next duty station. What had first begun as an odd coincidence had been elevated to a standing joke within the tight-knit F-14 Tomcat community.
Distracted, Batman stared at the left-hand seat in front of the TPCC.
He stared for a moment, then grinned. Odd that he could recognize the back of her head, when she’d spent most of her time in the air staring at his. He stood up and walked over to the console. Tomboy?”
The diminutive naval flight officer turned around, looked up, and stood. “Yes, Admiral. Can I help you?”
Batman shook his head amusedly. “As I live and breathe, lieutenant Commander Joyce Flynn. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were still playing test pilot out at Patuxent River in Maryland.”
Following their last cruise, the radar intercept officer, or rio, had been ordered there to operationally test the latest flying machines the Navy had to offer. Foremost among them was the JAST bird, an advanced avionics F-14 Tomcat that featured an augmented look-down, shoot-down Doppler pulse radar.
Tomboy had flown as Batman’s RIO during a conflict two cruises ago in the South China Sea when Batman, as program manager for the JAST project, had persuaded Tombstone, then commander, Carrier Group Nine, to use the test platforms in actual combat.
“Just catching up on the changes,” she said, gesturing to a large-screen display behind her. “A few things are different.”
“More has changed with you than has with TFCC,” Batman said, looking down pointedly at her left hand. “So you finally did it?”
Even in the semi gloom of TFCC, he could see her blush “Las Vegas.
Neither of us felt like a large wedding.”
“You could have at least told me. Me, of all people,” the admiral huffed. “As many aircraft as I have on board this ship, I would have found a way to get there.”
“My apologies. Admiral. The next time” “There’d better not be a next time. So what are you doing on board?”
“PXO, of VF-54.” The small naval flight officer couldn’t hide her grin.
“Who’d have thought?”
“I saw your name on the list, but didn’t realize that was so soon.
You’re relieving Henry?”
“Yes. He fleets up to CO in two weeks. I talked Tombstone into letting me come aboard a week early, just so we could start turnover.
Besides, I need a FAM flight in the B-bird.” She shook her head ruefully. “After the birds I’ been flying, it takes some getting used to. At least I’ve Gator in the squadron to keep me honest.”
“That’s right he’s the VF-54 operations officer, isn’t he? Good man.”
The admiral glanced up at the tactical display, then turned back to her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that Bird Dog was in the air.
This is just the sort of situation he’d be involved in.”
Tomboy laughed. “He’s your problem now. Admiral, not Gator’s, since he’s on your staff.”
“Since this is old-home week, let’s just get his young ass up. How about it?” The admiral turned to a messenger. “Go wake up Bird Dog.
I think he’ll want to see this.”
For some reason, Callie Lazier was trying to wake him up.
Her hand was on his shoulder, shaking gently but insistently.
He could feel her snuggled up spoon fashion in back of him, her nipples gently pressing against his back, his butt nestled into the taut hardness of her belly. He smiled, wondering if her other hand was already snaking around his waist, reaching lower to caress him, waking him up in what had already become a delightful morning tradition in their relationship. If so, she’d find out just how ready he was, asleep or not.
Lieutenant Commander Curt “Bird Dog” Robinson moaned and rolled over onto his side. Why not make it easier for her? He pulled her hand off his shoulder to guide it down, feeling the urgency and anticipation build as he since when did Callie have hairy wrists?
“Sir. Sir!” The voice was low and insistent.
Bird Dog tried to twist away, then paused to think. Sir?
Why was his fiancee calling him that? It didn’t make sense.
The only time he was awakened with that was when he was His eyes snapped open and he stared into the plain, hone stand now, horrified face of the Flag messenger.
“Oh, shit.” With a sigh. Bird Dog shoved the pillow away from his face. “I’m back on Jefferson, aren’t I?”
The admiral’s messenger gulped, then nodded. “Sir?”
“Never mind.” Bird Dog released the man’s wrist and shoved himself up into a sitting position. “This better be good.”
The messenger smiled. “That’s just what the admiral said, sir, about ten minutes ago. He thought you might want to see this.”
Bird Dog sighed. “The admiral, huh? Okay, I’ll be right there.”
As the messenger scuttled out of his stateroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Bird Dog flipped on the small light mounted immediately over his head, casting a dim glow over the entire room. No point in waking up his roommate if he didn’t have to.
Heavy snores cut through the compartment from the rack above him. Bird Dog glanced enviously up at his roommate, wondering why he deserved to sleep another four hours.
Well, no help for it When the admiral wanted his staff assembled, it happened, and happened now. He reached for his flight suit, paused, then sighed and pulled his khaki pants and blouse out of his locker, trying not to make any noise. His days of living in the soft, comfortable green jumpsuit were over. At least until he got back in a squadron And that wasn’t the only disadvantage to being a staff puke In his last two cruises, both on board Jefferson, Bird dog had seen combat in the Spratly Islands and helped thwart Russian invasion of the Aleutian Islands. Based on his extensive operational experience, he’d been promoted early to lieutenant commander, then selected to attend ege in Newport, Rhode Island. Attendance at the demanding college of staff and command courses was reserved for only 10 percent of naval officers service-wide.
During his year there, he had been exposed to the most advanced techniques in tactical and operational art, rubbing shoulders daily with the top officers from every other service and civilian agency in the U.S. government. Somewhere along the way, he found out that he’d done the right things during his previous two cruises, if sometimes only by mistake.
And that wasn’t the least of it. He pulled on his blouse, smiling as he thought of Callie. Of all the great things in Newport, she was the best. And if tonight was any indication, she was indeed the girl of his dreams.
Callie Lazier, Navy lieutenant commander surface warfare officer. He smiled. If ever there’d been an officer that looked less like a warrior, it was her. Long, honey blond.hair, deep blue eyes, and, at five foot ten inches tall, only two inches shorter than he was. Her soft, luxuriant curves couldn’t mask the fact that she spent an hour in the gym every morning before classes and ran five miles every evening.
The woman was a jock, an absolute jock. The last time he’d tried to keep up with her, he’d fallen out on the side of Thames Street, made his way into the Brick Alley Pub, and was happily half drunk by the time she’d finished her run. Callie had been disappointed and mockingly stern.
A woman who drives ships for a living. Bird Dog shook his head. How could someone be satisfied with a life in which top speed meant about thirty-five knots? He’d tried to explain to her the sheer glories of naval aviation, the heady exuberance of catapulting off the front of the carrier, the pure joy of flying the world’s finest aircraft, the F14 tomcat, under any and all circumstances, but somehow he had the feeling she’d never really understood. In fact, Callie had displayed a noticeable disdain for the exploits of the F-14 in combat.
Bird Dog crossed the small compartment in two steps and rummaged around in the debris on a small ledge over the sink for his wings. He found them, and jammed the two metal spines on their back through the well-worn holes on his khaki shirt. Well, she’d feel differently once she had her first flight in a Tomcat. He didn’t know yet how or when he’d arrange it, but it would happen. Had to happen, if he were ever going to explain to her why it was so important that he keep flying.
