to it, but this takes even me by surprise.”
“Maine?” Tombstone asked, hazarding a guess.
Her face brightened. “You’ve been there?”
“Several times. Did a lot of skiing up at Sugarloaf years ago.”
She nodded vigorously. “Only about forty miles from my hometown,” she
said happily. “Gets cold up there, but nothing compared to Adak.”
Something about the young sailor reminded Tombstone of Tomboy. It
wasn’t just the physical similarity, he was sure, although Petty Officer
Monk was about the same size as his lover. No, it was something in the set
of the eyes, the bright gleam of mischief that not even naval courtesy and
custom could entirely dim.
“Oh, by the way, Admiral,” Petty Officer Monk said suddenly, breaking
into his reverie. “A few members of the press arrived yesterday on the
last C-130 for the decommissioning ceremony. There’re only three
reporters, though,” she added hastily, seeing the expression of dismay
cross his face. “Just one from a major network.”
As the last passenger climbed into the van, Petty Officer Monk started
to pull away from the aircraft. She’d left the engine running while
sitting there.
“And just who might that be?” Tombstone asked, already feeling a
curious, pleasant fluttering in his stomach. If it were …”
“Miss Pamela Drake,” Monk said cheerfully. “She’s staying at the
Bachelor Officers’ Quarters–BOQ—but most of us have gotten a look at
her. She’s from ACN.”
Pamela Drake. Why wasn’t he surprised? Tombstone shook his head.
During the last ten years, Pamela had managed to turn up on every major
press pool covering United States Navy operations, particularly those that
involved a certain Matthew Magruder. At first he’ thought it was
coincidence, but on his last cruise, Pamela had finally admitted that she
never passed up an opportunity to cover anything involving Tombstone. When
they’d finally broken their engagement, he thought those days would be
over.
Evidently not. A new thought struck him, and he grimaced. Now just
what would Tomboy have to say if she found out that Pamela Drake was on the
same isolated island as her lover? He shook his head, quite sure that it
wouldn’t be pleasant.
1710 Local
Tomcat 201
“Okay, we got it,” the voice said over Tactical. “Solid visual on the
COI–contact of interest.”
“About time you guys showed up,” Bird Dog grumbled. “This is a
fighter, not a babysitter.”
“We do our best, but our max speed is four hundred and forty knots,”
the other pilot retorted. “You might be able to get here faster, but you
can’t do a damned thing about her while she’s submerged. We can,” he
concluded smugly.
Bird Dog stared out the windscreen at the squat, blunt-nosed S-3
Viking ASW aircraft. She was less than half the size of the Tomcat, he
figured, but her long fuel endurance and highly efficient engines enabled
her to remain on station far longer than the Tomcat could have dreamed of
without tanking. Two Harpoon antiship missiles hung slung on either side
of her fuselage, with two torpedoes on each wing occupying the outer
weapons stations. Evidently, the carrier took this business seriously,
sending out the S-3s fully armed.
While the Tomcat could carry a wide range of anti-air missiles and
bombs, there was damned little it had against a submarine. Rockeyes,
ground-attack missiles that carried a payload of bomblets, could be
effective against a submarine on the surface, but the Tomcat had no
anti-surface or torpedo capability whatsoever. Indeed, on this flight,
which was intended to be a simple quick look-see at the Greenpeace ship,
Tomcat 201 carried only a minimal weapons load-out, more for training than
for any other purpose. Sidewinders graced the outer weapons stations, with
two Sparrows occupying the ones closer to the fuselage. They’d elected to
forego the longer-range Phoenix missiles, whose massive weight
significantly reduced the Tomcat’s on-station time.
“Okay, we’re out of here. You guys take this bitch out if she even so
much as moves like she’s going to take out my stereo,” Bird Dog said.
“Don’t worry about it,” the S-3 pilot said dryly. “You might have
noticed that you and I live in the same apartment building.”
CHAPTER 3
Monday, 26 December
0200 Local