General Kol cast a brow-furrowed glance toward the sky. As commander of the new military base at Mong- koi, he was continually worried about the Chinese presence here, unsanctioned by his superiors in Rangoon. He, in his way, was as much a traitor to his own people as was Hsiao. 'You are certain, General Hsiao, that the Americans cannot detect these aircraft with their satellites? I have heard that they can see in the dark, that they can read newspapers from space-'
'Calm yourself, General. Not even the Americans can watch everything that happens everywhere in the world! And if they do see them, so what? Your government does not even know these planes are here, true? The Americans may protest to Rangoon, and Rangoon will deny everything, and there the matter shall rest, for the Americans will be unwilling to pursue it. I assure you, General Kol, that they will have no idea of the true situation until it is far too late.'
'The Americans could still pose a serious problem,' the Burmese general insisted. 'The Thais have been their pets for years. And an American carrier-'
Hsiao kept his face a smiling mask. Kol was as stupid as he was corrupt, a useful tool within the Burmese military structure who also happened to be in the pay of the various drug syndicates ruling the Golden Triangle. Hsiao had been able to control him easily enough so far simply by threatening to expose those financial connections, but soon the time would come when he could dispense with the Burmese warlord entirely. In the meantime, he had no idea that Sheng li was designed not to destabilize the That government ? though that, too, was part of it ? but to bring Thailand and Burma to the brink of war.
'I know about the U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson, General,' Hsiao said. 'But their so-called supercarriers are not as invulnerable as they would have you believe. You may leave them to me.'
Kol watched the aircraft slowing at the far end of the runway, then turning in line to make their way toward camouflaged hangers. 'Are these planes sufficient to deal with the American carrier, then?' he asked.
'Twenty-five Shenyang J-7s once they've all arrived,' Hsiao said. 'Ten Nanchang Q-5 ground attack planes. An American nuclear carrier like the Jefferson carries ninety aircraft. In fighters alone they outnumber us. But it will not come to that.'
'You seem quite sure of yourself,' Kol said stiffly.
'You must trust me on this, my dear General Kol. When the time comes, your people will deal with the Royal That Army, Colonel Wu here will deal with their air force.' He paused and allowed himself a smile. 'And I will deal with the Jefferson!'
Colonel Wu grinned. 'That will be a tremendous victory, Comrade General,' he said in Burmese. 'The Central Committee will make you a Hero of the People.'
Hsiao watched the last of the J-7s vanish into a hangar at the far end of the airfield. The irony of Wu's patriotic sentiment was amusing. If Beijing found out too early what he was doing, it would mean disgrace… then death.
The rewards, however, made any risk worthwhile. Riches and power far beyond anything possible in the service of the State would soon be his… and his alone.
Hsiao smiled. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'It will be a victory such as the world has never known.'
CHAPTER 1
The U.S. S. Thomas Jefferson, CVN-74, surged ahead through gentle seas.
Her flight deck was a confusion of urgent motion as men in bright color-coded jerseys made ready to hurl two forty-million-dollar aircraft into the sky.
In the cockpit of an F-14D Tomcat perched on the carrier's Number One catapult, Lieutenant Commander Matthew Magruder, call sign 'Tombstone,' made a final check of his aircraft's systems, his eyes sweeping the gauges and dials of the F-14D's instrument console for any sign of failure or malfunction.
Turning in his ejection seat and glancing back over his shoulder, he could see the ready light showing yellow high on the island superstructure of the carrier.
Off the starboard side of his aircraft, he could see the bow catapult officer, wearing a yellow jersey and the bulbous radio headgear known as Mickey Mouse ears, cycling his hand vigorously over his head. Tombstone pushed the twin throttles under his left hand forward, feeling the Tomcat shudder under the twin-engine onslaught of raw noise and power. Glancing aft once more, he saw the air above the deck shimmering with the heat of his jet wash boiling up from the erect shield of Catapult One's Jet Blast Deflector.
The island's ready light winked to green. They were cleared for launch.
'All set back there?' he asked.
'Ready to go, Mr. Magruder,' his RIO said over the Tomcat's intercom.
Lieutenant j.g. Jerry 'Dixie' Dixon was Tombstone's Radar Intercept Officer, his backseater for this flight.
To port and aft, a second pate gray Tomcat crouched on Catapult Three, trembling as its pilot throttled up. The modex numbers stenciled on the plane's nose read 232, while the tail displayed the red snake device of Squadron VF-95, the Vipers. The two aircraft would be launching together.
Tombstone faced starboard again and casually tossed a two-fingered salute to the bow catapult officer, informing the deck crew that he was ready for launch. The cat officer looked left and right, checking first with the bow safety observer, who was standing at his station, arm out, thumb extended into the air, then with the sailor at the bow catapult control console, and finally checking for one last time that the Tomcat and the catapult slot running forward were both clear. Only then did he return Tombstone's salute, twist gracefully to the side with his right hand pointing forward off the bow, then drop to one knee and touch the deck.
Below the flight deck, steam exploded against the catapult pistons, and the cat shuttle attached to the aircraft's nose-wheel whipped forward, dragging the F-14 with it in billowing clouds of white vapor.
The jolt flattened Tombstone against his seat. Acceleration pressed his eyes back in his head and squeezed the breath from his body. There was a sharp rattle of steel wheels and a rushing blur of motion as the plane hurtled forward, passing 180 miles per hour in less than three seconds. For one instant the F-14 hung suspended in midair, just off the carrier's bow, and then the wings bit air. Tombstone's left hand punched the gear handle, then he trimmed the ship and brought the stick back, pulling the Tomcat up in a ten-degree climb.
'Tomcat Two-oh-one, good shot,' he said, letting the carrier know the cat had delivered power enough to get him safely airborne.
'Two-three-two, good shot,' said a voice a moment later.
The second plane was aloft as well. Tombstone pulled back on the throttle until his wingman could catch up. Side by side now, the two aircraft continued to climb, angling toward a patchy ceiling of broken clouds against blue sky.
'We copy, Sharpshooter,' the voice of the carrier's Air Boss said over Tombstone's earphones. 'Have a good one.'
'Rog.' Tombstone clicked frequencies on his comm select panel.
'Sharpshooter Two, this is Leader. How do you read, over?'
'Loud and clear, Stoney.' His wingman was Lieutenant E.E. Wayne, better known as Batman to the rest of Squadron VF-95. 'Looks like we're CAVU clear to Bangkok.'
Tombstone looked to port. Tomcat 232 was holding position just off his left wing. He saw the helmeted heads of Batman and his RIO, Lieutenant Ken 'Malibu' Blake, facing him. Batman gave him a cocky thumbs-up.
'Ay-firmative,' Tombstone agreed. Ceiling and visibility unlimited. It was a glorious day for flying. 'Next stop, ladies and gentlemen, exotic Thailand…'
The two F-14s continued to climb until they reached twenty thousand feet.
Scattered clouds spread out below them, cast into sharp relief by their own shadows against the ocean. At three hundred knots ? about three hundred forty-five miles per hour ? the Tomcat's variable-sweep wings automatically swung back until the aircraft looked like a pair of broad, gray arrowheads hurtling through the blue glory of the sky. The Thomas Jefferson, a floating combination of airport and city with six thousand men living under
