metal steps now rolling up to the aircraft swayed gently. He sucked in a
deep breath and felt the frigid air sear the delicate tissues of his lungs.
In the distance, he could see a forlorn line of P-3 ASW aircraft
parked on the tarmac. Just a few years ago, there would have been two
complete squadrons of the Orion aircraft permanently stationed here, ready
to pounce on the first sniff of any Soviet submarine that ventured into
these waters. Now, due to downsizing, or right-sizing, as some called it,
he thought bitterly, most of the United States Navy assets were being
pulled back to the mainland. Only these five aircraft remained on this
isolated base, the forward edge of the American continental security
envelope. He looked over in the other direction and saw the squat gray
concrete building that housed the SOSUS station, now silent and cold. Adak
had been a challenging duty station for generations of ocean systems
technicians, but the bean-counters in the Pentagon had decided this
forward-deployed ASW capability was no longer needed.
The peace dividend. He snorted. What they never seemed to realize
was that peace was a temporary state of affairs between conflicts. By
stripping herself of so much fighting capability, America simply guaranteed
that a long, economically painful, and manpower intensive buildup would be
required the next time. And there would be a next time, he thought,
surveying the westernmost base under his command. Regardless of how much
the politicians claimed they’d achieved it, and how much the everyday
citizen wanted it, he couldn’t convince himself that this peace would last.
It was merely a matter of time before it crumbled.
The rickety steps finally reached the aircraft, and two technicians
hurried to decouple the frail structure from the small yellow tractor
towing it. By hand, they pushed it over against the aircraft. Its forward
lip clanged against the scarred and battered surface of the C-130.
Tombstone wrapped his parka around himself more tightly, grateful that
his supply clerk back in ALASKCOM headquarters had insisted he take it,
along with the thick, fur-lined gloves now snuggled in his pockets. He
reached for the metal railing, intending to make the short dash down the
ladder and to the waiting van without the gloves.
A technician grabbed his hand as he reached for the railing. “Sorry,
sir, but you’ll want to put those gloves on first. You touch that metal,
we’ll have to bring the hot water out to unfreeze your hand from it.”
Tombstone nodded his thanks and pulled the gloves on before stepping
out of the aircraft and onto the metal platform. He touched the metal
railing and felt the bitter cold seeping through the thick leather and fur.
The man who had grabbed him had been right. He walked down the steps,
feeling the structure shudder and sway in the forty-knot gale. By the time
he reached the van, only twenty feet away, the cold was already seeping
through the parka and his face was numb.
As he climbed into the front seat of the van and looked across at the
young female petty officer driver, a memory flashed into his mind.
Brilliant sun, the gentle pounding of Mexican waves against a clean, white
sandy beach. And Tomboy, nestled under his arm, pressing gentle curves
into the hard, lean lines of his own body. He smiled, wondering what she
would think if she could see him now, decked out like an Eskimo.
“Welcome to Adak, sir,” the driver said. “I understand this is your
first trip here?”
“Sure is.” He glanced at the front of her uniform, wondering what her
name was, but her stenciled nameplate was covered up by the bulky
cold-weather gear. “And you are?”
“Petty Officer Monk,” she said, the hard edges of a New England accent
clipping her words off. “I’ll be your driver while you’re here, Admiral,”
she added, candidly assessing him.
“I don’t imagine we’ll need to go a lot of places,” Tombstone said.
“After all, the base isn’t that big, is it?”
“No, Admiral, but you’ll want a driver even to get between most of the
buildings. This cold,” she said, shaking her head, “I thought I’d be used