard an
SH-3 helicopter. The wounded had been lined up on stretchers in ranks,
waiting their turn to evacuate. Kids, most of them, with hideous burns
over faces and arms.
Could he watch something like that happen to a woman?
“The morale and the efficiency of this unit are my responsibility,” he
continued. “I think having them aboard is hurting our morale, and I
think it’s going to get worse the closer we get to Russian airspace. The
closer we get to battle.”
Batman didn’t answer right away. “How do you feel about it?” Tombstone
prompted him.
“Oh, my morale’s just fine, thank you. And I’m not aware of anyone else
in the Vipers with a problem. Well, Arrenberger, maybe.”
“Slider? What’s with him?”
“Bad attitude, mostly. He’s one of those ‘the woman’s place is in the
home’ types. And there’re a few others who may like having them aboard
too much, if you know what I mean.”
“The question is, what’s that going to do to our combat efficiency when
we go one-on-one against the Russians?”
“There’s not a lot we can do that we’re not already doing. You make
sure your people are the best trained, the best motivated there are,
like always.
Shouldn’t be hard. You’ve got good material to work with. I think
you’re just shook because you reacted to a situation tonight like a man
instead of like a commanding officer.”
“Yeah. And I can’t help what I am, can I? I’m also wondering if that’s
going to be a problem for other men in this wing. What about these guys
you say like having the women aboard too much?”
“Hey, CAG. I named no names.”
“I’m not interrogating you. But is it a problem? PDAs?
Fraternization?”
“I’m pretty sure some of the guys have something going with some of the
gals, yeah. You know Navy guys.”
“And aviators.”
“Right. But they’re doing their jobs. They’re professionals, Stoney.
They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.”
There was no way, Tombstone knew, to stop men and women from being men
and women, certainly not when they were locked up together for month
after month in an unrelieved confinement that could make life in a
prison seem liberal by comparison. The question was whether the issue
of sex aboard ship could impair Jefferson’s fighting ability. There was
nothing he could do but, as Batman had suggested, rely on his people’s
own professionalism and good sense.
He wondered, though, about Conway. As the senior female aviator aboard,
she was de facto the women’s CO, though she and all of the women in turn
answered to him, as commander of the wing.
Was she having the same worries about her girls as Tombstone was having
with his boys? Maybe it would be a good idea to talk to her about it.
CHAPTER 3
Tuesday, 10 March