CARRIER 8: ALPHA STRIKE By: Keith Douglass

more of the agile, fast fighters before Russia closed the door on foreign

sales. Other sources reported that China was developing her own prototype

advanced fighter, code-named the F-10.

It’s supposed to be years away from being fully operational, Tombstone

thought. But that’s what I thought about the JAST program, too, and I’ve got

two of them sitting on my deck right now. No sure bets on anything these

days.

“This would be the Flanker-C or -1B–those are the two-seater versions,”

an intelligence officer chimed in. “The C version was primarily a trainer,

but it was fully combat capable. The 1B was the fighter-bomber that was

supposed to deploy from their carriers. And Admiral, while the Flanker is

equipped for in-flight refueling, the Chinese have had notoriously little

training in it. If they wanted to come out and take a look-see at us, they’d

probably rather be launching from Vietnam than China’s southern coast. It’s a

hell of a lot closer, and they can get out and take some pictures with their

onboard stores.”

“Let’s not get completely convinced by the tail artwork. A Flanker is a

Flanker, be it Chinese or Vietnamese,” Tombstone said. “Okay, ladies and

gentlemen, let’s play this one like pros. The Flanker–whoever he belongs

to–gets a look as long as he plays nice. But keep that Hornet on him every

second. Something starts looking hinky, I don’t want us scrambling for

cover.”

A whiff of light, clean perfume floated through the air. Tombstone

turned to find the source.

“Good morning, Admiral,” Pamela said, stepping over the knee-knocker

threshold to TFCC. “The Chief of Staff told me I’d find you in here.”

“We’re a little busy right now, Miss Drake,” he said, momentarily

grateful for the subdued red lighting in the operational center. Damn it, he

couldn’t afford to be distracted right now!

“I’ll stay out of the way,” she answered, moving over to an unoccupied

corner of the tiny space.

While his nose quickly became accustomed to the scent of her perfume, and

Pamela was now out of his direct line of sight, Tombstone could feel her in

TFCC. Apart from the normal physical sensations and memories just thinking of

her generated, her presence was doubly uncomfortable with Tomboy flying CAP on

the unknown contact.

As much as he tried to deny it, there was something about the female

aviator that inevitably drew his eyes to her. Tomboy had been his RIO when

Jefferson had faced down the Russians on the Kola Peninsula, and during their

mission over the Polyamyy submarine base. Their Tomcat had taken a hit, and

they’d punched out. Tomboy had come out of it with a broken leg and an

extended hospital stay.

She’d been lucky. Not every female pilot had been, he thought.

Lieutenant Chris “Lobo” Hansen had been shot down on the same mission. The

militia that’d captured her had gang-raped her and left her naked and

shivering, displayed in a wire cage. When the Marines rescued her a few hours

later, she was already deep into psychological and physical shock.

Tombstone had heard from Tomboy that Lobo had completely recovered and

been sent to an instructor’s billet at Top Gun school. There’d been some talk

of barring her from further combat duties, but in the end the Navy did the

right thing. Lobo had finished her tour as an instructor, and had received

orders to VF-95 as the Safety Officer. Whatever else the Navy had learned

from the integration of women into combat squadrons, it was that there was

only one personnel policy that worked–treating each and every aviator as a

professional. Tombstone approved.

He wondered if he’d feel the same if it had been Tomboy who’d undergone

the same experience. Involuntarily, he remembered how her head barely came up

to his wings on his chest, and how her voice sounded over the ICS. A pilot

and regular RIO were always close. During combat, the RIO’s voice merged with

the pilot’s thoughts, until every comment from the backseat sounded like his

own mind. Was that what he was feeling? The traditional psychic bond between

two aviators that depended on each other in the air? Or was it something

else?

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *