meal. “People are starting to talk the wrong people.”
Admiral Keith Loggins, deputy AIRPAC, gazed down at his Cobb salad in disgust. “The hard-boiled eggs aren’t done all the way through. I hate it when they do that.”
“Pay attention, damn it, I’m trying to help you earn that next star.”
Senator Williams’s voice was viciously sharp.
“I am paying attention. Can’t I do two things at once?
Besides, the idea of using an aviation mishap for political advantage turns my stomach.”
Senator Williams sighed and pushed his plate away. “You didn’t tell those pilots to get loaded on testosterone and do stupid stunts with those aircraft, did you?”
“Of course not. We didn’t shoot down the civilian bird, and they’re not playing Romper Room out there.” Admiral Loggins pointed his fork at the senator. “That’s one thing you people have never understood.
We’re in a dangerous business out there, and there’s bound to be mishaps. There’s no way to prevent them.”
“Reality makes damned poor politics. Listen, Keith, you ought to know that by now. Everything has a slant to it, a twist, an angle. These F-14s of yours and Hornets that keep falling out of the airwell, the taxpayers start wondering what their tax dollars are going for. The average Joe, the one who gets out and votes, starts asking me why he can’t buy a new car and we can afford to replace your toys. It’s a problem.”
“But not mine.”
“Not yet.” Senator Williams motioned to the steward.
“You got any of that pecan pie from yesterday left?”
“What do you mean, not yet?” Admiral Loggins said uneasily. With the selection board for vice admiral meeting in only two months, this just might make a difference. “I wasn’t at sea on that carrier; I wasn’t commanding that squadron. I took my turn in the basket, and I survived that tour. They can’t hold me responsible for those mishaps.”
“We most certainly can,” the senator replied as he watched the steward walk away.
Admiral Loggins noted the shift in pronouns with growing apprehension.
“Hey, wait a minute….”
Senator Williams returned the gaze of the senior officer.
“I work for the people, Keith. And the sooner you learn that, the better.”
Damn it, I wish he would stop calling me Keith. Nobody in this building gets away with that. “Just what do you mean?”
“Just what I said. You’re deputy AIRPAC people are starting to wonder why you’re not doing something about this.”
“Like what? Fly every flight myself? I spent twenty years in the cockpit and I never had a mishap.”
“Like do something for God’s sake, Keith, exert a little leadership.”
The senator quit talking as the steward approached bearing his pie. He waited until the white-jacketed mess man had set the plate down and carefully repositioned the fork nearby. As the steward left. Senator Williams continued. “The Navy’s gone through this spate of accidents before. You usually shut down operations for a while and try to figure out why, right? A safety stand-down?”
“When we can. But Jefferson’s in the middle of operations down off Cuba. I don’t have to tell you what’s going on there.”
“And what else is near Cuba?” the senator pressed.
“Damn it, don’t you see what this means? It’s a golden opportunity you piss this one away and you’ll not get another one like it anytime soon.”
“The Arsenal ship?”
“Oh, the light finally goes on,” the senator said sarcastically. “The one project you and I have been working on for a year and a half now, and you finally think of it. Nice. I like a team player, Keith.”
“Quit calling me Keith,” the admiral said, his temper flaring suddenly.
A cold, still silence settled on the table. The senator carefully and meticulously placed his fork down on the tablecloth. “Fine. Admiral, then.” The venom in his gaze left no doubt about his opinion of the formality. “Well, Admiral, let me just recap the situation for you, if I may, sir. In case you don’t realize it, a large part of your future is riding on the successful performance of that Arsenal ship.”
“I’m an aviator.” The statement was almost an anguished cry.
“Besides, you’re the one who” “I’m the one who what?” the senator snapped. “Helped you get that second star? Shoved your nomination and promotion through committee? Made sure nobody asked any nasty little Tail hook questions? That guy?”
Admiral Loggins suddenly realized how far he’d gone over the line.
Everything Senator Williams had said was true the politician had been a major influence on the admiral’s career. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by that. And come on, we’ve known each other too longI was out of line. Call me Keith.”
The senator leaned back in his chair and assessed the man opposite him with a cold stare. “Make up your mind. Which side of the fence are you on?”
“I want what’s best for the Navy. I’ve always said that.”
The senator sighed. “And we agreed when we started this that the Arsenal was what was best for the Navy. A lightweight, easily built ship packed to the gills with every kind of advanced weaponry and with a skeleton crew on board. Hook up the electronics that allow for remote control of the firing, and you’ve got a perfect political platform.”
The senator’s voice was low and urgent. “At least that’s what you told my committee when you were testifying as a member of the research and development team. You remember? It was your first political move, your maiden appearance in front of the Senate.”
“I remember,” the admiral said gruffly. And a pleasant experience it definitely had not been. Yet, despite an extensive grilling by the senators, who understood so little about the military, the project had gotten their blessing. Ten Arsenal ships were to be built in the next three years, and Admiral Loggins’s name and reputation were firmly riding on each one.
“This is what you do,” the senator said, speaking quickly and quietly.
“Things are going to get worse in Cuba real soonno, don’t ask me how I know. I just do.” He grinned.
“As you would, if you paid any attention to your fiancee.”
“Pamela?” the admiral said, confused by the sudden change of subject.
“What’s she got to do with this?”
“Everything and nothing.”
Admiral Loggins frowned. Eight months ago, he’d finally screwed up his nerve and asked the luscious Pamela Drake for a date. They had quickly established that they had more in common than either had thought.
Loggins found her sharp, analytical mind refreshing, and Pamela had never been shy about sharing her political acumen with him. It had been through her connections that he’d met Senator Williams, as well as a host of other powerful men and women in both the House and the Senate. Suddenly, another star on his collar was looking a whole lot more probable.
For her part, Pamela seemed to appreciate the insights he sometimes gave her into military affairs. She’d told him more than once that he helped her convey a more balanced picture of the military to her viewers.
On a more personal level, they were equally compatible.
Last month, he’d finally asked her to marry him, and she’d accepted.
Now if she would only stay in the country long enough for them to finalize the plans.
“What do you suggest I do?” the admiral asked, pushing aside the thoughts of his fiancee to concentrate on the senator. Pamela had warned him several times that Williams had the power to make him or to break him.
The senator sighed. “Let me spell it out for you. As deputy AIRPAC, you’re concerned about pilot safety. And about the F-14 Tomcats some of those airframes are getting old. You decide to call a safety stand-down and major responsibility for any strike prosecution shifts to the USS Arsenal. Hell, you can even tell that admiral of yours to shift his flag to her. That would be even better.”
“And the USS Arsenal gets to be the hero of the Cuban confrontation,” the admiral said. “I don’t know. You’re talking about a major shift in policy, pulling our carrier off the front lines.”
