CHAPTER 29
“Admiral?” Lab Rat asked. “I think I may have what you asked for.”
“Shoot, La — uh, Commander Busby,” Tombstone said.
Lab Rat groaned inwardly. The nickname appeared to be permanent, if even the admiral had trouble remembering his real name!
“It’s a matter of saving face, Admiral. That’s one of the most critical parts to dealing with an Asian nation. It’s something I don’t think we’ve ever understood, not completely. But I think I might have a cover story that would work.”
“I’m listening.”
“Here’s the idea.
Fifteen minutes later, Tombstone was nodding. “Get this on the wire to your spook buddies, Commander. They may not take your suggestion, but it sounds like a fine operational deception to me. If anyone in the State Department’s got a hair on their ass, they’ll pull this one off. Helluva good idea!”
If Lab Rat hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the somber admiral was even starting to smile. It was just as well he was sworn to secrecy — while his colleagues might be able to believe his plan, not a single one of them would have believed that old stone face had smiled.
“How are you holding up?” Bird Dog asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. “You ready for some aerobatics? Tell me if you’re not — you’ll be cleaning it up if you puke.”
The backseater nodded.
“Use the ICS. If I’m not looking, I can’t see you nod,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the answer came finally. “I think some aerobatics would be just great!”
“Okay, Shaughnessy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Bird Dog jammed the throttles forward, pitched the nose of the Tomcat up, and headed into an Immelmann.
She may own it on the ground, but up here it’s all mine! And the more she knows about that part of it, the better she can do her job.
He’d never been too good with words, but a highly illegal and damned well-deserved ride in a Tomcat ought to make up for a hell of a lot of mistakes!
A war whoop echoed over the ICS as he reached the pinnacle of the maneuver. He felt a grin split his own face and added his best imitation of a rebel yell to her voice.
Damn, it was nice to have a backseater that appreciated the fancy stuff! Maybe it was time to talk to Shaughnessy about getting some college under her belt and going to AOCS. In six years or so, Gator might just find he had a little competition.
Then again, if her eyesight held up, she just might have her eyes on the front seat! From the way she was enjoying the aerobatics, she just might.
“Admiral? Lieutenant Commander Flynn to see you, sir,” COS said.
Tombstone looked up from his desk and frowned. He’d known this day would come soon enough, and he still hadn’t decided how to handle it. The more he tried to ignore Tomboy, the more he found her creeping into his thoughts. He could spot her in seconds in the crowded dirty-shirt mess in the forward part of the ship, and lately he’d taken to avoiding the VF-95 Ready Room. Every time he stepped into it, she was there.
She’d noticed, he was certain. How could she not know something was wrong when the man she’d flown with for a year, day in and day out, in combat and on routine hops, suddenly started avoiding her?
“Show her in, COS,” he said. Well, absent a plan, he’d have to play it by ear.
“Commander,” he said formally, while COS lingered at the door.
“Admiral, thank you for seeing me,” she responded. Her voice was low and steady, although her usually light complexion looked starkly pale against the flaming red hair. She wore khakis, ribbons, and her wings, every inch the professional naval officer and pilot that she was. Suitable dress for a junior officer to see the admiral.
“Please — sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. For a moment, he considered asking her to sit on the couch, to put her at ease. After all, if this meeting was difficult for him, it had to be doubly so for her.
“Thank you — I’d prefer to stand, if that would be all right with you, Admiral. This won’t take long.” She paused and took a deep breath. Then she placed her hands at the open collar of her khaki shirt, slid one hand inside, and tugged. Her wings popped off and lay, shining gold, in the palm of her small hand. She looked down at them for a moment, and then sighed.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tombstone snapped. For a moment, as her hand went inside her shirt, he’d been afraid that — no, it wouldn’t have been possible. Tomboy make a pass at him? On the ship? Never.
“Quitting. You won’t ask me to — you wouldn’t ever ask that of your own backseater. But it’s obvious to me that that’s what you want. I thought I’d save you the embarrassment.” She stepped forward, reached across the desk, and gently placed the wings in front of him. Her hand lingered on them for a moment, as though saying good-bye. Then she stood, straight and proud, and looked him in the eyes.
“Thank you for seeing me, Admiral. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” She turned and walked toward the door.
Shock held Tombstone in place for a few seconds. Tomboy quit? Why would she ever think that’s what he wanted? How could she?
As she reached for the doorknob, his throat suddenly unfroze. “Commander! Tomboy! Now just hold on one damned minute!” He was out of his chair and around his desk in a split second. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. Face to face, her head barely reached his wings. She was looking down, but he saw one tear trace its way down her pale cheek.
“Sit down, Tomboy,” he said, shoving her gently toward the couch. Her call sign came to his lips automatically. “That’s an order.”
She resisted for a second. “Please don’t make this any harder than it is, Admiral. You don’t know what it took to come here. I won’t change my mind, no matter what you say.”
“Just sit down. I’m not asking you to change your mind-” not yet, anyway, he added silently “-I just want to talk to you for a moment.”
She nodded jerkily and walked around the coffee table to sit perched on the edge of the couch. Her eyes were still locked on the floor.
Tombstone sighed, berating himself for having let it come to this. Of course she’d thought he wanted her out! How could she not, when he’d avoided getting near her for the last month.
He lowered himself into the chair at right angles to the couch and leaned back. It was his mess, and it was up to him to straighten it out.
“I have a problem, Tomboy. Not you, me. Somewhere between the Kola Peninsula and the Spratly Islands, you started to be something to me besides a RIO. I don’t know exactly when or how, but I do know that’s true. When I realized it, I started avoiding you. I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, I told myself. You couldn’t handle it — at least that’s what I wanted to believe. The truth is that I couldn’t.
“Do you know I almost called you every day while you were on shore duty and I was at the war college? Every day I thought about you, wondered what you were doing. I didn’t, though. I was afraid that I’d call you and hear you act surprised, or that you’d just treat me like your old pilot. I’m ten years older than you are, Tomboy, so I use that word literally. Or maybe you’d feel uncomfortable with a rear admiral calling you, asking if you’d like to go to a Patriots game some weekend. So I took the easy way out. I was afraid of rejection.”
