than he’d originally thought. And as for Chief Franklin, Bird Dog hoped that a little more of an officer’s leadership would bring the man around to the new Navy way of doing things.
CHAPTER 3
Captain Wayne studied the satellite imagery carefully, and then compared it with the one from the day before. No doubt about it — the South China Sea was missing one rock.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, as he leafed through the rest of the briefing package. Even after his months at the Pentagon, the capabilities of satellite surveillance still stunned him. Pictures of events happening over five thousand miles away were hand-carried to his desk by an armed courier before the on-scene commander even had time to figure out what had happened.
“Not a chance anyone survived that blast long enough to drown, Batman,” Admiral Dunflere said. “Hell of a way to go. It’s not like that boat could even fight back.”
Both men shivered slightly. The idea of being trapped in a small boat, at the mercy of almost any other platform, was repulsive to any fighter pilot. At least in the air they’d die fighting back.
“Where was this, Admiral?” Batman asked his boss. “Anywhere near Mischief Reef?”
“Five miles to the south,” Admiral Dunflere replied. “That whole area’s thick with reefs, shoals, and rocks. The Vietnamese outposts are damned near within spitting distance of the Chinese ones. That battle group commander must be sweating some water space management problems just trying to keep from going aground. And if he has to maneuver worrying about sea-skimmers … better him than me. Interesting tactical situation, don’t you think? Suggest anything to you?”
“That’s Stoney’s battle group, you know,” Batman remarked casually. “Old friend of mine from way back.”
“He’s on the scene,” the admiral agreed pleasantly. “Helluva coincidence.”
“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, it’s more than that. Stoney’s got a sea-skimmer problem, and we’ve got a new toy that might just make his life a little easier. Course, we’d make the same offer to any on-scene commander, but it sure does make it easier if it’s Stoney.”
“Great minds think alike,” his boss said, and grinned. “Why don’t you give your old lead a call, and see how life’s treating him? Let’s get a response before we start generating message traffic — I want us all singing in the same key on this before we go public.”
“Roger, copy, Admiral. If I know Stoney, he’s going to be awful glad to see his old buddy about now.”
“As glad as any operational commander ever is to see someone from Washington,” the Admiral replied.
“AE Branch! Atten-hut!” the Chief snapped.
Bird Dog walked toward the eighteen technicians assembled in three neat ranks for morning quarters. Some were in dungarees with chambray shirts or green pullovers while others wore coveralls. A scruffy-looking lot, he thought as he approached them. Although Bird Dog had been on the carrier for almost a month, he was still struggling with names and faces of the technicians who worked in AE — Aviation Electricians — division.
Appearances were important, he reminded himself. He’d taken extra care with his uniform that morning, even polishing the gold belt buckle to a brilliant shine to convey the impression of leadership, of a sharp, polished officer. By God, it was time for a change in attitude in AE Branch. These people would know they didn’t have a slacker for a Branch officer.
Unfortunately, the enlisted personnel didn’t seem to care. At least half of the men hadn’t bothered to shave. While some of them might not even need to shave on a regular basis, three petty officers sported rough-looking stubble. The five women in the Branch particularly dismayed him. He’d expected the women to take a little more pride in their appearance. Two of them had long hair straggling out from underneath their cranials, and one wore the grimiest looking coveralls he’d ever seen.
Bird Dog returned the Chief’s salute, trying to conceal his dismay. They must be testing him, he thought. Trying to see how far they could go with him. Well, he wouldn’t stand for it!
“Personnel inspection, Chief,” he snapped.
The Chief looked startled. “Sir, we’re setting flight quarters in thirty minutes. The FOD walk-down-“
“How long can it take with fifteen people?” Without bothering to see if the chief followed him, Bird Dog began pacing down the row of assembled sailors.
“Haircut,” he said shortly, as he looked the first sailor over carefully. “That goes for just about all of them, Chief.”
“Yes, sir,” the Chief said. He walked slowly down the first line, then the second. Halfway through the third rank, he came to the young female sailor in grimy coveralls. The top of her head barely came up to his wings, and her short blond hair was in disarray.
“Why isn’t this sailor wearing a cranial, Chief?”
“Uh, sir-Shaughnessy?”
“Forgot it, Chief,” she said. Her voice was so low Bird Dog had to strain to catch it. “It’s in the line shack.” A Southern drawl drew the five words out into a paragraph.
“Your bird a go this morning?” the Chief asked, ignoring Bird Dog impatiently shifting his weight from foot to foot beside him. The huge Chief, darkly bronzed by the sun and immaculately attired in sharply pressed khakis, towered over the small blond woman. For some reason, the odd contrast between the Chief and the airman annoyed Bird Dog even more than Chief Franklin’s attitude. Wasn’t anything the way it was supposed to be in the Navy?
“Yes, Chief.” The corners of the young airman’s mouth twitched upward. “Found the problem about ten minutes ago. A circuit breaker — can you believe it?”
“No shit? Good work! Which one was-?”
“Ahem. The personnel inspection, Chief,” Bird Dog said.
The Chief glanced down at him as though seeing him for the first time. “Sorry, sir,” he said after a moment. “You know how it is, trying to get all the aircraft FMC just before flight quarters. We’ve been having problems with that bird for two days now. Shaughnessy thought it might be a bad circuit breaker, not resetting correctly. Sounds like she was right.”
“Fine, but there’s no excuse for ignoring safety regulations, Chief. She’s on the flight deck, she wears a cranial from now on.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Chief Franklin said. “Want her to go get it now?”
Bird Dog hesitated. Something in the chief’s voice made the rough tarmac under his feet feel like a slippery slope. “Up to you, Chief,” he said, trying to inject a decisive note into his voice. “As long as we’re clear that my first priority for AE Branch is safety.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the Chief said again.
Bird Dog paced down to the end of the row, and then returned to the front of the ranks. The Chief followed him.
“AE Branch — parade rest!” Bird Dog snapped. The sailors hesitated for a split second, glanced at each other, and then fell into the more relaxed stance. “I will now read the Plan of the Day.”
Suddenly, a voice boomed over the flight deck. “Would you people like an engraved invitation? The rest of the airwing would be pleased to have you join us for a FOD walk-down — that is, of course, assuming it’s convenient?”
Bird Dog looked up, bewildered.
“Air Boss, sir,” the Chief said. “If I could make a suggestion — this might be a real good time to dismiss the
