career–often just for the amusement of it–with a few well-placed words.
Until then, Batman would have sworn that a blue-on-blue engagement could only
happen on the battlefield.
But this was Tombstone, he reminded himself. His lead, the pilot he’d
logged thousands of hours with, done four cruises with, the man who’d bailed
him out of more tough situations than he wanted to think of. No, if Tombstone
wanted to do Batman harm, it’d come in the form of a fist in the gut rather
than a knife in the back. Batman took a deep breath and vowed that this was
his last DC tour.
“It’s not safe, Tombstone. It’s not safe, and you know it. Sending
those E-2C’s out there on their own–hell, what do you even need them up for?
The Aegis can give you every bit of air picture you need! Sending those
fellows out alone, with no protection at all, under these circumstances, makes
no sense at all!” Batman paused midtirade, watching his friend.
His nickname had always suited him too well, Batman thought. Tombstone’s
gray eyes, brown-black hair, and somber expression would have suited an
undertaker better than an aviation admiral. Yet Batman had seen the
impenetrable gray pools of his eyes flare with inner fire, and heard the hard
excitement too many times in Tombstone’s voice to believe that he was really
as cold as his subordinates believed.
“You think so, Captain?” Tombstone’s icy voice cut through Batman’s
reflections.
“Naw–hell, no, Admiral,” Batman said uncomfortably. He forced himself
down onto the couch, suddenly acutely aware of how inappropriate it was to
treat an admiral–any admiral, damn it!–that way. “Sorry, sir. My mouth-”
“-got the better of you, as it often does,” Tombstone finished. “Some
things never change,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
Batman’s head snapped up, and he stared at Tombstone suspiciously. Was
that a glint of amusement he saw in the admiral’s eyes? “Sir, if I didn’t
know better, I’d swear you’re laughing at me.”
“Not at you, Batman–with you. Or at least I will be in a couple of
seconds. Let me show you,” Tombstone continued, reaching across his desk to
snatch a message and a chart off his credenza, “exactly what we’re up to.
Your JAST birds are a part of this plan.”
CHAPTER 19
Wednesday, 3 July
1800 local (Zulu -7)
Flight Deck
USS Jefferson
As the sun dropped down toward the horizon, the heat rising off the
flight deck abated enough to entice runners out onto the decks between flight
cycles. Bird Dog jogged aft, feeling the sweat pouring off his back and
working out the stiffness that came from sitting cramped in a cockpit for six
hours that day. The humid air made any exertion doubly tiring, but the chance
to get some exercise was not to be missed. Tucked in various strange
compartments within the carrier were three weight rooms and one bicycle alley.
In various other stray corners, an occasional exercise bike would be placed.
While the carrier went to some length to try to make fitness available at all
times, no machine could offer the same sheer joy as being out on the flight
deck running.
As he ran past two VF-95 Tomcats, he noticed a familiar figure perched on
the step next to the cockpit. Even from fifty feet away, he recognized the
slim figure barely concealed by coveralls and the shock of short blond hair.
Veering off his track, he headed for the aircraft.
“Shaughnessy! What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, coming to a stop
next to her Tomcat.
The young airman flinched and almost lost her balance. “Just checking
that the seat is safed, sir,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Parariggers
were doing some work in here earlier, and I just wanted to double-check it.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You’re on extra duty,
Shaughnessy. That doesn’t mean screwing around with the aircraft, it means
under close control of the squadron master at arms. You miss his muster,
you’re UA, young woman. Now get down there!”
Shaughnessy stared at the deck, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Aye, aye,
sir,” she said softly, her voice barely audible in the wind across the flight