than he looked ? I'd seen him down in the gym bench-pressing a quite respectable stack of weights, and I suspect he'd always really wanted to be a Marine.
Or an aviator. But he must have known from the first that his vision would disqualify him, even for the backseat position. He'd gotten as close to it as he could, though, as an Air Intelligence Officer. He worked with what he couldn't have every day, and apparently took a great deal of pride in his aircrews being the best briefed on any ship ? and the best debriefed.
I nodded at Lab Rat. He fairly sprang off the couch in his eagerness to ask his questions.
'This SAM site,' he began, picking his words carefully. 'You say it came up out of nowhere?'
It was Gator that answered, stepping forward as the man with more knowledge than the pilot. After all, it was his ESM gear that would have given the first warbling indications of the SAM site if they'd held it. 'Snoopy got it first, and I picked it up a little later. No doubt, it was an SA-6 site. We were right at the edge of the envelope, proceeding inbound. We talked about it, and finally decided it was probably just a mission maintenance fire-up of the gear.' A faintly challenging look came over his face. 'Naturally that was our conclusion. Since there was no intelligence briefing on any real threats in the area.'
Lab Rat nodded impatiently, as though he'd already considered how and when the intelligence briefing he'd provided to the aircrews might have been in error. If there had been a mistake made by his people, I had no doubt that heads would roll.
'But there was nothing else unusual about it?' he pressed, clearly after something, and just as clearly not wanting to put words in their mouths. 'The parameters all fit?'
'From what I saw, they did,' Gator answered slowly. The grief swept over him now, hard and deep. 'But the guys who got the first good look were-'
Lab Rat looked slightly chagrined, and an oddly human and vulnerable expression took its place on his face. 'I'm just asking about what you saw,' he said. 'I didn't mean to imply-' Gator waved him off, now recovered. 'The pulse repetition rate and frequency all matched. It looked to me like a normal SA-6 site.'
'Did you see anything else unusual?' Lab Rat asked again. 'Anything that might not have shown up in the link.' He was referring to the tactical data net that bound the ships I to the carrier, providing a comprehensive display of every single platform's radar and ESM contacts. Gator shook his head. 'Nothing.' Lab Rat sighed, evidently disappointed at the response.
'Were you looking for something in particular?' CAG asked. Now there was an uneasy expression on his face. I knew what was going through his mind. It was the essential down-side of intelligence, one that all aviators faced from time to time. Very excellent info can be quite highly classified, far beyond the level of information that would be given to a pilot flying missions over a foreign country. It's not that the intelligence is inaccurate ? on the contrary, it is composed of the most precise on-scene reports and reports from national assets ? read satellites for that ? that the United States possesses. The information is detailed, dependable, and highly accurate.
And too classified to use. It was much like the problem with the British during World War II. Even though they'd broken the Enigma code and were reading German General Staff traffic, they were faced with the Devil's own choice. If they acted on the information, evacuating Coventry and other German bombing targets, the Germans would know that their communications were no longer secure. Since Britain wasn't ready to take the war to the Germans, they had to wait until they were to use the information. In other words, to use the information was to reveal its source and to compromise that asset forever.
Had the British evacuated Coventry, the Germans would have known that they were reading German radio traffic. The ciphers would have been changed, perhaps to something that could not have been broken in time for the D-Day assault. As massive as the casualties that the British took were, they would have been even worse had the British not held off on using that information.
Better gear, same problem today.
Then CAG looked at me, questioning. I kept my face impassive. Nothing on the ship was too classified for me to know, nothing. The same could not be said for CAG.
Finally, CAG recognized the problem and let it go. The entire exchange had taken place without words, and well outside the understanding of the aviators still preoccupied with the horror of what had happened.
Maybe not all of them, I thought, studying Gator. There was a guarded look on his face, as though he was pretty sure what was going on but was not about to let on.
