whole face lit up.
Tombstone felt a slight twinge of disgruntlement. It felt uncomfortable
to hear his old wingman’s name roll so easily off his current RIO’s lips. It
wasn’t enough that Batman had to borrow his RIO–not that he got to fly that
much anymore, he forced himself to admit–but he also seemed to be striking up
a fast friendship with the female NFO. That hadn’t been part of the deal, had
it? It was one thing to have a close connection with your regular RIO and
wingman, a bond that transcended transfers and career changes, and it was an
entirely different matter to go poaching on someone else’s turf.
Now what the hell? Since when did I start thinking of Tomboy as mine?
Even before Batman arrived, she was flying with other pilots. I’ve heard her
talk about her missions a hundred times, and I’ve never felt–what? What
exactly am I feeling?
Jealousy. The word flashed into his mind and insisted on being
recognized. It’d never occurred to him to be jealous before, because secretly
he’d never viewed any other aviator as possible competition for her attention.
He was the admiral, damn it! And a better pilot than 99.5 percent of the
aviators on this ship–hell, why be modest? In the whole damned Navy.
But Batman–ah, that was a different matter. Within a year, Tombstone
felt certain, his old wingman would be sporting silver stars of his own on his
collar. And if any single pilot that he’d ever flown with had ever come close
to matching Tombstone’s ability, it was Batman. And lately, Tombstone had to
admit, Batman was probably better. Flying with the JAST program despite his
assignment to the Pentagon, Batman was getting a lot more stick time than
Admiral Magruder. Dare he admit it? It was even possible that the eminent
Tombstone Magruder, ace aviator and key player in every conflict in the last
ten years, was getting rusty.
And maybe not just in his flying skills.
“Admiral?” he heard Tomboy say anxiously. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, now unwilling to meet her eyes. He was afraid
that if he did, she might see something there that he was not entirely sure he
wanted known.
“Okay, so about today’s hop,” she said, reaching for her briefing
checklist.
“Um, yeah. Listen, Commander,” he said, and saw her head snap up in
surprise as he addressed her formally, “I just remembered a couple of things
that can’t wait. Call air ops and scrub me from the mission. We’ll try to
reschedule it in a couple of days.”
“Aren’t you going to go out of qual if we wait any longer?” she asked, a
note of concern creeping into her voice. “Tombstone,” she added, pitching her
voice low, “is everything okay?”
“Of course,” he said, thinking quickly. “It’s just that sitting here
doing the briefing, I started realizing that I had something a little off for
lunch. It’s not sitting too well, and I’d hate to be airborne before I–well,
you understand. It’s a little embarrassing, Tomboy, that’s all.” He forced
himself to use her call sign, and to look her in the eyes.
“Ah,” she said, and her expression lightened. Pilots and RIOs became
intimately familiar with each other’s gastrointestinal tracts and the workings
thereof. “Gotcha. Our secret, Tombstone. Just like that time that I had
to-”
“I gotta scat, Tomboy,” he interrupted. “We’ll pick this up another
time, okay?”
“Yes, Admiral,” she said. As he walked to the door of the ready room, he
could feel her eyes on his back. While she appeared to have been convinced by
his last-minute lie, his deception had only bought him some time. Whatever
was going on in his head was his problem, not hers, and it was up to him to
solve it before it interfered with their working relationship. As a last
resort, he could ask for a different RIO.
Wonderful solution that would be–hurt Tomboy’s feelings and get rumors
started around the air wing about his relationship with Tomboy or, even worse,
about Tomboy’s competence. Either alternative was unacceptable.
CHAPTER 21
Wednesday, 3 July
1300 local (Zulu -7)
VF-95 Ready Room
USS Jefferson