man’s word counts for something. But what did you promise?”
“He came to my house, he ate my food. He was polite, respectful,” the
older man said, not evading the question but laying the foundation for its
answer. “He asked me to keep watch. I told him I would.”
The bare bones of the story did not satisfy the younger man. “But who
was he? And why did you give him your word?”
“He was a lieutenant commander then,” the man said, rolling the
English words for rank around in his mouth as though they were not entirely
comfortable to pronounce. “It was so many years ago, but I remember him.
His name was Magruder.”
1555 Local
Tomcat 201
Bird Dog turned the aircraft north, heading on the outbound leg of the
chainsaw defense pattern. To the east and west, other aircraft provided
surveillance in those areas. South of all three, near the battle group, an
E-2C Hawkeye radar surveillance aircraft coordinated the CAP pattern.
“Where the hell is he?” Bird Dog muttered. “For the last five days,
that modified Bear has been overhead at just about this time.”
“Hold your horses,” Gator said. “He’ll be here when he gets here.
Besides, I don’t know that’s something to be wishing for.”
“And why the hell not?” Bird Dog said angrily. “All these damned
surveillance patrols, no one ever did a damned thing to him. Then for no
reason at all, he decides to take a shot at a P-3. Well, if he wants to
play rough, just let him try it with us. I’m loaded for Bear, that’s for
certain.” He touched the weapons selector switch on the stick. “Though
I’d give up those Phoenix birds any day for a couple more Sidewinders,
especially against a Bear.”
The Phoenix missile was the Tomcat’s most potent long-range standoff
weapon. Capable of intercept speeds of up to Mach 5, the Phoenix had an
independent seeker head that could lock on and track a target at ranges of
up to one hundred and twenty-five miles. Its major weakness was that it
required continuing illumination of the target from the Tomcat, putting
serious constraints on Bird Dog’s maneuverability and ability to evade.
However, even with its history of guidance problems, the Phoenix had one
strong point–it forced the enemy onto the defensive immediately,
disrupting any tactical formations and allowing the American aircraft to
take the offensive. A Phoenix missile graced the outboard weapons station
on either side.
Just inboard of that, Sparrow and Sidewinder missiles were nestled up
onto the hard points of the Tomcat undercarriage. Both were
fire-and-forget weapons, the Sparrow relying on radar designation from the
Tomcat and the Sidewinder using a heat-seeking sensor head to guide it to
the hot exhaust streams from a fighter. Both were short-range, knife-fight
weapons, and were preferred by most pilots over the more cumbersome
Phoenix.
“He’s gonna get a Sidewinder up his ass,” Bird Dog said. “First sniff
you get of him, he’s dead meat.”
Gator sighed. “Why are you such an idiot? You know damned well we’re
not authorized weapons free. If that P-3 had gone down, maybe. But since
he didn’t, we need clearance from Jefferson to fire unless it’s
self-defense.”
“I’m feeling mighty self-defensive about now.”
“You’ll feel it even more when you’re standing in front of that long
green table trying to explain why you shot down a reconnaissance aircraft,”
Gator pointed out.
“Like they don’t have to explain why they shot at our P-3, but I have
to explain shooting at them?” Bird Dog demanded.
“You got it, shipmate. You take a shot without my concurrence and I’m
not backing you up. Not this time.”
Bird Dog heard the real annoyance in the RIO’s voice. “Okay, okay,”
he said finally. “I’m a big boy–I understand the rules.”
As the Tomcat reached the end of its northern leg, Bird Dog used a
hard rudder to pull her into a sharp, ascending turn. “On station,” he
said.
“Fine. Listen, Bird Dog, I know you think I’m some sort of wimp,” the
RIO continued, his tone softer. “But out here on the pointy end of the
spear, we’re not just a couple of hotshot fighter jocks spoiling for a
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