Bird Dog contemplated a sharp rejoinder, then thought better of it. To be arguing with his RIO over whether or not he would have made a good date was the height of idiocy. Besides, there were other things on his mind at this point.
Gator saw his change of mood. “Oh, come on, lighten up,” he said, disgusted. “A hell of a lot of pilots go through a whole tour without seeing as much combat as we did over the Spratlys. You know that?”
Bird Dog shrugged. By now, they’d reached the corridor that housed the VF-95 pilots. Bird Dog paused at his door, his hand on the knob. He gazed at Gator for a moment, then said haltingly, “It just doesn’t make much sense to me sometimes. You know that?”
Gator nodded. “I know that better than anyone else on this boat, shipmate,” he said. “And I also know that there’s not a damned thing we can do about it right now. You stick around this canoe club for a while, you start to understand it. You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is.”
Bird Dog shoved his door open. “Ten minutes, I’ll meet you down in the Dirty Shirt,” he said by way of response.
Gator nodded. “The tactical scenario always improves on a full stomach, asshole,” he said lightly. He snapped the towel again, catching Bird Dog on the butt.
“Thank you, Commander,” Tombstone said gravely. “I’d like for you to remain while I talk to them.”
The lawyer nodded. He wondered how much the admiral had retained, since it felt like he’d dumped four years of law school and two years of postgraduate study into the man’s lap in the last ten minutes.
“COS, send them in,” Tombstone said.
The chief of staff walked over to the door to the conference room, opened it, and motioned to the four people seated around the large rectangular table. They filed into the admiral’s cabin, not speaking.
Tombstone did not ask them to sit. Instead, he glared at them from a seated position behind his desk, assessing each one carefully.
“Your licenses are gone,” he said finally, pointing at the pilot and the copilot of the helicopter. He turned his gaze on Pamela. “And if you had one, yours would be, too.”
Pamela took one step forward. “The icing wasn’t their fault, Admiral,” she said quietly, her voice betraying no quaver of nervousness. “I admit, I pressed them hard to fly in this weather, even though they said they’d rather not.” She shrugged. “Not a smart move, in retrospect. But there was certainly no attempt to-“
“Shut up,” Tombstone said levelly. He turned his back on her to face the JAG officer. “Read them their rights before we proceed.”
The lawyer stood and recited the Miranda warnings to the four people. By then, the pilot and copilot were starting to turn pale. Yet nothing appeared to affect Pamela Drake, ace correspondent from ACN, Tombstone thought bitterly.
“Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” the lawyer concluded. All four nodded.
“I can’t hear you,” Tombstone said neutrally, pointing at the recording equipment. One by one, the four people said yes.
“And, having these rights in mind, do you desire to speak to an attorney,” the lawyer continued, “or do you wish to discuss this matter now?”
“As I was saying, Admiral,” Pamela began.
Tombstone cut her off again. “I didn’t ask for a narrative yet, Miss Drake,” he said coldly. “This is the way this matter will proceed — I will ask questions, you will answer them. At the conclusion, I will permit you a brief — and I mean very brief — period in which to add any amplifying material that you might wish to. And, for the record, I’m not interested in your conclusions at this point.”
Tombstone turned his gaze to the pilot. “There was no malfunction on your helicopter,” he said bluntly. “That is true, is it not?”
The pilot cleared his throat and glanced uneasily about the room as though trying to find the answer to the question. He looked at his copilot, who shrugged. Finally, the pilot settled for staring at the deck. “No, there wasn’t.”
“Are you aware that it is a federal felony to falsely utilize the seven-seven-seven-seven emergency squawk?” Tombstone demanded.
The pilot nodded.
“I can’t hear you,” Tombstone said again.
“Yes.”
“The next question will require a yes or no answer only. Did you falsely report an emergency condition in order to land on my ship, knowing that had you asked permission through normal channels I would’ve said no?”
“Yes, but I-“
“Thank you. That answers the question. Finally, did you take this action at the instigation of Miss Pamela Drake from ACN?”
The pilot, now thoroughly cowed, looked over at his former employer. Perhaps his last employer, he thought bitterly, trying to remember why in the world he’d ever been convinced this was a good idea. If he answered the admiral’s question, no news organization would ever hire him for a charter flight again. But if he didn’t, that would be the last time he was ever allowed landing rights or any other courtesy from any military installation. At this point, he wasn’t even sure that he would have a license. “Yes.” He continued staring at the deck, waiting for the explosion he was sure was coming.
“Admiral, I-“
“Miss Drake. One more outburst and I’ll have you gagged. If you do not understand the full extent of my power on board this ship, then I suggest you consult with an attorney before disobeying any more of my orders. Is that perfectly clear to you?” And why should it be now, my dear? he wondered bitterly. It never was before. In all our years together, you never understood how absolutely compelling my power is over every bit of this ship. If I wanted to have you locked up overnight and held incommunicado, I could do it. There’d be hell to pay eventually, but until someone outside of my world heard of it, you’d be in jail. He stared at her face and noted with grim satisfaction she was starting to understand.
Tombstone directed his gaze to the copilot. “Do you agree with the answers your pilot has given?” he demanded.
“Yes.” The copilot took less time to make up his mind.
Finally, Tombstone turned his gaze to Pamela. “And did you ask these men to commit this deed, knowing full well that I expressly said I did not want you on board this ship?”
“Me, in particular, or the news media in general?” Pamela snapped. “Honestly, Stoney, this has gone on long enough.”
“My name,” Tombstone said quietly, “is Admiral Magruder. Please bear that in mind from now on, Miss Drake. Do you desire to answer the question, or is it your wish to remain silent?”
“Of course, I hired them to fly me out here,” she stormed. “You can’t cut the news media off from an event like this. It’s not fair.”
“Fairness has little or nothing to do with conflict, Miss Drake.” Tombstone studied her carefully, watched the color rise in her cheeks. Pamela had never been particularly good at accepting no for an answer. Now it appeared that her insatiable desire to get the story at any cost had finally landed her in serious trouble. How serious, she would find out shortly. “I’ve spoken with our JAG attorney on board, and he advises me that you three have committed several serious felonies. As I said in the beginning, the least of the penalties will be the loss of your pilot’s license.” He smiled, a trace of bitterness at the corners of his mouth. “Not that that matters to you, Miss Drake. Even if you’d thought about the consequences to these two men before you decided on this course of action, I doubt it would have stopped you.”
“Damn Stoney — all right, Admiral Magruder, if you wish — you can’t do this,” she stormed. “I demand-“
“Gag her,” Tombstone said simply. He watched horror and shock chase each other around Pamela’s face as two master-at-arms stepped up to her side.
