squadron.
He saw the wreckage of the Bofors gun below as he fell into formation with the other two planes and turned southwest again. That made a clean sweep for this sortie. It would look good on the squadron’s record, and on Soviet Naval Aviation’s balance sheets. There truly was a place for carrier-based aircraft in the Rodina’s arsenal. Heavy bombers could do a great deal of damage, but strike attacks at short range were more flexible and better able to obtain accurate hits. The Sognefjorden, less than a hundred kilometers north of the last major center of Norwegian resistance at Bergen, was one of several potential landing zones for Soviet amphibious forces, and clearing the air and artillery defenses was a crucial first step in launching an assault.
The campaign in Norway would never maintain the speed it required to achieve total victory unless the Soviets maintained the rapid pace of their advance down the coast. The West had been obligingly sluggish reacting to the war to date … but the Soviets couldn’t win unless they kept up the momentum.
Sergei Sergeivich Terekhov smiled again as he led his planes back toward the continuing battle. With their bombs unloaded, they would make short work of the outnumbered Norwegians. Then it would be back to the Soyuz, refuel, rearm, and on to the next mission.
It felt good to know that he and his comrades were playing an essential role in the rebirth of the Rodina as a superpower.
Tombstone had resisted the temptation to prolong the reunion with Coyote or even to wait to see Batman and Malibu return aboard. It had been a long flight from Oceana, and he was tired. He’d attended to the formalities, the paperwork and a courtesy call to the duty officer in the CAG office to report himself aboard, and within an hour of touching down on the flight deck he had been stretched out in his rack, asleep. After a flight of more than two thousand miles and a late night landing he felt he deserved a chance to rest.
Someone evidently disagreed with that notion. “Come on, buddy, shake a leg! CAG’s on the warpath!”
Through a fog he thought the voice was familiar, but Tombstone wasn’t awake enough to place it. The hand shaking his shoulder helped him open his eyes, at least long enough to get rid of the intruder.
“If You want to keep that arm you’d better take it out of here,” he growled. “Otherwise I’ll tear it out by the roots and beat you with the bloody end.”
“That’s the Tombstone I remember,” the voice said mockingly. “Look, I had late duty, too, but you don’t see me threatening my friends!”
Tombstone rolled over to look at his tormentor for the first time. “Wayne? If this is one of your goddamned practical jokes, boyo, I’ll personally see to it they reinstate keel-hauling just for you.”
Batman Wayne grinned. “You would too,” he said cheerfully. “But I swear I’m not guilty this time, Stoney. There’s some kind of hush-hush staff meeting this morning, and CAG says you’re supposed to be there. And he wants to see you in his office first. I heard him chewing out Owens and ducked down here to save your sorry hide.”
Tombstone rubbed his eyes and swung his feet to the floor. “The CAG’s a tough one, huh?” he asked.
“Don’t you know?” Batman was looking at him curiously. “It’s Stramaglia. The Stinger himself!”
Magruder blinked, slow to react to the name. He hadn’t been given much time to prepare himself for his sudden assignment. He’d known about his predecessor, Jolly Greene, because a friend in Personnel at the Pentagon had told him when he’d lost out on the assignment while Jefferson was still fitting out. With one or two exceptions he knew very little about who was aboard the carrier.
But he knew the name Stinger Stramaglia. There were very few Top Gun graduates these days who didn’t.
“You’re kidding,” he said slowly. “What’s the Old Man doing out here?”
Captain Joseph Stramaglia had been a Top Gun legend, one of the finest students to pass through the training program. He’d stayed on as an instructor after graduating, and worked his way to the top of the team who flew the aggressor planes students honed their skills against in weeks of constant aerial duels. Instead of the usual four-or five-year tour as a Top Gun teacher, Stramaglia had been there for almost eight. It was said that Stramaglia had never been beaten in a dogfight in all that time.
Certainly Matthew Magruder had never come close to beating him in the five weeks he’d been at Miramar.
“It’s him, all right,” Batman said. “He’d left Miramar by the time I got my shot, but I saw pictures of him. And I heard stories I thought couldn’t possibly be true … not until I got to meet the man in person.”
“Yeah,” Magruder said. “Yeah, he’s a tough one, all right.”
“Tough! His running name should’ve been Pit Bull! Next to him old Jolly Greene was a saint!”
Tombstone didn’t answer. He crossed to the locker where he’d left his meager belongings the night before without bothering to unpack. While he dressed he thought about Stramaglia, about the man’s reputation as a harsh taskmaster and the way he had ridden Magruder at Top Gun, in the air and on the ground alike.
Having the man as his superior officer was going to make this tour on the Jefferson … what? Difficult? Rewarding? Tombstone didn’t know.
But it certainly wouldn’t be dull, that much was sure.
Batman went on talking, apparently unaware that Tombstone’s mind wasn’t on the younger pilot’s words. “Hey, Stoney,” he said as Magruder made a few hasty passes across his face with an electric razor. Tombstone looked at him, shoving thoughts of Captain Stramaglia aside.
“You should see the walls at Fightertown! They got so many plaques up there with your name on them that they ought to open up a new wing just to hold ‘em!”
Tombstone laughed. It was an old tradition that the air-to-air kills of Top Gun graduates were commemorated on wall plaques. But on his first tour out of Top Gun Magruder had scored a long string of kills against North Koreans, Chinese renegades, and the Indian Air Force. “Well, how about you? You’ve had your share, Batman.”
Wayne made a face. “That’s what I told them, man! But I wasn’t an alumnus when I nailed ‘em!”
They left together, heading down the seemingly endless corridors toward the offices set aside for the Air Wing’s staff. As Magruder rounded a corner and stepped high to avoid a “knee-knocker” he heard Coyote’s voice intone solemnly, “See, the conquering hero comes!”
Viper Squadron’s new commander was sitting at a desk inside one of the offices. Malibu Blake was with him, leaning back in a chair and managing to look like he was on a beach soaking up a few rays.
“Bet you never thought we’d be here, did you, Stoney?” Batman asked.
Magruder laughed. “Hell, no. No way. But I guess they couldn’t split up the Three Musketeers for good, huh?”
“Well, thanks a lot, dude,” Malibu said. “I guess I know when I’m not wanted!”
“I just figured you’d’ve ditched this loser by now, that’s all,” Tombstone said, jerking a thumb at Batman. “I thought you had more sense than that!”
“Hey, that’s my main compadre you’re talking about,” Malibu shot back with a grin. “And the squadron XO. So watch the insults, ‘kay, dude?”
“If you people are quite through,” an acid voice cut through their laughter. “Magruder! Get your ass into my office now. And you, Wayne, had better have your report on that Bear hunt finished and on my desk already!”
Tombstone turned and found himself looking straight into Captain Joseph Stramaglia’s jet-black eyes. Jefferson’s CAG was a small man, but with a presence that could dominate any crowd. He had one of his famous cigars in his mouth, unlit. Stramaglia used those cigars as pointers, and even as improvised model airplanes to demonstrate aerial tactics, but Magruder had never known him to actually smoke them.
“Aye, aye, sir,” he and Batman responded almost in unison. He followed Stramaglia to his office a few yards down the corridor from Coyote’s.
“Sit,” Stramaglia said, gesturing to a chair with the cigar. Magruder sat down uncomfortably, uneasy at the man’s manner.
“Well, well,” the CAG went on, settling into his own chair behind the desk. “The famous Commander Magruder returns.” He regarded Tombstone intently. “I need a deputy who can help me keep this Air Wing at peak efficiency for the next five months. We’ve had a bad start, planes lost, men killed in a stupid accident. And with this
