His last thought, as consciousness faded completely to reenter the great cycle of being, was that Mein Low and his F-10 had failed their final live-fire operational test.
Thirty minutes later, the remnants of the Vietnamese Flanker squadron landed at the airfield. While four of their aircraft were missing, not a single Chinese fighter clouded the skies above them.
Bien taxied to a stop near his hangar, went through the shutdown checklist, and finally climbed wearily out of the cockpit. When he’d first outlined the plan to Ngyugen, he hadn’t seriously believed that it could work. Foremost among his concerns was that the Americans would use the opportunity to follow the Chinese squadron back to the coast and annihilate the Vietnamese squadron.
Perhaps the politicians have some use after all, he mused, watching the ground crew take possession of his aircraft. And there may be some possibility that we can use this engagement to extract additional compromises from the Americans. After all, I doubt that the Chinese will be willing to continue providing us with technology and training.
As he trudged across the tarmac, he wondered what it might be like to fly the American Tomcat. After today, it looked like his odds of finding out might just have improved.
CHAPTER 28
Tombstone gazed at the officers assembled in the room. Cheers echoed up and down the passageway outside the normally quiet conference room as aircrews swaggered out of CVIC, debriefed and ready to expand upon their exploits in the air. Even the restrained and professional faces of the senior officers seated around the table wore looks of quiet jubilation.
First, the most important part,” Tombstone said. “We lost two aircraft, one Hornet and one Tomcat. SAR recovered all three aviators, and there were no serious injuries. A remarkable performance. I’ll be talking to each squadron later on, but you all pass my congratulations on immediately.”
And it’s the first combat action I’ve ever had to sit out, he thought, surveying the squadron COs sitting around the table. Not a one of them even thought to question that, just like it never occurred to me when I was flying — that someday I could do more on the ground than in the air. Again, the image of his uncle’s face came to him. The old bastard could have told him what a bitter-sweet feeling it would be.
“You were all briefed on the plan, and it came off flawlessly. China’s key weakness in the Spratly Islands airspace has always been their lack of refueling capability. They’d counted on a quick, hard strike, with enough casualties to make us back down. They were wrong. Not only did their plan fail to allow for the strength of our response, they underestimated the Vietnamese government’s weakness. China badly miscalculated how Vietnam would take the sinking of her patrol boat. There’s a lesson in this fight — one war at a time. By taking on both the United States’ and Vietnam’s presence in the Spratly Islands, they overextended themselves. And you saw what happened. Vietnam simply waited for them to batter themselves bloody against our fighters and then picked them off when they tried to land in Vietnam.”
“What now, Admiral?” the CO of VF-95 asked. “A full alpha strike on China?”
“Not this time, Speedie,” Tombstone replied. “China was partially right about one thing — the United States is not ready to take heavy casualties in the South China Sea. It’s one thing to bloody their noses in international waters on our own terms. It’s an entirely different matter to take them on over their own mainland.” A few of the officers let out sighs of relief. The concerns about escalating military actions had been one reason Tombstone had scheduled this briefing immediately. Left to its own devices, the carrier’s rumor control system would have had the battle group on the verge of World War III within a matter of hours. “Our orders have not changed. In two weeks, USS Lincoln will relieve us on station. Between getting ready for turnover and keeping an eye on the Chinese, I think we’ve got plenty to do. You hear rumors about an alpha strike on China, you can put a stop to them. “Any other questions?” Tombstone concluded. The officers assembled around the table shook their heads. A few yawned as the gut-wrenching fatigue that always followed combat Missions set in.
“Go see your squadrons, and then get some sleep,” Tombstone ordered. “Come see me if any other issues surface.”
He watched them file out of the conference room, remembering how many times he’d been in their shoes, and then glanced down at the message in his hand. There was one other piece of good news to deliver, but it could wait until the morning.
“What took you so long?” Tombstone snapped. “I passed the word for you ten minutes ago. Did you forget how to get to my quarters?”
“Sorry, Admiral,” Batman said. He glanced around the officers assembled in Tombstone’s cabin, and a puzzled look spread across his face. All six captains on board the Jefferson were present, along with every squadron CO. “What can I do for you, Admiral?”
“It’s customary for admirals to call each other by their first names, Batman,” Tombstone said solemnly. “Although I suppose we’ll need to wait a few months for the Senate confirmation to make it official.”
“What? Oh, no, you don’t mean it!” Batman exclaimed. Every face in the room was split with a broad grin. “Oh, shit, Tombstone! For real?”
“Here’s the message,” Tombstone said, a rare smile lighting his face. “You’re number one on the list selected for promotion to rear admiral. See for yourself.”
Batman stared at the message, then started to smile. The corners of his mouth pulled further and further away from each other, until he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words.
“And I wanted you to have these,” Tombstone added. He handed his old wingman a red-and-white Navy insignia box. “There aren’t many sets in the ship’s stores, so I had to part with a set of my own. Bring you good luck.”
Batman stared down at the two silver stars gleaming against their white cardboard backing. “Still come mounted on cardboard,” he said reflectively. “Funny, I guess I thought once you made admiral, they’d be on black velvet or something.”
The assembled crowd broke into a line of jostling senior naval officers queuing to shake his hand and offer their congratulations. One by one, they started filing out of the office, until Batman and Tombstone were alone.
“You had to surprise me, didn’t you?” Batman said. “Couldn’t let me just read it on the message board.”
“You would have done it differently if our positions had been reversed?” Tombstone said gravely, his eyes still warm. “I don’t think so — not after you forgot to tell me about Pamela being on that COD.”
“Hell of a payback, Tombstone. You’re pissed at me for the surprise, so you get me promoted just to get even.” Batman shook his head. “The things you’ll do for revenge.”
“There’re even more surprises in store,” Tombstone said. “Guess who called me this morning?”
“The president, wanting to offer me his personal congratulations?”
“Almost. My uncle. You know, the old guy with more stars than both of us put together? He asked me to pass on his congratulations — and one other thing as well.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, seems like he’s going to have an opening for a Carrier Battle Group Commander. For this battle group, as a matter of fact. He wondered if you wanted your name put in the hat for it.”
“He had to ask? Damn, what have you been telling your uncle about me, Tombstone? Of course I want it! It’d be my first choice!”
