“Neither the United States nor any force or unit under her control was responsible for these attacks. Mission tapes and displays will be made available to the Council to support that claim, to the same extent that China makes her data available.
“Finally, no American force deployed anywhere, other than ballistic missiles submarines on routine patrol, is armed with nuclear weapons. This includes the task force in the international waters of the South China Sea. The United States deplores the existence of these weapons throughout the world, and is in full support of and compliance with all arms limitations treaties. China has no reason to doubt our assertions in this regard.”
“Just one reason, Madam Ambassador,” the Chinese ambassador said, pitching his voice low to capture the attention of the audience and still the ever-present whispers. “And that is the best reason of all — past experience. Of all the nations in the world that possess nuclear capabilities, the United States is the only country ever to have used them.”
Satisfied, the ambassador from China leaned back in his chair, a look of deep concern and outrage carefully pasted on his inscrutable features. Of all the charges, both false and true, that could be made against the Americans, that one fact was irrefutable.
Somehow he thought most of the other nations might see it the same way.
“Ugly fuckers, aren’t they?” the Air Boss said to his assistant, the Mini Boss. The two were seated in their large elevated chairs in Pri-Fly on the 0-10 level, directing the careful symphony of actions it took to get any aircraft on board the carrier. Tensions — and interest — were running high, and the tower was crowded with looky-loos wanting to get a first glimpse of the two modified F-14 JAST aircraft.
“Bigot,” replied the Mini Boss mildly. The Air Boss was an F/A-18 driver, and his ribbing almost automatic. “If you flew a real fighter like the Tomcat, you’d have some basis for comparison. Nothing about your Hornets that would make any man’s heart beat faster.”
“Ask the MiG pilots about that,” the Air Boss drawled. “Seems to me I remember bailing out a couple of Tomcats not long ago.”
The Mini Boss studied the aircraft taxiing away from the wire seven decks below him. The first JAST F-14 had taken one touch and go, and then gracefully slammed to a stop on the first approach, catching the three-wire handily. There’d been a moment of concern when the second JAST bird had boltered its first pass, touching too far down the flight deck to snag a wire. Still, the pilot had snagged the two-wire on his second pass. Not too shabby — there wasn’t a pilot in the air wing that hadn’t boltered from time to time. Even the eminent Carrier Group Commander, Rear Admiral Tombstone Magruder, had had his share of bad passes.
At first glance, the JAST aircraft looked like any other F-14. A closer look revealed small but significant differences. First, the radar dome. It was larger, extended further under the belly of the aircraft. The Mini Boss squinted and then picked up his binoculars. He followed the aircraft down the flight deck toward the catapults. “Different antennas, it looks like. And the pitot tubes look funny — longer, a little skinnier maybe. And the skin. She looks like she’s rippled, almost.”
“Supposed to be low observability. I read that those shallow-angle variations reflect radar off in funny directions. Composites just under the skin absorb some of the radar energy, too. But most of the differences are in the black boxes. If JAST can do even half of what the contractor claims, it’s a good deal,” the Air Boss said.
“If it can! They claim the avionics are practically sailorproof. Maintenance ought to be happy about that.”
“Nothing’s ever been built that a sailor can’t screw with,” the Air Boss replied. “Besides, I’m pretty happy with the Hornet as it is.”
“It’ll be a great fighter — as soon as they come up with an AVGAS hose long enough to keep it permanently plugged into a tanker.” The Mini Boss smirked. The Hornet had a much smaller fuel capacity than the Tomcat. While the reduced weight gave the Hornet added maneuverability, the constant whining of Hornet pilots for tankers was a standing joke that the Tomcat drivers invariably found hysterically funny. The Hornet aviators weren’t as amused.
“We’ll have our chance to check these babies out pretty carefully. If they can solve this mystery about the cruise missiles, that’ll be enough. My stereo likes staying dry, and I don’t want to think about what a new cruise missile can do to our happy little home here.”
“You’re not feeling safe and secure with Aegis nearby?” the Air Boss said casually.
The Mini Boss shot him a sharp glance. They hadn’t discussed it, but every senior officer on the ship knew that Rear Admiral Magruder was less than happy with the Aegis cruiser. Rumor had it that the CO had received a serious ass-chewing on his last visit to the carrier. Even the mess decks were abuzz with gossip concerning the disappearance of ice cream from the flag mess.
“If Aegis doesn’t see it, it isn’t there,” the Mini Boss said finally. “Isn’t that what they claim?”
“Then I guess the last attack was just spontaneous combustions, because Aegis sure as hell didn’t see what caused it,” the Air Boss replied. He raised his binoculars and pointed them at the passengers disembarking from the COD. “Well, will you look at that! That COD’s got more modifications than the JAST birds!” the Air Boss exclaimed. The Mini Boss followed his line of sight, and then trained his binoculars in the same direction.
“Not bad,” he said grudgingly. “But anything looks good halfway through deployment. Any woman that’s not an aviator,” he amended hastily.
“That’s one of the reporters,” an enlisted air traffic controller, or AC, offered. “Saw her listed on the manifest for the COD.”
“Reporter, huh? Wonder what brought her out here, the JAST birds or the tactical events? Hey, what’s her name? Anyone we’d have heard of?” the Mini Boss asked.
The AC picked up a clipboard, and ran his finger down the list of names. “Here it is. Pamela Drake, from ACN. I’ve heard of her.”
The Air Boss and Mini Boss exchanged a telling look. So had they, but not from watching television. Unless they were completely mistaken, Miss Drake was Rear Admiral Magruder’s long-standing heart-throb. Rumor control, monitored by the petty officers that handled all mail going off and coming on the carrier, said that the two were no longer an item. Speculation had run rampant on the mess decks about the future of the relationship.
“If you thought things were getting interesting out here before,” the Air Boss said quietly, “just stand by.”
CHAPTER 6
A light tap sounded on Tombstone’s door, the one that led to the flag briefing room and TFCC. The chief of staff, usually referred to as COS, stuck his head into the admiral’s quarters. “the new birds are on deck. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Come on in, COS. I saw them coming in on the Plat,” Tombstone replied, referring to the closed-circuit TV that monitored the flight deck. “Sounded like plain old Tomcats landing to me.”
COS pushed the door open and entered the combination office/living room of Tombstone’s cabin. He glanced at the paperback book open on the coffee table. “Didn’t know you were a Western history buff, Admiral.”
“Ah, that. My boss gave it to me at my going-away party. He said that since my call sign was Tombstone, I ought to know a little about the story of Tombstone, Arizona, and the shoot-out at the OK Corral and all. That was Wyatt Earp’s last fight, you know.”
“I do know that, actually. When I was a kid, I read everything I could get on the Old West. It was an escape, I guess. Growing up in Chicago, there wasn’t that much open space. Somehow, the idea of going for days without seeing another person, riding across the ranges with your trusty horse and six-shooter, seemed like the best life in
