CARRIER 8: ALPHA STRIKE By: Keith Douglass

rules apply.”

“Roger, copy,” her pilot said. “You know, I was worried about having to

fly with you–thought I’d have to be watching my language and learnin’ how to

be politically correct. But, hell, Fingers–you’re worse than I am!”

She sighed and leaned back against the hard cushion. She rubbed the

small of her back with both hands. Flying sideways had definite disadvantages

to it.

“Listen, Rabbit, you think I would want to spend eight hours a day with

people who were always watching their damned language? Flying with somebody

paranoid? Hell, we can’t be a crew like that! You have to be able to talk to

me. I have to know that you’re going to listen to me when I tell you to get

the hell out of Dodge, and you have to be able to talk to me to stay away.

It’s not like you’ve got anything else to do up there.”

“Aw, fuck you, Fingers. If you’d had the eyesight, you’d have been a

pilot, too!”

You’ve made that offer before, Rabbit. Someday I’m going to take you up

on it.”

He heard the enlisted technician snicker. “She’ll call your bluff

someday, Rabbit,” he said. “Or maybe not–maybe she’s heard how you got that

call sign!”

“Hey, you too? What the hell happened to male bonding?” the pilot

whined.

“Replaced by RIO bonding,” he said. “I’ll take smart-wearing-glasses

over stupid-with-good-eyesight any day!”

“How about taking new contacts over blank screens instead?” Fingers said,

suddenly all business. “In your sector, Jamie.”

“Got him,” the technician replied. “Classify it as a Flanker, based on

the radar and speed. Loitering in area, it appears. He’s doing the same

thing we’re doing, hanging around watching.”

“So we watch him while he watches us,” she said softly. “And we wait to

see who blinks first. I’d sure as hell feel a lot better with a TER right

now.”

“We don’t need no stinking weapons,” the pilot grumbled. “At least

that’s what they told us in the brief. We’ve got the Aegis to protect us,

right?”

“YeA, the Aegis and a satellite. I’m feeling real secure,” Jamie said.

“You and me both, brother,” Fingers said softly. “You and me both.”

1010 local (Zulu -7)

Combat Direction Center

USS Vincennes

“Keep a close eye on that Flanker,” the captain ordered. “If the balloon

goes up, I want to be ready.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the TAO said. A week ago, he might have been tempted to

dismiss the captain’s order as more of the reflexive paranoia he’d come to

associate with the man. Now, since the missile shot last week, the CO’s

premonitions didn’t seem nearly as unreasonable. Sure, the Chinese were

claiming they’d been provoked into firing after the Aegis had locked up their

MiG. But with the new cool-down policy, that E-2 had to be feeling awful

lonely up there without CAP. No matter that the Admiral thought it’d ease the

tensions in the area to stand down the number of flights. He wasn’t the one

on the front line.

The TAO was. And he didn’t like the feeling one little bit.

“We’ll be ready, Captain,” he said, keying the Combat circuit as he

spoke. A series of clicks cluttered the circuit for a moment, acknowledgment

from the other operators. “We are ready,” he amended.

1045 local (Zulu -7)

TFCC

USS Jefferson

“Phase One,” Tombstone said to Ops. “They know we’re there.”

“Now let’s get them thinking the way we want them to,” he said, glancing

at CAG.

“Already scheduled. They’re going to see the Hawkeye relieved every six

hours. No tanking, no CAP, just the little ol’ Hawkeye up there all by

himself.”

“You’ve got the alert package ready to go?” Ops asked.

“Starting next cycle. We’re skipping this one, giving them some time to

look us over and get lulled into the rhythm of it. Get the crews some rest,

too. It’s going to be a while before they get that, once we start the next

phase.”

“This afternoon,” Tombstone said suddenly. “They’re not going to do

anything right now–they’ll have to talk to their staff, try to figure out how

to use our operations plan to their own advantage. It’s going to take them a

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