troops and buster down to the ass end of this bird farm. Air Boss likes to sit up in Pri-Fly and watch FOD walk- down. He’s a little touchy in the mornings.”
“Very well,” Bird Dog replied, trying very hard to convince himself that he was in control of the situation. “Take care of it, Chief.” He snapped off a salute in response to the Chief’s, executed a smart about-face, and started walking briskly toward the island.
“Not so fast, mister,” the voice boomed out again. “Get your little khaki butt down to the stern. Officers and chiefs aren’t excused from FOD walk-down.”
Bird Dog stopped dead. He could feel his face turning a brilliant shade of red. He looked aft and saw that his branch was already joining the line of sailors strung across the flight deck. Damn Chief Franklin! He could have warned me, he thought angrily.
“NOW!” the speaker roared.
Bird Dog settled into a jog — hoping it was a dignified one — and headed for FOD walk-down.
“Of course I’m here! Just where the hell else did you think I would be, Batman? It may be after midnight, but you’ve been in Washington too long. You’ve forgotten what life at sea is like and the hours we keep.” Tombstone glanced down at the receiver and noted that Batman was calling on the secure, encrypted circuit. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“Just looking out for my old lead, shipmate. Doing my small part for the war effort back here in the Pentagon.” Batman’s voice sounded slightly murky. Not surprising, since it had been encrypted, bounced off two satellites, and then de-encrypted before being piped into the plain vanilla telephone receiver now pressed to Tombstone’s ear.
“It’s good to hear your voice, Batman. But quite frankly, your timing sucks. I’ve got a couple of situations going on down here, and-“
“I know all about it, old buddy. That’s why the Batman is calling. Think I’ve got something cooked up back here that might be of some small assistance to you.”
Tombstone snorted. “Like what? Another one of those point papers the Pentagon feeds on? Some help that’d be.”
“Better than that. How’d you like to have a couple of hotshot look-down shoot-down aircraft out there?”
“I’ve got Hornets and E-2C’s. Not to mention the Tomcats.”
“Don’t try to con me, Tombstone. Our Tomcats aren’t what you need, not until the next upgrade hits the Fleet. I’ve got something that will outclass even those lawn-dart Hornets. Would you buy a Tomcat with the latest JAST technology?”
“JAST? The Joint Aviation Strike Technology stuff? I thought that was years away from being operational!”
“In production models, yes. But I just happen to have a couple of prototypes hidden out for special occasions. Nothing I’d like better than to see if these airframes can live up to the manufacturer’s warranty.”
“But Batman, we’re not talking about a range exercise out here. Somebody’s doing some real live shooting.”
“All the better. I’d rather see what these turkeys can do in real operating conditions instead of on the range. Listen, Stoney, this is important. Not only for your battle group, but for the Navy as well. With the push on to go joint, JAST is going to be the technology of our next fighter aircraft, and we’ll be living with it for decades. If it works, fine. If it doesn’t, I want to know that now, before we’re committed.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Give me some deck space and berthing. I’ll send you two JAST, plus flight crews and technicians.”
“Who’s gonna fly them?”
There was a moment of silence on the line, and then Batman chuckled. “Oddly enough, there’re only three pilots completely checked out on this bird and her electronics. Unfortunately for the Pentagon, one of them happens to be me.”
“Anything to get out of the Pentagon, huh?”
“It’s not that bad, once you get used to the fact that a full-bird Captain is barely qualified to make coffee around this place. Trade places with you any day.”
“Okay, okay, come on out. I’ll let CAG know his air wing just got a little bigger and stranger.”
“Expect a COD and our airframes in three days. It’ll take a little while to arrange the tanking and refueling, but we’re on our way.”
Tombstone replaced the receiver and stared thoughtfully at it. From what he’d heard of the problems with JAST technology, he wasn’t all that convinced the modified Tomcats would be that much help. But Batman seemed convinced an op-test was essential to evaluating the performance of the aircraft, and Stoney had to agree with him on that. If the Navy was going to be stuck with the aircraft, it might as well make sure they worked first.
JAST was a comprehensive program aimed at building the finest strike force in the world. Its mission was to develop technology and equipment to outfit aviation strike programs for every branch of the service. Key to its requirements were programs related to low observability — the follow-on term for what had initially been called “stealth” technology — and black box avionics that would dramatically increase both attack capabilities and interoperability with other services’ data systems.
Tombstone took the frequent press releases and the JAST announcements on the World Wide Web with a grain of salt. Too many programs over the past twenty years had been touted as the ultimate marriage of man and machine, as the final word in complete integration of all weapons systems.
There were two problems with building the ultimate joint strike system. First, no matter how advanced the technology the United States developed, someone would eventually develop a counter to it. The Aegis seaborne weapons systems were a prime example. Even with a radar as sensitive as the SPY-1 system, the ships still had to be wary of mines and submarines.
Second, there was one factor that developers always seemed to overlook. Clausewitz, the nineteenth-century German general and theorist, had given the most accurate name to the phenomena that plagued every combat force and confounded every tactical decision: the fog of war. No matter how sophisticated, how elegantly planned and calculated, something would always go wrong during a military campaign. War-fighters that relied on the latest technology too much failed to plan for the inevitable foul-ups that were part of life.
Still, he admitted, there were some improvements that could make a great deal of difference in the Tomcat’s capabilities. And if Batman was vouching for the JAST Tomcats, they were worth taking a look at.
Who knows? We might even have a chance to make some suggestions about these queer turkeys before they go into production. A little Fleet testing could make the difference between another Pentagon project that sticks us with a politically correct and technologically screwed-up platform that just won’t work.
He picked up the receiver to the carrier telephone lines and dialed CAG’s number. After all, what was the use of being an admiral if he couldn’t roust a mere Captain out of bed?
CHAPTER 4
Still awake back there?” asked Lieutenant Commander Steve “Rabies” Grills. The Viking S-3B aircraft was at eight thousand feet, her engines droning monotonously.
“Just barely. If you’d turn the vacuum cleaner down a little lower, we could get some sleep,” the TACCO in the backseat complained.
“Awful surly for mere passengers,” the copilot said.
Rabies looked at his copilot and winked. “Regardless of what these fine jet engines sound like, I’ll have you
