Flying a desk might not be as much of a strain on his body, but it certainly left him feeling tired, irritable, and thoroughly fed up with his lot in life. Tombstone was starting to hate the inside of the CAG office, the sight of stacks of paper and computer monitors and all the rest of the paraphernalia of bureaucracy. He was an aviator, by God, not a clerk, but lately it seemed like he never had time for even a quick flight to keep his cockpit hours current.
Coyote was sitting across from him this time, holding a clipboard and ticking off points with a pen. “COD flight’s in. We got eight officers all told. That’ll fill out the Vipers, the Death Dealers, and the Javelins, but we’ll still be two short in the Prowlers. I’ve assigned them quarters and given them their squadron postings. You’ll probably be getting a string of courtesy calls this afternoon.” Coyote paused, frowning.
“You’re holding something back, Will,” Magruder said. “Spill it.”
“One of ‘em’s Commander Flynn.”
Tombstone’s eyes widened. “Tomboy? She’s here?”
“Yup. Leg’s healed and she’s rarin’ to go.”
“You don’t seem pleased.”
“Oh, I was happy to see her. It’s just… well. “He slapped the palm of his hand on Tombstone’s desk. “Damn it, CAG. I keep wondering about the advisability of women in combat. She was telling me about Lieutenant Hanson. She’s doing fine, according to Tomboy. Trying to get put back in a combat assignment, of all silly dumb-ass things.”
“That’s the career path, Coyote.” Officers who’d actually experienced combat were preferred for promotion… and for choice assignments later in their careers. Female service personnel had long complained that men had an unfair advantage there; it was one reason why they’d been insisting all along that they should be allowed to assume combat status.
“I know, I know. But, well, what happened to Lobo in the Kola, it could happen to any of them. Call me old- fashioned, but I can’t shake the feeling that that’s the sort of thing we’re out here protecting them from.”
“You can take that up with Madam Secretary Reed,” Tombstone said. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear your feelings on the matter.”
“Yeah. Right. Oh, damn! Almost forgot.” He leafed through the papers on his clipboard, found what he was looking for, and passed it over to Tombstone. “This came in from the Canal today. They’re looking for aviation stores. Spare parts. Sidewinders. They’re wondering if they can scrounge some from us.”
“Not damned likely.”
“Yeah, well, there may be a pronouncement on that from on high. I gather there may be some problems getting enough UNREP stuff through the straits. The Turks could balk at letting all that stuff through.”
Tombstone looked at his friend for a long moment. “Goddamn.”
“Oh, nothing serious. Yet. But there’s talk. And I guess the jarheads are stretched pretty thin right now.”
“You got that right. A little bird told me they’re already scraping the bottom of the barrel for equipment and spares. They got deployed short.” Magruder shook his head. “Sometimes I think our only real enemy is in Washington. The guys shooting at us are nothing but petty little annoyances, but those bastards on Capitol Hill are out for blood.”
“A little bird?” Coyote raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to play Navy politics.”
“Nah, this was just an old friend. The skipper of the Canal, no less.
We had a chat this afternoon.” Magruder smiled. “He wanted me to say howdy for him. Steve Marusko. Captain Marusko, now.”
“Marusko’s got Guadalcanal? God, that makes me feel older than I felt already.”
Steve Marusko had been CAG on the cruise where Magruder and Grant had seen action in Korea, Thailand, and the Indian Ocean. Now he’d moved further up the career ladder, skippering one of the Marine carriers. Someday he might wind up as captain of a supercarrier like Jefferson.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to see him before the cruise is over,” Coyote said. He looked down at his clipboard. “Well, that’s all I’ve got for now, Stoney. Anything you need me to take care of this afternoon?”
“Just the Maintenance logs on the War Eagles. Light a fire under those guys and get those reports on my desk tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Or heads will roll?” Grant asked with a smile.
“Starting with yours, so make sure they hop to it down there.” He stood up as Coyote did. “Dinner tonight?”
Coyote shook his head. “I’m going to beg off, Stoney. I want to write a letter to Julie.”
“Things still not so good, huh? If there’s anything I can do…”
“Unless you can get them to send us home, there’s nothing,” Coyote told him. “But thanks, man. Thanks.”
As Coyote left, Tombstone settled back into his chair and picked up the picture on the corner of his desk. His fiancee, Pamela Drake…
She was a devastating combination of beauty and brains, an award-winning reporter for American Cable News. After a long and often stormy relationship, they’d finally agreed five months ago that they would set a wedding date after Jefferson’s next cruise. But then he’d received orders for an early redeployment, and Pamela had exploded. It seemed like she always saw the Navy as a rival, and she’d frequently urged him to give up his career, to settle down with a nice, safe airline job. He’d always protested strongly, saying that the Navy was his life, but sometimes, like now, he had his doubts.
He set the picture down. Magruder was starting to wonder just where his career was really heading. Working to break in Coyote as Deputy CAG had reminded him of all the things about staff work that he hated. But even with his record, it was possible, even probable, that CAG was as high up the ladder as he’d ever get. There were a lot more candidates for the high-powered postings than there were available billets, and frequently merit gave way to politics when it came to picking people for that handful of openings. Steve Marusko had been lucky to get the Guadalcanal. Magruder had an uncle who held an important Pentagon post in Washington and had advised two presidents, but Thomas Magruder had also made a lot of enemies, people who would be looking for an excuse to keep his nephew from rising any higher.
Well, that was the way it worked in the Navy sometimes.
He looked at Pamela’s picture again. Marriage and career… neither one looked very solid right now. If he got stuck in some safe but dull staff position, Pamela would be happy, but Magruder knew he’d go crazy if he didn’t feel like he was doing something. But if he got a ship of his own, another tour of sea duty policing some hot spot at the ends of the earth, could Pamela put up with it?
If Coyote couldn’t hold onto his marriage with Julie, was there any real hope for him and Pamela? Julie had started with a lot more in common with Will Grant than Tombstone and Pamela had ever had.
Tombstone found himself thinking about Joyce Flynn, about the shared danger that day on the Kola Peninsula. Tomboy was no on-camera beauty like Pamela, but there had been a real connection there. She understood what Magruder felt when he was in the cockpit of a Tomcat, what it was like for him to really put his life on the line for his country. Things Pamela Drake would never really understand.
He loved Pamela, maybe more now than he had in the early days of their relationship. But the women he’d come to know in the Air Wing, Flynn and Brewer Conway and the others, were something special. They shared his world, his dreams and his hopes and his fears. Sometimes Magruder wondered if love was enough.
CHAPTER 11
“Mr. Waring, this could be the most important opportunity we’ve seen since the fall of the Berlin Wall. We’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”
Admiral Thomas Magruder looked from the speaker, Secretary of State Robert Heideman, to the President’s
