He pointed at the radio speaker. “You heard Admiral Wayne?we’ve got a war to fight. And if you want to be part of it, you’ve got to get this ship back in shape to fight.”
Forty minutes later, a second CH-46 lifted off La Salle, with another one standing by to rotate and radiate in short order. Tombstone’s Sixth Fleet staff was spread out between the two helos along with?well, what the hell was Skeeter?
A little lost lamb?
Tombstone shook his head, almost smiling at how the young Naval aviator would have reacted to that description. Skeeter Harmon had neither the demeanor nor the appearance to make a very good little lost lamb. Maybe a black sheep?no, that wouldn’t do it either.
He looked across the fuselage at the aviator, noting that the man was already dozing in the web seat running fore and aft in the helicopter. If the young man was as good as he thought he was, then Tombstone was doing him a favor by getting him away from the black-shoe command early and onto where he belonged?on board an aircraft carrier.
“You current?” Tombstone shouted, getting Skeeter’s attention.
“Yes, Admiral. I need a couple of night traps, but that’s about it.”
“So do I.”
Tombstone gazed levelly at the young man. Best to get him back in the aircraft as soon as possible, to wipe out the taste of failure that must surely linger in his mouth over the successful attack on La Salle.
Not that it had been his fault. But Tombstone knew that if he had been in the young man’s shoes, there was nothing in the world that could have convinced him that he couldn’t have prevented the attack. Nothing at all.
And the only way to well and truly get over it was to strike back. If there were any way at all to do it, Tombstone would give him the chance to do just that.
It wasn’t the gentle thump of the helicopter setting down on the flight deck that finally woke him up, but the change in vibration that radiated up through his seat as the pilot disengaged the rotor and the helicopter began to spool down. Skeeter flinched, emerging from the endlessly repetitive daydream/nightmare of the La Salle’s engagement. His eyes jerked open?he stared across the aisle into the somber face of Admiral Tombstone Magruder.
“We’re here,” Skeeter said unnecessarily, for lack of anything better to say. He disengaged his seat harness, stood, and stretched. The admiral, he noticed, was moving with a laconic efficiency, snugging his cranial down and repositioning his goggles over his eyes. Skeeter, halfway through taking them off, decided to follow the older man’s example.
“You probably haven’t spent much time on the flight deck,” Tombstone said. “Fly out, trap, get shot back off during CQ. That about it?”
“One hot-swap crew change,” Skeeter admitted. “They kept me in the handler’s office until I could get a hop back out.”
Tombstone nodded. “You heard it in the RAG, but let me tell you again. The flight deck of an aircraft carrier is the most dangerous place on earth. Your head stays on a swivel, you hear? Because you can’t?hear, that is.”
He moved toward the forward hatch in the fuselage and paused at the rim.
Skeeter moved tentatively up to stand beside him.
“You see that Tomcat turning?” Tombstone asked. “Never turn your back on an aircraft that’s turning?never. Son of a bitch will suck you down and spit you out as puree faster than you can think. And listen to the yellow- shirts.”
He saw the skeptical look in Skeeter’s eyes. “They’re enlisted men, but they know what they’re doing. And they’ve logged more hours on this deck than you’ve logged in a chow line. So if one of them screams at you to get the hell out of the way, you do it. Ask questions later, but don’t even stop to think about disobeying.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
Skeeter tried to look appreciative over the brief refresher training. Hell, it was something?getting chewed out by an admiral before he’d even had a chance to screw up. He ought to appreciate it, the fact that the old guy cared. Still, it wasn’t like he was the admiral’s age. Youth and reflexes still had the advantage over age and experience. Besides, if they let the young enlisted guys hang out around the flight deck, then there was no way an officer was going to get in trouble. Not a chance.
Tombstone disembarked from the aircraft first. As soon as Skeeter took another step toward the hatch, he felt a hand grab the back of his collar. “Not so fast, youngster.”
He looked up into the face of a lieutenant commander.
“Senior officer’s always last on, first off.” A look of amusement crossed the officer’s face. “Seeing as you’re a lieutenant j.g., I’d bet that puts you back toward the ass end of the line somewheres.”
He pointed back toward the rear of the fuselage. “Don’t start pissing us off before you’ve even had a chance to check on board.”
“But the admiral-“
“You fly with us, not the admiral. Now get your happy ass back to the end of the line.”
Skeeter shot the older man a surly look, then did as he was told. All this seniority crap?well, when the fighting started, he’d show them what counted.
But you didn’t before. You froze?hell, if you’d been thinking, you could’ve been a hero. A little faster reaction to what the operations specialist told you, maybe a request for air support?none of this had to happen. And it’s all your fault.
Another part of his mind wailed in anguish. It was a goddamned nuclear weapon. What the hell was I supposed to do? I barely knew how to handle the buttons on the console, let alone?
Results count. That’s all that matters. Even before he’d reported to his first carrier, before he’d even been assigned to a stateroom, he’d fucked up big time. And from the looks of the commander who’d just shooed him away from the hatch, nobody was going to forget it anytime soon.
Skeeter took his place at the end of the line and retraced his steps toward the front of the fuselage. It moved along quickly, and he was delayed maybe two minutes from disembarking, but that wasn’t what mattered.
It was the point of the thing.
Finally stepping down from the aircraft, he followed the line of officers tracking across the flight deck toward the island hatch. Lost in his own surly thoughts, he neglected to do the one thing that Tombstone had just cautioned him about?keep up his scan.
Halfway across the flight deck, the officer in front of him turned abruptly, ran back toward him, and tackled him around the waist, driving him to the deck. His cranial banged painfully against the tarmac, and Skeeter reacted instinctively. During his days at the University of Tennessee, he’d been a star member of the wrestling team. So what if he was a couple of years out of practice?the old skills so long ago memorized during his youth came back quickly. Two seconds later, he had the older officer virtually bound and gagged on the flight deck. He put a little pressure on the back of the other man’s cranial, driving it down across the gritty tarmac.
Suddenly, the two men were surrounded by yellow-shirts. Two of them grabbed Skeeter by the arms and jerked him up off the officer, while a third helped Skeeter’s assailant up off the deck. They lifted Skeeter’s feet clear of the tarmac and carried him toward the edge of the flight deck.
Fuckers are gonna throw me over the side. Shit, what is this?
Skeeter flailed violently, trying to break the grip on his arms, and succeeded only in earning himself an excruciatingly painful armlock. His original assailant, he noted, was following peaceably though quickly.
As they neared the edge of the flight deck, Skeeter saw a short flight of metal steps leading down to a catwalk that ran directly below the level of the flight deck. He heard an increasing roar, and a stiff wind fluttered the legs of his pants. He looked over to his left?the helo that had brought them in was already rotating, easing up and over the side of the deck.
Skeeter quit fighting as the two men shoved him toward the steps. He clattered down them, rage boiling in his veins now that he was finally free. He turned at the bottom of the platform to face them as they came down.
“You dumb shit! Don’t you listen to the Air Boss?”
