sense.”
“Ten more minutes,” Bird Dog grunted.
Gator dismounted his machine and walked around to stand in front of
Bird Dog. “Don’t you think this is about enough?” he asked quietly. “I
know it’s frustrating, being up there and not being able to do anything,
but pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion isn’t going to help any.
Hell, you end up all stiff and muscle-bound tomorrow, you’re not going to
be able to pull that turkey out of a tight turn if you want to.”
Bird Dog didn’t answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the numbers ticking
off on the time clock. Finally, when the minutes display reached sixty,
the machine started beeping at him. The queue of sailors waiting for the
machine started protesting.
“Okay. That should do it,” Bird Dog said finally, stepping off the
machine and grabbing his towel. “Maybe at least I can get some sleep
tonight.”
“You’re not sleeping?” Gator shot him a worried look. “You okay,
man?”
“Sure, I’m fine. Just needed to work off some energy, that’s all.”
But it wasn’t, and Gator knew it. Bird Dog knew that his RIO knew him
better than anyone else on the ship. The communications between the two
men was almost psychic. And Gator knew that the idea of foreign soldiers
tromping over American soil was eating at his pilot like nothing he’d ever
seen before.
If pressed, Bird Dog admitted, he wouldn’t have expected to have that
strong a reaction. Sure, he’d taken numerous oaths since he’d joined the
service, reciting gravely the words about protecting and defending the
Constitution against all powers both foreign and domestic, swearing
allegiance and obedience to his superiors. But in the last four years,
even though he’d seen conflict over the Spratly Islands, he’d never really
understood what a secret trust those words imposed on him. It bothered
him, and it was even worse that no one else seemed as upset as he was.
Hell, if he were the admiral, he would have nuked those sons of bitches to
kingdom come by now rather than tolerate what amounted to an armed invasion
on American soil. Even if it was just a rocky outcrop of ice and snow in
the middle of the godforsaken North Pacific.
“A shower, maybe something to eat,” Gator said. He glanced at his
pilot appraisingly. “Sound good?”
Bird Dog tried to smirk. “Are you asking me on a date, Gator?”
“In your wildest dreams, asshole,” the RIO said promptly. “Even if
you had boobs, you wouldn’t be my type.”
Bird Dog contemplated a sharp rejoinder, then thought better of it.
To be arguing with his RIO over whether or not he would have made a good
date was the height of idiocy. Besides, there were other things on his
mind at this point.
Gator saw his change of mood. “Oh, come on, lighten up,” he said,
disgusted. “A hell of a lot of pilots go through a whole tour without
seeing as much combat as we did over the Spratlys. You know that?”
Bird Dog shrugged. By now, they’d reached the corridor that housed
the VF-95 pilots. Bird Dog paused at his door, his hand on the knob. He
gazed at Gator for a moment, then said haltingly, “It just doesn’t make
much sense to me sometimes. You know that?”
Gator nodded. “I know that better than anyone else on this boat,
shipmate,” he said. “And I also know that there’s not a damned thing we
can do about it right now. You stick around this canoe club for a while,
you start to understand it. You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way
it is.”
Bird Dog shoved his door open. “Ten minutes, I’ll meet you down in
the Dirty Shirt,” he said by way of response.
Gator nodded. “The tactical scenario always improves on a full
stomach, asshole,” he said lightly. He snapped the towel again, catching
Bird Dog on the butt.
2310 Local
Admiral’s Cabin, USS Coronado
“Thank you, Commander,” Tombstone said gravely. “I’d like for you to
remain while I talk to them.”
The lawyer nodded. He wondered how much the admiral had retained,
since it felt like he’d dumped four years of law school and two years of