A few more quick questions from CAG about flying conditions and decision points. Then I said, 'That will be all, gentlemen. Turn over your aircraft and then report to Medical. You,' I said, fixing my gaze on Bird Dog, 'will go to bed.' Bird Dog started to protest, and I cut him off. 'You will tell the doctor I said you are to be out cold for twelve hours. After that, you will see him again. Further notice, I'm taking you off the flight schedule.'
'Thank you, Admiral,' CAG said as he stood up. He recognized the signs of a dismissal.
The other four aviators also stood up, with Bird Dog the last to do so. They followed CAG to the hatch, and at the last minute Bird Dog turned back to me. 'I'm sorry, sir.' His anguish was as evident in his eyes as it could be.
'So am I, son,' I said. 'So am I.'
After they left, Lab Rat abandoned his precarious perch on the edge of the couch and stood in front of the desk. 'Oh, sit down,' I said, weary as I sometimes was of the reflexive courtesy of junior officers. 'You know I want to talk to you, and you want to tell me something. Let's get it over with.'
Lab Rat nodded, and took the chair that Bird Dog had just vacated. 'You know what I was after.'
I leaned back in my chair and laced my fingers across my stomach. It bulged out uncomfortably, and I concentrated on that sensation. It happens every cruise. I get caught up in the myriad matters that require my attention, from naughty personnel problems on board the ship to the constant pressure from higher up to generate positive publicity for the Navy. Being an admiral is a pain in the ass sometimes.
As a result of this, and my sincere dislike for running on the flight deck, I tended to gain weight during a cruise. Now, four months into this one, I was already feeling the slight tug at my waistband that told me it was time to get serious about my diet again. That, and some running. Maybe I could just do one or the other, and not-
'It's the nukes,' Lab Rat said calmly, interrupting my consideration of matters that were under control and interjecting one that was not. 'That possible nuke site.'
'I know. I was thinking the same thing. But your evidence is still pretty tentative, isn't it?'
Lab Rat nodded. 'It's only a possibility at this point, not even a low probability,' he admitted. 'But the SAM site bothers me. And the shot at the E-2, of course.'
'Damn, I hate this business sometimes,' I said. I was thinking of the letters that would have to be written, the paperwork filled out. A sudden flash of insight hit me. The formalities that surround death at sea ? maybe there was a point to them. It gave us something to focus on besides the loss of our shipmates, made us feel as if we were doing something as we filled out the innumerable forms, packed out personal gear after checking it for anything that might be embarrassing to the next of kin, and wrote those heart-wrenchingly difficult letters to the families.
'Admiral,' Lab Rat said, 'I have no explanation ? none ? for that SAM site being there and active. And for it firing on one of our aircraft. There is no reason, to my knowledge, that the Vietnamese would risk an open break with the U.S. like this. None. Unless that Intel spot report is true.'
'Jesus!' I slammed my pen down on the desk, and saw it skitter across the surface and roll to the carpet. Lab Rat bent to pick it up. 'How many generations have to spend their lives dying in this godforsaken land? How many?'
Lab Rat sat silent. It was one of the things I most appreciated about him, his ability to wait, absorb information and occasional outbreaks of temper without taking it personally. Every admiral needs someone to vent to. Command is a lonely thing. Lab Rat was, in many ways, my safety valve.
'Okay, run me through it again,' I said, my rage fading as quickly as it hit me. 'Tell me about this alleged nuclear facility.'
Lab Rat nodded as though the last sixty seconds had not happened. 'I sent out some queries yesterday, but haven't gotten an answer back. At this point, all I know is what I told you last time.'
Not enough to go on by itself, but enough to make me extremely uneasy after the attack on the E-2. What Lab Rat had was a set of surveillance photos showing four huge eighteen-wheelers proceeding down a main highway and turning off onto a dirt road in northern Vietnam. The eighteen-wheelers had been preceded and followed by military assault vehicles, and a helicopter had dogged them the entire way. Nasty-looking, that ? but it
