feeling that that’s the sort of thing we’re out here protecting them
from.”
“You can take that up with Madam Secretary Reed,” Tombstone said. “I’m
sure she’ll be delighted to hear your feelings on the matter.”
“Yeah. Right. Oh, damn! Almost forgot.” He leafed through the papers on
his clipboard, found what he was looking for, and passed it over to
Tombstone. “This came in from the Canal today. They’re looking for
aviation stores. Spare parts. Sidewinders. They’re wondering if they can
scrounge some from us.”
“Not damned likely.”
“Yeah, well, there may be a pronouncement on that from on high. I gather
there may be some problems getting enough UNREP stuff through the
straits. The Turks could balk at letting all that stuff through.”
Tombstone looked at his friend for a long moment. “Goddamn.”
“Oh, nothing serious. Yet. But there’s talk. And I guess the jarheads
are stretched pretty thin right now.”
“You got that right. A little bird told me they’re already scraping the
bottom of the barrel for equipment and spares. They got deployed short.”
Magruder shook his head. “Sometimes I think our only real enemy is in
Washington. The guys shooting at us are nothing but petty little
annoyances, but those bastards on Capitol Hill are out for blood.”
“A little bird?” Coyote raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re
starting to play Navy politics.”
“Nah, this was just an old friend. The skipper of the Canal, no less.
We had a chat this afternoon.” Magruder smiled. “He wanted me to say
howdy for him. Steve Marusko. Captain Marusko, now.”
“Marusko’s got Guadalcanal? God, that makes me feel older than I felt
already.”
Steve Marusko had been CAG on the cruise where Magruder and Grant had
seen action in Korea, Thailand, and the Indian Ocean. Now he’d moved
further up the career ladder, skippering one of the Marine carriers.
Someday he might wind up as captain of a supercarrier like Jefferson.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to see him before the cruise is over,” Coyote
said. He looked down at his clipboard. “Well, that’s all I’ve got for
now, Stoney. Anything you need me to take care of this afternoon?”
“Just the Maintenance logs on the War Eagles. Light a fire under those
guys and get those reports on my desk tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Or heads will roll?” Grant asked with a smile.
“Starting with yours, so make sure they hop to it down there.” He stood
up as Coyote did. “Dinner tonight?”
Coyote shook his head. “I’m going to beg off, Stoney. I want to write a
letter to Julie.”
“Things still not so good, huh? If there’s anything I can do. ..”
“Unless you can get them to send us home, there’s nothing,” Coyote told
him. “But thanks, man. Thanks.”
As Coyote left, Tombstone settled back into his chair and picked up the
picture on the corner of his desk. His fiancee, Pamela Drake. ..
She was a devastating combination of beauty and brains, an award-winning
reporter for American Cable News. After a long and often stormy
relationship, they’d finally agreed five months ago that they would set
a wedding date after Jefferson’s next cruise. But then he’d received
orders for an early redeployment, and Pamela had exploded. It seemed
like she always saw the Navy as a rival, and she’d frequently urged him
to give up his career, to settle down with a nice, safe airline job.
He’d always protested strongly, saying that the Navy was his life, but
sometimes, like now, he had his doubts.
He set the picture down. Magruder was starting to wonder just where his
career was really heading. Working to break in Coyote as Deputy CAG had
reminded him of all the things about staff work that he hated. But even
with his record, it was possible, even probable, that CAG was as high up
the ladder as he’d ever get. There were a lot more candidates for the
high-powered postings than there were available billets, and frequently
merit gave way to politics when it came to picking people for that
handful of openings. Steve Marusko had been lucky to get the
Guadalcanal. Magruder had an uncle who held an important Pentagon post