hard it is to find wreckage from a boat in this weather.”
Tombstone’s frustrated sigh carried clearly over the radio circuits.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but that can’t stop us from trying. You wouldn’t
believe the news media I have breathing down my neck out here.”
Batman thought he detected something besides true professional
annoyance in his old squadron mate’s voice. “One of those news media
people wouldn’t happen to be the lovely Miss Pamela Drake, now, would it?”
he asked shrewdly.
If swearing on a Navy radio circuit weren’t prohibited, he could have
sworn he heard Tombstone mutter a curse. But then again, the private
circuit rigged up between the two admirals was hardly a normal channel.
“Of course it is! It just wouldn’t seem right, with things going to
hell in a hand-basket, if she weren’t around, now, would it?”
“And how is that working out?” Batman pressed.
Silence descended on the circuit. Finally, Batman heard Tombstone
sigh. “I’d be lying if I told you it was easy,” Tombstone said finally.
“Does Tomboy know she’s out there?”
“No. And I’ll thank you not to tell her. I’ll get around to it in my
own time, in my own way. The separation hasn’t been easy on either of us.”
“At least she gets to fly every day,” Batman said, a note of longing
in his voice. “I’m tempted to put myself on the schedule for one of those
reconnaissance flights.”
“That was one of the hardest parts of that job, Batman,” Tombstone’s
voice said soberly, “realizing that it wasn’t my turn anymore–that I could
do more good for the battle group by staying where I was supposed to be, in
TFCC and in command, than I could trying to outdo some youngster with
faster reflexes and better eyesight.”
Batman chuckled. “Am I going to be following you around for the rest
of my career, Stoney?” he asked, “learning every lesson two years after
you’ve learned it?”
“Up to you, shipmate. You’re going to make mistakes. We all do. I
recommend you avoid mine, and make your own.”
Batman felt the ship shudder as another Tomcat on the cat spooled up
to full military power. “You hear that, Stoney?” he asked.
“The sound of freedom.”
“Yep, and for all that I get tired of following in your footsteps, I’d
sure as hell rather be out here than stuck ashore like you are right now.”
“Don’t rub it in, asshole. You’ll get your turn ashore. In the
meantime, why don’t you see if you can’t rustle up some evidence of what
happened to that Greenpeace boat? Out there, you can always have a
convenient communications failure. Back here, I can’t seem to get away
from these people. Give me something I can use.” Tombstone’s voice took
on an ominous, pleading quality.
“Roger that. I’ll see what we can come up with.”
Batman replaced the receiver thoughtfully and stared at it for a
moment. In the twenty years that he had known Tombstone, he had never
known the hotshot Tomcat pilot to sound so beleaguered. Even in the midst
of the Spratlys conflict, or engaged in a dogfight over the Norwegian
coast, Tombstone had had the ability to maintain an absolutely unflappable
demeanor that had earned him his nickname. If shore duty had the ability
to make his friend sound like a pussy-whipped lieutenant, then Batman
wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.
Batman walked out of his cabin, through the Flag Mess, and toward the
far entrance to the mess. His chief of staff’s combination stateroom and
office was located immediately inside the door to the mess. Batman rapped
lightly once on the doorjamb. The chief of staff glanced up from a
two-foot stack of paperwork, then immediately stood. “Yes, Admiral?”
“Let’s get everybody assembled in the briefing room at fifteen
hundred, COS,” Batman said. “We need to do some serious thinking about
this Greenpeace boat.”
COS regarded him soberly. “Admiral, you know there’s no chance that
those men are still alive. Even if they made it into the rafts, the cold
would have killed them by now.” COS shook his head. “A damned shame, but
I don’t know what we can do about it at this point.”