“Then I guess the last attack was just spontaneous combustions, because
Aegis sure as hell didn’t see what caused it,” the Air Boss replied. He
raised his binoculars and pointed them at the passengers disembarking from the
COD. “Well, will you look at that! That COD’s got more modifications than
the JAST birds!” the Air Boss exclaimed. The Mini Boss followed his line of
sight, and then trained his binoculars in the same direction.
“Not bad,” he said grudgingly. “But anything looks good halfway through
deployment. Any woman that’s not an aviator,” he amended hastily.
“That’s one of the reporters,” an enlisted air traffic controller, or AC,
offered. “Saw her listed on the manifest for the COD.”
“Reporter, huh? Wonder what brought her out here, the JAST birds or the
tactical events? Hey, what’s her name? Anyone we’d have heard of?” the Mini
Boss asked.
The AC picked up a clipboard, and ran his finger down the list of names.
“Here it is. Pamela Drake, from ACN. I’ve heard of her.”
The Air Boss and Mini Boss exchanged a telling look. So had they, but
not from watching television. Unless they were completely mistaken, Miss
Drake was Rear Admiral Magruder’s long-standing heart-throb. Rumor control,
monitored by the petty officers that handled all mail going off and coming on
the carrier, said that the two were no longer an item. Speculation had run
rampant on the mess decks about the future of the relationship.
“If you thought things were getting interesting out here before,” the Air
Boss said quietly, “just stand by.”
CHAPTER 6
Thursday, 27 June
1700 local (Zulu -7)
Admiral’s Cabin
USS Jefferson
A light tap sounded on Tombstone’s door, the one that led to the flag
briefing room and TFCC. The chief of staff, usually referred to as COS, stuck
his head into the admiral’s quarters. “the new birds are on deck. Thought
you’d want to know.”
“Come on in, COS. I saw them coming in on the Plat,” Tombstone replied,
referring to the closed-circuit TV that monitored the flight deck. “Sounded
like plain old Tomcats landing to me.”
COS pushed the door open and entered the combination office/living room
of Tombstone’s cabin. He glanced at the paperback book open on the coffee
table. “Didn’t know you were a Western history buff, Admiral.”
“Ah, that. My boss gave it to me at my going-away party. He said that
since my call sign was Tombstone, I ought to know a little about the story of
Tombstone, Arizona, and the shoot-out at the OK Corral and all. That was
Wyatt Earp’s last fight, you know.”
“I do know that, actually. When I was a kid, I read everything I could
get on the Old West. It was an escape, I guess. Growing up in Chicago, there
wasn’t that much open space. Somehow, the idea of going for days without
seeing another person, riding across the ranges with your trusty horse and
six-shooter, seemed like the best life in the world.”
“Know what you mean. I never got a pony when I was a kid, but I got a
Tomcat when I grew up.”
“At least airspace is still as unlimited as the old Texas ranches were,”
COS said.
“Except that now the Chinese are starting to act like the farmers that
wanted to put up fences. Maybe my old boss was right. He said the nature of
conflict remained constant over the centuries.” Tombstone glanced down at the
pile of paperwork on his desk and grimaced. “Wonder if Wyatt Earp had to deal
with this much paperwork. It looks like I won’t get to even see one of the
new birds for another two hours. Why is everything that ends up on my desk
either impossible or screwed up?”
“Because I take care of the easy decisions before they get to you,
Admiral. That is what’s left over.”
“All right, all right. Anything here that can’t wait a few hours?”
Suddenly, the urge to break free from the confining spaces below decks shook
him. How long had it been since he’d flown? At least two months, back when
Jefferson was still in transit. With the recent events in the South China