“So why don’t we have him yet?” Batman asked. “People, I need answers?not excuses.”
Gator spoke up, his voice cool and level in contrast to the admiral’s. “Sir, the water gradient is for shit. There’s a strong negative sound-velocity profile. That’ll pull all sonar signals straight down to the bottom. And with as much garbage in the water as there is out here, the bottom’s going to soak up most of the sound energy. Active sonar, sounds coming from the submarine itself.” Gator shook his head. “This is a horrible ASW environment.”
“Like I said?no excuses.” Batman’s voice was ragged from lack of sleep. “If you think the water conditions suck, try living with them in your stateroom.”
Tombstone took one step forward and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do?not here, not in front of the watch team. Yet he knew too well the edge on which Batman was operating. Events were moving fast, too fast, and there were no decent explanations coming out of anyone. The crew, both on the ship and in the air wing, was getting jumpy.
But at least the aircrews could alternate Alert 15 watches. There was no relief for the admiral in command of a battle group, not really.
Tombstone had experienced that all too often during the days when he commanded Battle Group 14. And now, even though he was on board, his presence provided no relief for Batman. It was his battle group, his ship, and his air wing. Not Tombstone’s. To have offered to take off part of the load, to alternate in some sort of watch schedule with him, would not only have been tactically unsound, but would have amounted to an expression of no confidence in Batman’s abilities.
I’m Sixth Fleet now. Sixth Fleet. This entire body of water and everything that surrounds it belongs to me?the carrier too, only because it’s within my sphere of responsibility. The carrier from the outside.
Everything inside and everything that leaves its deck is his.
Tombstone pulled his hand back, satisfied that he’d managed to restore Batman’s perspective, at least for the moment. There were no long-term answers, and it was entirely possible that his own presence on board simply ratcheted up the pressure on Batman one notch higher.
But where else was he to go?
His own flagship was an electronically gutted hulk, still underway to Gaeta for extensive repairs. A year, maybe two?his uncle had made it clear that he wouldn’t be there that long.
Nevertheless, he hoped that his relief at Sixth Fleet got a better deal than this was shaping up to be.
“All right,” Batman said finally. “Look, people?you know your jobs.”
He shook his head wearily. Then his expression softened. “A diesel submarine close to Shiloh, that’s a tough target. I know you’re doing everything you can, as are the aircrews we have out there now.”
He jerked his thumb in Tombstone’s direction. “The admiral and I are going to go grab a cup of coffee.”
He glanced over at Tombstone, and saw the confirming nod. “If you see any indication of hostile intent or hostile acts, shoot the bastard. If you have a question, shoot first and call me later. If he’s outside torpedo range when you regain contact, put everything you’ve got right on top of him. The second he ventures within torpedo range or makes any other threatening move?hell, if its captain farts too loud, you kill him. Got that?”
Gator nodded. “Aye, aye, Admiral. We’ll get him.”
Batman led the way out of TFCC with Tombstone close behind. He paused outside in the empty conference room, sagging against one chair, holding onto the back of it for support. “I almost blew it, Stoney,” he said softly. He shook his head ruefully. “As many times as I’ve been on the receiving end of it, you’d think I’d know better than to lose my temper like that. Hell, they’re doing all they can?they’ve got tricks up their sleeve that weren’t even dreamed of when you and I were in their spots. They’re running ragged, and I let off steam at’em, just because I’m short a little sleep.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Admiral.” Tombstone’s voice was cold and sharp. “You did the right thing in there?but only after you fucked things up.”
Batman recoiled as if Tombstone had taken a swing at him. “I suppose you never lost your cool when you were in command?” Batman demanded, his voice rising again. “Dammit, Stoney-“
“For the foreseeable future, I’m your reporting senior,” Tombstone continued as though Batman hadn’t spoken. “Here are your rudder orders. First, you will reexamine your priorities. You have left standing orders that you will be rousted out of your rack over matters that do not necessarily warrant your personal attention. Admiral, we don’t know what the hell is going on out here. I understand your concern, and I applaud your diligence in trying to make every effort to ensure that another tragedy such as that which struck La Salle does not occur again.”
For the first time, Tombstone’s voice softened slightly. “But there are limits to what you can do. One of the worst parts of this job is that you have to pace yourself?when the balloon goes up, you’ve got to be well rested, alert, or at least able to manage a reasonable facsimile thereof. You can’t be there for every call. There’s no way.”
“That’s what your predecessor thought too,” Batman snapped back. “And as a result, he got his ship shot out from under him. That’s not happening on my watch, Admiral. No way.” He turned and started to walk away.
“And that’s the trick,” Tombstone said. “Deciding which ones are critical?and which ones can be handled without your intervention. Take this situation tonight, for example,” he continued, nodding toward the TFCC hatch. “You just did exactly what you’re paid to do?gave your people the information they needed about your intentions and wishes, clarified the tactical choices for them, and then left them to do their jobs. Batman?you don’t need coffee, not right now.” Tombstone pointed toward the admiral’s stateroom. “You need sleep.”
A long moment of silence stretched out between the two, broken when Batman finally shook his head. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
Tombstone almost smiled. “Some. But not the same one twice in a row. I learned something while I was out here. You will too.”
Batman shot him a suspicious look. “Is that an order to hit the rack, Admiral?”
“Merely a suggestion.”
Batman straightened. “Then may I assume that the admiral will be following his own advice? Because I’ll be damned if I can recall a time when I was called to TFCC when you weren’t right on my ass.”
Tombstone shrugged. “Point well taken.”
He turned to leave the room. “If you need me, I’ll be in my cabin. Other than that, you’re on your own.”
As the two admirals headed off at right angles to each other, each to his own stateroom, Tombstone paused at the hatch leading out of the conference room just as Batman reached his own entrance.
“Stoney?”
“Yeah?”
“We were never that young. And even if we were, we were a helluva lot hotter. Weren’t we?”
Finally, Tombstone did smile. “We thought we were. And right now, that’s all that matters.”
“Night, Stoney.”
“Night, Batman.”
It was sixty-four steps back to his stateroom. Sixty-four steps and eight knee-knockers, each one threatening to gash open a giant bruise on his shinbone as he lifted his tired legs to clear the ten-inch obstacles.
He turned left, then right along the starboard passageway, heading back toward the visiting flag spaces.
Two frames from his own compartment, Tombstone paused. He heard voices, one muttering angrily. At this hour of the morning, it caught his attention in a way that it wouldn’t have during the day.
He paused outside the hatch, read the squadron insignia, and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. VF- 95?his old squadron. How many times had he been up at this hour, going over some mistake he’d made in the air, swearing at himself for some trivial error. Feeling a little guilty, he tried to decipher the voices inside. There was only one, he realized?a man, talking to himself. A pilot, based on the phrases he caught. Mounted on the door frame was a small nameplate. It was Skeeter Harmon’s room.
Tombstone stepped closer to the door, then paused. Should he?
No, he decided. He tried to remember what it was like to be a junior officer, tried to imagine the horror and chagrin he would have felt had an admiral knocked on his door at?it was almost three o’clock in the morning.
Every pilot has his or her own particular nightmares. For some it’s a soft cat, for others it’s the fear of ejecting. Each one finds his own ways to deal with it, and there is little that an admiral can do to speed the process along.
Tombstone dropped his hand down by his side and turned back toward his compartment.
