Even with the urgency of his information, it had taken the aide a good half hour to clear out the petitioners clogging Senator Dailey’s anteroom. Finally, when his boss motioned him in, he had his chance. He described what he’d seen in Admiral Loggins’s office, not bothering to supply his own conclusions.
They’d discussed the Williams-Loggins link too often for this falling-out to have many surprises.
Senator Dailey leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “So it finally happened. That’s what I was counting on. The Keith Loggins I knew when I was on active duty had more balls than to let somebody like Williams suck him into something shady. Wonder what they broke up over.”
The aide shook his head. “I couldn’t hear everything, Senator. Just enough to convince me it had to do with the battle group to the south.
And we both know what side of the problem those two are on.”
Senator Dailey unfurled himself from the angle between his desk and his chair, then reached across for the telephone.
He paused, studied his aide thoughtfully. “Let this be a lesson to you. There’s an old saying” The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” I think it’s about time I called Admiral Magruder and gave him the day off.” He began dialing the number from memory.
“The day off?” the aide asked, looking puzzled. “Why is that?”
The senator smiled broadly. “Because in about fifteen minutes.
Admiral Tombstone Magruder is going to think it’s Christmas. Santa Claus, played by little old me, is about to give him everything he ever wanted or asked for.”
For the second time that day.
Tombstone Magruder hung up the telephone and laughed. “Just when you’re getting ready to mutiny, the elected Powers That Be come through for you.”
Batman smirked. “I was just getting used to the idea of it myself.
What did Senator Dailey have to say?”
Tombstone smiled back. “We’ve got everything we wanted and we’re willing to do without authorization. Weapons free, aircraft free everything. Evidently there’s been a falling-out amongst thieves back in D.C and we’re back to being the good guys.”
Batman dropped his feet off the desk and stood. “Hell, Tombstone, we always were the good guys. Sometimes they just forget that back there.”
“Now that they’ve got it straightened out,” Tombstone said, “let’s see if we can make it clear to the Cubans.”
Bird Dog double-clicked his mouse, transferring the contents from his rough drawing sheet into the cell on his war-game planning sheet. This plan had everything he needed, everything he’d been taught to plan for during his year at War College. He studied it again, trying to see if he’d missed anything. No, it was all there logistics support, objectives, and finally a succinct explanation of the desired end state to this conflict. He knew that was a little bit beyond his duties as a carrier staff puke, but it didn’t hurt to show off a little anyway.
Besides, this was going to be his big move, wasn’t it? No point in not showing the admiral he had a little bit more on the ball than the average lieutenant commander pilot. The sick uneasiness he felt over Callie was merely a background throb of pain now, constant yet submerged in his consciousness under the driving need to finish the operational plan. He kept his eyes riveted on the spreadsheet, not certain that he wanted to release it for review by the Air Ops chief.
Every minute he kept himself distracted with that prevented him from having to deal with the issue of Callie.
Finally, he noticed one small improvement he could make on the plan, one that just might lift his spirits a bit. He moused over to the relevant cell and added an additional flight of aircraft, one he knew that the squadron was not capable of providing on short notice they simply didn’t have enough pilots. With a little cooperation from Gator, he just might be able to pull it off. Now if only the Ops ACOS didn’t read the details too carefully….
Staff work was demanding, but it was usually finished by the time the aircraft went into the air. No point in not taking the extra manpower into account when planning for strikes, particularly since there were aircraft that would be sitting empty on the deck otherwise. He smiled, wondering how Gator was going to be feeling about that.
“No way.” Gator’s voice was cold and adamant. “I’m not climbing into a cockpit with you right now, not after that bitch just jilted you.”
“She’s not a bitch,” Bird Dog said, defending Callie unwillingly. In truth, he himself thought that she might be.
There was no other explanation for her complete lack of taste in dumping him in favor of a submariner.
Despite Bird Dog’s intentions of keeping his pain to himself. Gator had wormed the story out of him in less than five minutes flat. After hearing it, and noting the anguish in Bird Dog’s voice. Gator had flatly refused to fly with him again.
“I’m not unsafe in the air you know I’m not.”
“Even on the best days, you have an interesting interpretation of the standard rules of flight,” Gator said caustically.
“But now, with your heart down around your asshole, I’d be crazy to get in the cockpit with you. Plumb crazy.”
Bird Dog tried again. “Look at it this way. Gator. Who’s got more experience in combat than us? You and me, remember? The Spratlys?
The Aleutians? Now that was a helluva ride, wasn’t it? And if I can bring you back safely from that, flying twenty feet above ice with no radar and limited visibility, I can get you back from a normal, ordinary strike during daylight hours on a big island, don’t you think?”
Gator shook his head. “You ain’t been flying much, buddy.”
“That’s the problemGator, come on. I need to get back in the cockpit, and I don’t want to miss out on this one. That bitch dumped me-there’s gotta be something more to life than that. Please?” With all the bravado dropped and his soul exposed bare for Gator to see, there was something terribly appealing about the young aviator. Despite his best intentions. Gator felt himself giving in.
“We’ll get caught,” the RIO said.
“No we won’t. All pilots look alike in helmets and flight suits, and the squadron doesn’t know the admiral grounded me. Even Tomboy doesn’t have a clue.”
“Bird Dog, of all the idiotic schemes you’ve gotten me into, this is” “Please?” There was quiet dignity and plaintiveness in Bird Dog’s voice.
Gator sighed. “I’m an idiot. Okay, count me in.”
Bird Dog smiled.
TWELVE
“That’s it, then.”
Tombstone Magruder scrawled his initials in the upper-right-hand corner of the message, releasing it for transmission. He leaned back in his chair, tossed the pencil on the table, and looked impassively at the men surrounding him. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll take the heat for it.
