idea!”
If Lab Rat hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the somber admiral
was even starting to smile. It was just as well he was sworn to
secrecy–while his colleagues might be able to believe his plan, not a single
one of them would have believed that old stone face had smiled.
0800 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“How are you holding up?” Bird Dog asked, glancing at the rearview
mirror. “You ready for some aerobatics? Tell me if you’re not–you’ll be
cleaning it up if you puke.”
The backseater nodded.
“Use the ICS. If I’m not looking, I can’t see you nod,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the answer came finally. “I think some aerobatics would be
just great!”
“Okay, Shaughnessy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Bird Dog jammed
the throttles forward, pitched the nose of the Tomcat up, and headed into an
Immelmann.
She may own it on the ground, but up here it’s all mine! And the more
she knows about that part of it, the better she can do her job.
He’d never been too good with words, but a highly illegal and damned
well-deserved ride in a Tomcat ought to make up for a hell of a lot of
mistakes!
A war whoop echoed over the ICS as he reached the pinnacle of the
maneuver. He felt a grin split his own face and added his best imitation of a
rebel yell to her voice.
Damn, it was nice to have a backseater that appreciated the fancy stuff!
Maybe it was time to talk to Shaughnessy about getting some college under her
belt and going to AOCS. In six years or so, Gator might just find he had a
little competition.
Then again, if her eyesight held up, she just might have her eyes on the
front seat! From the way she was enjoying the aerobatics, she just might.
1100 local (Zulu -7)
Admiral’s Cabin
USS Jefferson
“Admiral? Lieutenant Commander Flynn to see you, sir,” COS said.
Tombstone looked up from his desk and frowned. He’d known this day would
come soon enough, and he still hadn’t decided how to handle it. The more he
tried to ignore Tomboy, the more he found her creeping into his thoughts. He
could spot her in seconds in the crowded dirty-shirt mess in the forward part
of the ship, and lately he’d taken to avoiding the VF-95 Ready Room. Every
time he stepped into it, she was there.
She’d noticed, he was certain. How could she not know something was
wrong when the man she’d flown with for a year, day in and day out, in combat
and on routine hops, suddenly started avoiding her?
“Show her in, COS,” he said. Well, absent a plan, he’d have to play it
by ear.
“Commander,” he said formally, while COS lingered at the door.
“Admiral, thank you for seeing me,” she responded. Her voice was low and
steady, although her usually light complexion looked starkly pale against the
flaming red hair. She wore khakis, ribbons, and her wings, every inch the
professional naval officer and pilot that she was. Suitable dress for a
junior officer to see the admiral.
“Please–sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.
For a moment, he considered asking her to sit on the couch, to put her at
ease. After all, if this meeting was difficult for him, it had to be doubly
so for her.
“Thank you–I’d prefer to stand, if that would be all right with you,
Admiral. This won’t take long.” She paused and took a deep breath. Then she
placed her hands at the open collar of her khaki shirt, slid one hand inside,
and tugged. Her wings popped off and lay, shining gold, in the palm of her
small hand. She looked down at them for a moment, and then sighed.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tombstone snapped. For a moment, as her
hand went inside her shirt, he’d been afraid that–no, it wouldn’t have been
possible. Tomboy make a pass at him? On the ship? Never.
“Quitting. You won’t ask me to—you wouldn’t ever ask that of your own
backseater. But it’s obvious to me that that’s what you want. I thought I’d