'A Punch, I guess.' I knew Batman preferred the Dunhills, and I've always had a soft spot for Punches, ever since I found the molded and wormy remains of one in my father's footlocker. I don't normally smoke, but there are occasions that can only truly be celebrated with a good cigar.
Batman tossed me the clipping tool, then waited for me to use it. This was like him also, the punctiliously good manners, even among old friends, as we were.
I guess we had a fair amount to celebrate. The nuclear facility in the jungle was a dark, smoking hole in the ground. At least for now, that danger was past. More likely, just postponed temporarily.
And Batman had his ship back. The ambassadorial contingent had departed earlier that day, hard pressed to find anything further to debate now that we'd resolved the problem with bombs. Peace through superior firepower ? I know Ambassador Wexler's a believer. Than was too, by now.
'They let you smoke in your cabin?' I asked. Even during my days on board Jefferson, smoking had been strictly limited to areas away from everyone else. I'd designated one of the areas on the 0-10 deck, seven flights above my cabin. We had more men quit that cruise than ever ? it just wasn't worth the climb.
'They'd be disappointed if I didn't. After what we went through today.' Batman clipped the end of his Dunhill, lit it, and puffed thoughtfully to get it going. Finally, he let out a deep, self-satisfied sigh. 'That'll do it.'
We were silent for a few moments, enjoying the cigars made slightly even more pleasurable by the fact that they were forbidden. Like sneaking into the bathroom to smoke as a high school kid, I guess. 'That was something,' I said. 'I wouldn't have believed it.'
Batman nodded. He knew I meant the J-TARPS systems. It was my first exposure to an operational test, and it gave me an eerie feeling to be flying missions slung below a Tomcat. 'Takes some getting used to, though,' he said. 'Knowing when to jump in, knowing when to shut up. You try to micromanage them in the air, you'll get their balls shot off for them.'
'I figured that out. Saw your hand itching a couple of times to pick up the mike, though.'
'That it was. But I stayed out of it ? at least until the very end. When I thought Bird Dog was going to send that kid home again, I almost choked.' Batman scowled as he remembered it. We'd both listened in as Bird Dog had tried to order the persistent Skeeter back to the boat, and finally changed his mind.
'Hell of a pilot,' I said.
'Which one?'
'Both of them, I guess. What're you going to do to keep them in line from now on? I think they're going to be a little hard to live with for a while.'
Batman snorted. 'Tell me something I don't know. Bird Dog's been a pain in the ass since Cuba.'
'Good stick, though.'
'I'll give him that. But that's not always enough ? you know that.'
I did indeed. There is a quality that sets apart the finest aviators from the pack, an almost uncanny ability to meld with their aircraft, to run the time-distance-weapon problems in their head without any other decision-making tools. Bird Dog had it, and so did Skeeter.
But it wasn't enough. We fight as teams in this Navy, and not only in combat pairs. It was all a team, from the cruiser that provided long-range air-combat support to the helos that fished pilots out of the drink. It's not enough to be a solo star ? you must be a team player as well.
'I think Bird Dog's catching on,' I said finally. 'Takes some of us longer than others.'
Batman laughed. 'I wondered if you noticed that. Every time that guy gets himself in the middle of trouble, it reminds me of you.'
'If you were a shade darker, you could be Skeeter's father too,' I pointed out, not unreasonably. There was something about the way Skeeter performed, the sheer persistence and superb flying abilities, that reminded me of having Batman on my wing.
Batman looked startled, then slightly pleased. 'Like I said ? the kid's a good stick. Still young, though.'
I tapped the ash off my cigar. From the Flag Mess on the other side of the bulkhead, I could hear some officer complain about the smell. A few other voices spoke up and hushed him. I gathered smelling the cigar smoke was the final, unspoken proof that the wardroom relied on as a sign that all was well.
'You didn't find him.' Batman's voice was oddly gentle.
'I got close. But there wasn't enough time.'
'You coming back?'
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. 'Whatever was in that last camp vanished in the fire. If there was anything there to start with.'
'So the trail ends here,' Batman said. He fiddled with his cigar for a moment. 'Doesn't it?'
I smiled a bit. He always could read my mind. 'Not entirely. Aside from the issue of my father, there are other questions to answer. The big ones, like what are we going to do about China and Vietnam? And the smaller ones, equally as puzzling. Who was the man that we killed in the jungle ? the white guy? A mercenary? Or something else? And Than ? what kind of game is he playing? No, there aren't any dead ends here ? just more questions.'
Batman sighed. 'I'd hoped this would be the end of it. The final answer. For you, at least.'
'Oh, but there are answers. Just not in Vietnam. Not the final ones anyway.'
A look of deep concern passed over Batman's face. He leaned forward, planted both elbows on his desk, and pointed the cigar at me. 'You're not serious.'
I nodded. 'I'm very serious. It won't be right away, I suspect. I'm slated to take over Seventh Fleet next month. There's no time, and they're just now starting to declassify some of the records I need.'
'What records? Surely with your clearance you can get into anything in D.C. that you need, right?'
I took another long draw on the cigar. 'Not in D.C. In Russia.'
