ordered the Aegis to, Killington would be forced to try for a tail shot
against a missile fired at the battle group if a raid did come off the coast.
Unfortunately, Tombstone could not possibly explain his rationale to the
Aegis CO, even if he had been inclined to. The real reasoning behind the
operational plan was on a strictly limited need-to-know basis, and Killington
didn’t need to know. All he had to do was execute a normal Aegis role in the
battle group.
“It’s not necessary that you know why. Just that you know where. You
do–so get your ass on station,” Tombstone said impassively.
“Aye, aye, Admiral. We’re heading north at flank speed,” Killington said
finally, a note of suppressed anger in his voice.
“Not flank speed! Your orders are to use normal transit speeds.
Thirty-plus knots is an aggressive posture, and you’re supposed to be assuming
a normal patrol station. Listen to me very carefully, Captain. My chief of
staff had command of one of your precious Aegis cruisers before he was
assigned here. Given any provocation at all from you, I’ll give him a second
command. Yours. Got that?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Tombstone slammed the receiver down and then switched the dialer off the
private frequency. He stared gloomily at the CCTV, focused on the now-quiet
flight deck. So much depended on the Aegis fulfilling her delicate role in
the maneuvers! Killington’s request hadn’t been unreasonable–to be filled in
on the big picture, and to know how his ship’s orders contributed to it.
Still, coming from Aegis, he’d been predisposed to deny the request out of
hand. And now, with the Aegis headed north smartly, every hour simply
increased the logistic problems associated with flying the CO over to the
carrier.
Damn, hadn’t he learned this lesson as a lieutenant commander? The
problems associated with managing the highly competent men and women who made
up the modern Navy? Wasn’t there some point at which he’d feel certain he was
capable of doing his job and leading his people?
Tombstone sighed. Too much depended on this plan coming off exactly as
planned.
CHAPTER 17
Tuesday, 2 July
0800 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“You set?” Bird Dog asked as he tucked his kneeboard in over the
preloading button on his G-suit. Sudden acceleration would depress the button
and activate the suit before it could react automatically. One more thing
that could go wrong, something in the back of his mind noted, another little
mechanism for killing pilots: gray out and unconsciousness brought on by high
G-forces.
I might not even know, if it was bad enough. Be in the drink in seconds
if I passed out. Cold seawater, hot jet engines, big explosion. It’d be
fast, anyway. God, at least don’t let me stay conscious. Don’t let me have
to watch it.
An involuntary tremor shook him, and he pushed the thoughts away. This
was no time to be thinking about the dangers he faced every day, not while
sitting on the cat. Keep your mind in the cockpit, idiot. That’s what kills
more pilots than anything else–getting distracted at just the wrong minute
and forgetting to fly the aircraft. Look at Gator. He’s done this a million
more times than you have, and you don’t see him sweating the load.
Bird Dog glanced in the mirror and saw the RIO give one last tug on his
harness. Ice-blue eyes, framed by the flight helmet and the face mask, met
his. Gator gave him a thumbs-up.
“Ready now,” Gator answered.
Bird Dog snapped off a salute at the handler and pressed his head and
back hard against the back of the seat. Seconds later, he felt the first
slight motion of the Tomcat. The steam piston rammed forward to the bow of
the ship, accelerating the F-14 to 145 knots in six seconds. Catapulted off
the carrier at just above stall speeds, the Tomcat clawed for airspeed and
attitude, but settled for just staying airborne.
“Always a miracle,” Gator said, taking a deep breath.
“I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Bird Dog asked, trying for a light
note in his voice.
“First time’s the last time. So you know where we’re heading?” Gator