sitting on the deck, ready to go. Look at the loadout, though.”
“All air-to-air, except for the S-3’s, of course.”
“So we’re not going alpha striking. But we are ready for an air threat.”
“And in the meantime, with all this air-power sitting on deck at alert five, the only aircraft CAG’s actually launching is that one lone Hummer?” Gator asked.
“Not quite. Last page,” Bird Dog said, flipping rapidly to the back sheet. There, next to the traditional cartoon that always graced the daily flight schedule, was one final note.
“The JAST birds,” Bird Dog said. “Out of all the fighter and attack birds on board, they’re the only ones that get to go flying tomorrow.”
Tombstone watched Batman pace and tried to assess his old wingman’s frame of mind. Batman wandered restlessly around Tombstone’s cabin, pausing to look at plaques on the wall, to pick up a small model of an F-14 from the coffee table, to riffle through some messages left carelessly on the credenza. Finally, he wandered back over toward the couch, put his hands on his hips, and glared at the admiral.
“If you weren’t an admiral, Tombstone, I’d tell you what you could do with this damned fool scheme. But since you are-“
“What, you’re going to let that stop you this time? Why? Rank’s never been a curb on your temper before, Batman.”
“Sometimes it ought to be,” Batman muttered. Yet Tombstone was right. Until he’d gotten to the Pentagon, Batman had never been one to balk at setting a senior officer straight. But that’d been before he’d seen how casually and easily anyone wearing the stars could irrevocably ruin a career — often just for the amusement of it — with a few well-placed words. Until then, Batman would have sworn that a blue-on-blue engagement could only happen on the battlefield.
But this was Tombstone, he reminded himself. His lead, the pilot he’d logged thousands of hours with, done four cruises with, the man who’d bailed him out of more tough situations than he wanted to think of. No, if Tombstone wanted to do Batman harm, it’d come in the form of a fist in the gut rather than a knife in the back. Batman took a deep breath and vowed that this was his last DC tour.
“It’s not safe, Tombstone. It’s not safe, and you know it. Sending those E-2C’s out there on their own — hell, what do you even need them up for? The Aegis can give you every bit of air picture you need! Sending those fellows out alone, with no protection at all, under these circumstances, makes no sense at all!” Batman paused midtirade, watching his friend.
His nickname had always suited him too well, Batman thought. Tombstone’s gray eyes, brown-black hair, and somber expression would have suited an undertaker better than an aviation admiral. Yet Batman had seen the impenetrable gray pools of his eyes flare with inner fire, and heard the hard excitement too many times in Tombstone’s voice to believe that he was really as cold as his subordinates believed.
“You think so, Captain?” Tombstone’s icy voice cut through Batman’s reflections.
“Naw — hell, no, Admiral,” Batman said uncomfortably. He forced himself down onto the couch, suddenly acutely aware of how inappropriate it was to treat an admiral — any admiral, damn it! — that way. “Sorry, sir. My mouth-“
“-got the better of you, as it often does,” Tombstone finished. “Some things never change,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
Batman’s head snapped up, and he stared at Tombstone suspiciously. Was that a glint of amusement he saw in the admiral’s eyes? “Sir, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re laughing at me.”
“Not at you, Batman — with you. Or at least I will be in a couple of seconds. Let me show you,” Tombstone continued, reaching across his desk to snatch a message and a chart off his credenza, “exactly what we’re up to. Your JAST birds are a part of this plan.”
CHAPTER 19
As the sun dropped down toward the horizon, the heat rising off the flight deck abated enough to entice runners out onto the decks between flight cycles. Bird Dog jogged aft, feeling the sweat pouring off his back and working out the stiffness that came from sitting cramped in a cockpit for six hours that day. The humid air made any exertion doubly tiring, but the chance to get some exercise was not to be missed. Tucked in various strange compartments within the carrier were three weight rooms and one bicycle alley. In various other stray corners, an occasional exercise bike would be placed. While the carrier went to some length to try to make fitness available at all times, no machine could offer the same sheer joy as being out on the flight deck running.
As he ran past two VF-95 Tomcats, he noticed a familiar figure perched on the step next to the cockpit. Even from fifty feet away, he recognized the slim figure barely concealed by coveralls and the shock of short blond hair. Veering off his track, he headed for the aircraft.
“Shaughnessy! What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, coming to a stop next to her Tomcat.
The young airman flinched and almost lost her balance. “Just checking that the seat is safed, sir,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Parariggers were doing some work in here earlier, and I just wanted to double-check it.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You’re on extra duty, Shaughnessy. That doesn’t mean screwing around with the aircraft, it means under close control of the squadron master at arms. You miss his muster, you’re UA, young woman. Now get down there!”
Shaughnessy stared at the deck, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Aye, aye, sir,” she said softly, her voice barely audible in the wind across the flight deck.
Bird Dog started off down the flight deck again, not waiting to see if she obeyed. Damned airman was getting out of hand. I’m going to talk to the chief about her again — for all the good that will do me.
After his last confrontation with his senior enlisted rating, he’d come away with the sneaking suspicion that he’d made an ass of himself. Despite his best intentions, the chief showed little to no interest in being led by the pilot that was responsible for the work center, although he had briefed Bird Dog religiously every morning on Shaughnessy’s extra duty assignments.
Come to think of it, the chief’s last suggestions sure wouldn’t have done any good either. If Bird Dog hadn’t assigned Airman Shaughnessy the extra duty immediately, neither of them would have already known she was a slacker.
An hour later, showered and back in uniform, Bird Dog went looking for the chief. He finally found him by calling the Chiefs’ Mess. Mindful of his last performance there, Bird Dog asked the chief to come up to the ready room for a few minutes.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” Chief said, when he finally appeared in the VF-95 ready room.
“Thanks for coming up, Chief,” Bird Dog forced himself to say. He’d been waiting for almost thirty minutes for the senior enlisted member of his division.
“Just had to take care of a few things first, sir. We’d had something planned for the chiefs’ mess, but the squadron comes first, of course.”
Bird Dog felt the subtle rebuke in the chief’s words. There was some justification for it, he admitted. The matter of Airman Shaughnessy could have waited until the morning, when Bird Dog would have seen the chief at quarters. There was no immediate need to interrupt the chief’s evening to resolve her disciplinary status.
Still, Bird Dog was a lieutenant, and senior to the chief. If he wanted to see his branch chief in the middle of the night, he had the right to wake his ass up and talk to him.
“It’s about Shaughnessy,” Bird Dog said, and related how he’d seen her up on the flight deck fooling around with one of the aircraft during the time she should have been at her extra duty. After a few sentences, he heard
