White Wolf. How could I ever have thought him expressionless? Sikes
wondered briefly, then was distracted by the pounding pain in his head. He
groaned again, unable to suppress it.
“At least you’re alive,” White Wolf said softly. He glanced around at
something in the distance. “They smashed you on the back of the head. I
wasn’t sure whether-”
Sikes tried to shake his head and winced at the effort. “Talking,” he
croaked, barely able to force the words past his throat.
“They don’t seem to mind it right now, for some reason. Here they
come.”
Sikes heard the soft crunch of boots on ice, and two arctic pieces of
footwear loomed into view. “Sit him up,” a voice ordered harshly.
“I’m okay,” Sikes protested weakly. He felt hands under his
shoulders, grabbing his parka, pulling him into a sitting position.
“Drink,” the voice continued. A hand thrust a mug in front of his
face. Sikes reached for it, all too aware of the trembling in his hands.
To his surprise, he found that the outside of the mug was hot. A
tantalizing aroma reached his nostrils. Coffee, he noted. Suddenly, that
sounded like a very good idea.
“Well, we’re still alive. For what that’s worth,” he said finally.
CHAPTER 12
Friday, 30 December
0900 Local
USS Jefferson
“You’re sure about this?” Tombstone shouted, raising his voice to be
heard over the cacophony on the flight deck.
Batman grinned. “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything, Stoney.
This mission ain’t got a chance in hell unless I fly lead on it. You know
that. Besides, I’ve got that hotheaded Bird Dog up there to watch out for.
He and Gator have more time circling this piece of ice than any other crew
on the boat. I’ll get them in, they’ll dump some ordnance, and we’ll all
be back on board in time for midrats. Hell, I’d go it alone if my bird
could carry enough two-thousand-pounders alone.” He shook his head
ruefully. “But in this weather, with a Bear-J in the vicinity, you gotta
have some self-protection.”
Outside the handler’s compartment, the JAST bird and Tomcat 201 were
waiting. Both aircraft carried two two-thousand-pound bombs, along with
Sidewinders and Sparrows for air combat. According to the SEALs’ mission
plan, four bombs were necessary to ensure the desired kill factor on the
mission.
“Well.” Tombstone paused at the hatch leading out onto the flight
deck from the handler’s compartment and stuck out his hand. “Luck. You’ll
need it, an old shit like you pulling this kind of stunt.”
Batman grabbed his old wingman’s hand in a strong, two-handed grip.
“Luck always helps, but I’ll settle for some damned fine avionics instead.
That I know I’ve got. And the best damned RIO in the Navy.” He jerked his
chin toward the short naval flight officer behind him.
“Yes.” Tombstone gazed down at Tomboy, once again aware of how petite
she was. If he hadn’t had first-hand experience with her ability as a
RIO–and, he admitted, an even closer look at the strength in her body–he
might have tried to talk Batman into taking another RIO along for this one.
If, he added, he’d somehow found the courage to face the enraged Tomboy.
“Good hunting to you, too, Lieutenant Commander Flynn,” he said
formally. He let his eyes show the warmth he purposely kept out of his
voice. “You kick ass up there, okay?”
“That and more, Admiral,” she answered, her voice steady and her chin
up. “I’ll get Admiral Wayne back in one piece, I promise.”
“See that you do. D.C. is going to be shitting bricks if they have to
give me another at-sea command.” Tombstone held out his hand, letting his
fingers slide over hers as she did the same. He tugged gently, and she
swayed almost imperceptibly toward him. “And hurry back,” he said softly,
pitching his voice so that only she could hear it.
She nodded briskly. “I intend to.” She turned and followed Batman
out to their aircraft.
And let the Handler try to make something out of that, Tombstone
thought, watching the two of them walk away. As fast as rumor control
worked on the ship, the story would have worked its way into a passionate