back up off the front line a little, too. At least until our posse arrives.”
“Concur. We just did our job at the OK Corral.”
“Homeplate, this is Doc Holliday,” Tomboy said into the mike. “Suggest you wake up Wyatt Earp.”
Wyatt Earp could have done with snipers, Tombstone thought, staring at the TFCC screen and waiting for the air battle to unfold. Snipers provide a force multiplier that can’t be beat. If a year at the Naval War College had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that operational planning was the key to winning an engagement. Define the desired end state, and plan for that state to exist. We studied enough military history and strategy planning to have a variety of examples, both good and bad.
The shoot-out at the OK Corral and the Peloponnesian wars. It was a combination that he didn’t think had even occurred to his professors.
“Could be another feint,” Batman said neutrally.
“Not with that many aircraft,” Tombstone said. “It’s gone on too long. We’ve held off long enough to convince them that we’re lulled. They’ll take advantage of our complacency. They’re convinced now.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“Neither can they. But look at it from their point of view. We haven’t reacted to the last two probes. In this sea state, they’re going to feel a little more confident that their submarine can get in close, and that our radar may be degraded. They’ve got to know that we’re tired, and they’re launching so that the sun will be in our eyes when we intercept them.”
“I almost hope so, for the aircrew’s sake. They can’t take much more of this, Tombstone.”
Tombstone shot his old wingman a hard look. “You think I don’t know what they’re going through? It hasn’t been that long, Batman, since you and I were pulling alert five.”
“We never pulled this many in a row, shipmate — not on top of normal operations.”
“I know that. But there was no other way. I know this air wing. They’re tired, but they can do it.”
“I hope you’re right, my friend,” Batman said softly to himself. “Because if you’re not — the options become unacceptable real fast.”
“As long as the Vietnamese do their part,” Tombstone said. “Feels really strange, depending on them.”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me that war is more than blowing aircraft out of the sky.”
“Let’s just hope the politicians understand that part of it. Because if they didn’t, that’s all this is going to amount to.”
“That’s it!” the TAO shouted. “Admiral, you were right! Tomcat’s reporting numerous fighters inbound!”
“TAO, get a raid count from that Tomcat,” Tombstone said quietly, ignoring the jolt of adrenaline flooding his body.
“Gunslinger 101 estimates ninety aircraft, Admiral,” the TAO replied. “Feet wet off the coast of Vietnam five minutes ago. Air boss requests permission to set flight quarters.”
“Do it,” Tombstone ordered. “And tell him I expect to see a new record set on launching the alert CAP.”
Ten seconds later, the thunderous roar of a Tomcat at full military power shook the space. Tombstone glanced at the CCTV and saw the afterburners light the deck in an eerie hell-like fire. Five seconds later, the catapult sang its rattling song, ramming forward to toss the first alert fighter off the deck.
The carrier shook with the differing rhythms, as a forward catapult, followed by the waist cat, then the other forward catapult launched the alert package. For ten minutes, the refrain was Tomcats. The lighter-voiced scream of the Hornets picked up the second verse, followed by the rumble of a KA-6 tanker.
Within twenty minutes, the carrier felt eerily silent, the last of the alert aircraft launched. Overhead, he could hear the odd rattlings and vibrations that came from aircraft being moved around the deck in preparation for normal launch.
Tombstone felt strangely disconnected from the battle. Unlike every other time in his career, this time he’d be following it on the communications net and from the radar screen instead of in the air. His hands curled, missing the feel of the vibrating throttle beneath them. Watching red symbols track across a screen was a poor substitute for the actual sight of the enemy raid.
Over the tactical net, he could hear the Hornet pilots snapping at each other, chivvying to be the first in line to top off from the tanker and get into the fight. The longer-legged Tomcats were already underway to the fight. Had he been able to come up with an excuse — any decent excuse would have done — he’d have been up there with them. But, as CAG had reminded him, it was time to turn the fight over to better eyes, faster reflexes, and the next generation. His place was here on the ship. The harder job, perhaps, except for the dying — watching it instead of doing it.
“Admiral! S-3 SUCAP reports a visual on a periscope!” the flag TAO said. “Where?” he demanded.
“Thirty miles to the east, sir. DESRON is vectoring them in for the intercept.” The TAO paused, and a frown crossed his face. “Lost it. It went sinker as soon as the S-3 got overhead.”
“I’ll save DESRON the trouble of asking the next question. Tell that Viking he’s weapons free, and to watch out for those Grails,” Tombstone said immediately. The TAO nodded, and passed the word up five decks to the DESRON.
If he’d had any doubts about the Chinese intentions, the sudden appearance of the submarine had cured them. No matter whether it was a Kilo or a Han-class boat, it had just surfaced for the last time.
CHAPTER 24
Thursday, 4 July
1815 hours (Zulu -7)
Handler’s Office USS Jefferson
Good hunting, Lieutenant,” Chief Franklin said.
“Thanks, Chief,” Bird Dog said absently, his mind already forty feet away in the cockpit of the Tomcat. He scribbled his name in the maintenance log, acknowledging he’d read the “gripes,” the maintenance action forms, filed in the compact folder. He patted himself over one time, carefully checking that he had his water bottle, candy bar, gun, and all the other paraphernalia that pilots tucked into the pockets of their flight suit. He gave the crotch straps on the ejection harness one last tug to tighten them. As dangerous as ejection could be, loose straps could result in permanent damage.
He pushed open the hatch and felt the heat and the noise of the flight deck assault him. He scanned the deck and found Tomcat 205 waiting near the handler’s shack. The plane captain, a slim, coverall-clad figure, was dogging down one last panel.
Shaughnessy! Bird Dog stormed back into the handler’s office. Chief Franklin was still there, leaning on the counter and chatting with the handler.
“Chief! What’s she doing on my aircraft?” Bird Dog demanded.
Chief Franklin slowly straightened up, and his face lost all expression. “She’s preflighting, Lieutenant. Plane captains have their own routine for certifying the aircraft safe for flight.”
“I know what a plane captain does, damn it! What’s she doing on my aircraft?”
“Take it outside, gentlemen,” the handler said abruptly. “We’ve got work to do in here.”
Bird Dog followed Chief Franklin out of the shack and around behind it. The massive bulk of the island masked part of the screaming jet noise and made conversation in normal tones of voice almost possible.
“I don’t want her on my Tomcat,” Bird Dog said. “And I’m surprised you’d even consider it, Chief. What the hell were you thinking? Putting a plane captain that I’m sending to captain’s mast on my aircraft?”
“What I’m thinking, Lieutenant, is that you are one arrogant, ignorant son of a bitch,” the chief said. “Who the hell are you? You really think that girl would do something to your aircraft just because you assigned her some extra duty? If that’s the way you think of these plane captains, you better find a new career. Because today, and every day that you fly, you’re going to be depending on those people for your life.”
“You’ve got other plane captains!”
“And let me tell you something else. Yes, I do have other plane captains. But Shaughnessy is the best damn one of the lot. You’re the most inexperienced pilot in this squadron, sir. I don’t know whether you or the plane captain missed that hydraulic leak a couple of days ago. What I do know is that it killed a sailor. Given that, what makes sense to me is to put my best sailor on the job to make sure you don’t fry your young ass or kill someone
