right direction. Then he forced the thought away and resolved to keep his head in the cockpit. His RIO hadn’t taken a slam at him. It was Bird Dog’s mind that was the problem.
“Sure you trust me that much?” Bird Dog replied lightly. “Awful tough task for a pilot, figuring out which way’s south.”
“I think you’re up to that part of it. Okay, come left to 187. That ought to put us dead on course for it. No, it’s the other part that bothers me. The part about why.”
“Now who was nodding off during the brief?” Bird Dog ribbed. “I thought they covered that fairly well. With all these islands going boom, we’re supposed to go watch and see if this one does. A real challenge for a multimillion- dollar aircraft.”
Bird Dog heard the RIO fidgeting in his seat and glanced in the small rearview mirror. “Hey! You hear me?” Bird Dog asked.
“I heard you. I heard the brief, too.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Aw, come on, Gator! Don’t make me play Twenty Questions with you!”
“It’s nothing, Bird Dog. Nothing firm, anyway. It’s just that I don’t entirely believe that that’s why we’re going out to circle a bunch of rocks. Think about it. We’re headed directly away from everything that’s happened in the last couple of days. Seems strange, that’s all.”
“Well, why else would we be going out there?”
“I’m not entirely sure. And that’s what bothers me. If it were really pictures of rocks blowing up, you’d send a TARPS bird to take pictures. Or an S-3. Or a helo. Or something that could go low and slow and get evidence. Not an F-14 with a combat load. And not on this type of cyclic ops. You notice that, Bird Dog? We’re on flex deck ops, massive alert five birds, and no CAP in the one area we ought to be interested in. Now why do you suppose that is?”
“Hadn’t thought about it, really. I didn’t see my name posted for alert, and that’s all that I looked for.”
“Well, doesn’t it strike you as unusual? For the next four days, we’re going to be operating at very specific hours on very specific missions. And this in the middle of some weird shit going on out here. I don’t know, Bird Dog, it’s just not making sense to me.”
“Me, neither, now that you mention it.” And I’m not sure I really care, except for the alert part of it. Sitting on the flight deck for hours, all I see is Alvarez. Every time the engine turns over, every time some idiot plane captain gets near me, I see it again.”
“At least we’re getting one of the flights today,” Gator said. “Better than sitting on the deck.”
Bird Dog looked in the mirror again and saw the RIO looking back, a speculative gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah. Gotta love that,” Bird Dog said finally.
“There goes the first flight,” Tombstone said, watching the plat camera.
“Think it will work?” Batman asked.
“It should. Lab Rat came up with a damned fine plan. Shit, remind me not to call him that anymore.”
“Noted.”
“The way this op is planned,” Tombstone continued, “it’s the Chinese that are going to be running the maze, not us. They’re going to see a lot of American air activity to the south, around the furthest away rocks that are part of this island chain. We’re hoping it’s going to get their curiosity up. At the very least, we’re acting exactly the opposite of what they probably expect. One way or another, that ought to provoke some sort of response from them.”
“With an unarmed E-2 up overhead, I hope it’s not an armed response,” Batman said.
“Me, too,” Tombstone said soberly. “We’re taking a chance, I know. But look at the facts. They haven’t fired at our aircraft up to now-“
“-just our ships, and an occasional shot at an S-3,” Batman interrupted.
“-and the shot at the Vincennes might have been kicked off by the Vincennes playing grab-ass with her fire control radar. We have some strong indications that they’re doing targeting exercises, data links between the fighters and the submarines, but no real indications that they’re prepared to forcibly eject us from the South China Sea.”
“Not that they could,” Batman added.
“The fastest way to get us out of here is going to be to apply political pressure on the United States. And you’re right about the force part of it. Even if they wanted to, I doubt that they could do much more than make life uncomfortable for us for a few days. Not much matches the firepower we carry with us.”
“So we try to avoid cooperating with their plan and force them to tip their hand to their neighbors?” Batman asked. “Shit, Stoney, doesn’t sound like much fun to me!”
“It’s not. Particularly for the E-2. But if you’ve got any other ideas, speak up.” Tombstone regarded his old wingman fondly. “Didn’t think so.”
How long had he been staring at the horizon? Bird Dog shook his head and resumed his scan. Complacency about routine CAP missions killed aviators.
“You still awake up there?” Gator asked. “We’re only thirty minutes into this mission.”
“Who do you think’s flying? Santa Claus?” Bird Dog snapped.
“Just asking, buddy, that’s all. You looked rough during the brief.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
More than just a little, if he were truthful with himself. He’d tossed in his rack for four hours, succeeding in doing nothing except getting the sheets tangled and sweaty. When he’d finally fallen asleep, it hadn’t been much better than being awake. Alvarez haunted his dreams, a silent, screaming phantom swirling around his cockpit. He’d been on a mission, some sort of bombing run, and every time he turned onto the final vector for the drop, Alvarez appeared. In the dream, somehow the airman had been blown onto the front of the aircraft instead of being chewed up by the engines. He clung there like a June bug on a car, plastered to the canopy by the force of the catapult shot and the wind. Those eyes, pleading, tears filling them without ever spilling over onto his cheeks, the mouth open in a silent entreaty.
Bird Dog had startled awake, still shaking from the vision. For a few minutes, he’d been filled with incredible rage at the dead airman. He hadn’t meant for his brakes to fail, or for Alvarez to ignore normal flight deck safety precautions. It hadn’t been his fault, it hadn’t!
“Let’s just get through this mission, Gator,” Bird Dog said quietly. Arguing with his RIO suddenly seemed like the last thing he wanted to do today.
“Okay. But when we get back on deck, I think we’re going to have a long talk,” Gator said finally. Bird Dog recognized the tone. Gator would let it slide for now, but back on deck he’d assert his seniority and his privileged status as Bird Dog’s backseater to pry into his pilot’s head. While Gator had been in the aircraft when the accident had occurred, he hadn’t been the pilot, and both men knew it. No amount of reassurance that it’d been an accident would bring the dead airman back. Or, Bird Dog suspected, prevent the nightmares from returning. He wondered if he’d be seeing Airman Alvarez in his dreams for the rest of his life.
“Strangers, bearing 245, range 120 miles,” the OS on the carrier said suddenly. “Tomcat 205, intercept and VID.”
“Roger. We’ll want to tank in about an hour, though,” Gator said. It was unlikely that the OS would forget to check their fuel state, but it never hurt to remind them. “Any IFF?”
“Negative IFF. Speed five hundred knots, rapid rate of climb. Based on the egress point, could be Flankers coming out off the coast again. Or MiGs, for a change of pace.”
“Any other info?” Bird Dog asked.
“Negative. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” the OS said calmly.
Bird Dog turned southwest, following the OS’s intercept vector. Moments later, Gator reported gaining the contact on his radar.
