required to run our great fleets.'
I had to laugh at that. 'Of course, I've considered that. But it was no more a possibility, not really, for me than for you. Rank has its responsibilities, does it not?'
'And its privileges.' Admiral Ilanovich leaned across the table to stare at me. 'For instance, I was allowed to nominate myself for this particular goodwill mission. As a result, I was able to justify much more time flying this last month than I normally would have had. After all, it would not do for me to be out of practice when meeting so formidable an adversary as the famous Tombstone Magruder.'
'I'm afraid my reputation is overestimated,' I said slowly, not sure where the conversation was headed at this point. What point was he trying to make, that he'd researched my career and knew a bit about my flying?
That was no surprise ? I would hardly have expected less.
Similarly, our own U.S. intelligence agencies had provided me with a wealth of professional data on Admiral Ilanovich. I knew he'd spent extensive time flying in Afghanistan, had cut his teeth on ground attack aircraft against those deadly, unpredictable air defenses. He'd risen quickly through the ranks, survived numerous changes in the political climate, and fared even better under Gorbachev. He was one of the few naval officers to survive the dissolution of the Soviet Union and emerge even stronger, in both a political and military sense, afterward. Clearly, whatever his skills in the air, he was just as potent a politician as he was an aviator.
'We will have to make certain that none of our subordinates understand just how much enjoyment we get from flying,' I said finally. 'And I think you'll find our MILES gear provides a stunningly accurate methodology for reconstructing the engagements.' 'Ah yes ? the engagements.' He smiled blandly, his eyes shuttered and closed. 'The original plan was for the best three out of four encounters, both between our younger aviators and between you and me. Is that still satisfactory?'
I nodded. 'Entirely so. Unless you had a change of mind?' Now, that would make me uneasy, a change of plans at this late a date.
'No, no ? not I.' He gestured at the double-paned windows behind us, at the clear sky and brilliant morning sunlight. 'But it may be that the weather has other plans for us. There are reports of an approaching storm system that may delay our schedule for several days. All of today should be fine, but later in the week we may have weather problems. I, for one, am not inclined to risk either men or equipment in inclement weather.'
'Of course. Never during peacetime.' I smiled.
'Peacetime. Yes, it is odd, isn't it?' He glanced out the window, as though reassuring himself that the weather had not changed during the last few seconds. 'There are no time limits on our engagement today, my new friend. Given that it has been so long since I've been in combat, perhaps you'll allow a few warm-up maneuvers? It's so rare that I have this chance.'
I heard the wistful note in his voice and recognized it immediately.
He wouldn't ask outright, not in so many words. But Admiral Ilanovich had just suggested that we dog it for a while in the air, take our time warming up and playing around before we got down to the business at hand. I liked him for that, and agreed immediately.
We finished breakfast on a pleasant note, each assuring the other of our undying friendship and professional respect.
My driver was waiting, with the car engine running. We went through the usual litany of salutes, and I was chauffeured back to my quarters.
Once there, I shed the khakis and slipped into my flight suit. Our first brief was scheduled for a little over two hours from now, so I thought I might head out to the airfield ahead of time and have a look at my bird.
I stuck my head out the door and saw my assigned Russian aide/gopher still standing at attention in the passageway. He looked surprised to see me. 'Sir?'
'Let's go out to the airfield,' I said firmly. The startled look on his face told me all I needed to know ? that my escort was not overjoyed at the fact of one Admiral Tombstone Magruder departing from his schedule of activities. But he made no protest, simply allowed me to step in front of him and lead the way out to the front of the building.
My car was waiting there, albeit without the engine running this time.
I waited inside at the officer's insistence while he hunted down the driver, had him warm up the car, then bring it up close to the front door to minimize my exposure to the frigid air. I had on my leather flight jacket over my flight suit, as well as my heavy gloves, but the cold still bit into me with all the viciousness of arctic air.
Ilanovich had mentioned an approaching storm, but I saw no trace of it right now. Still, I could imagine how quickly it might develop. How utterly impassable the roads would become with an additional five to six feet of snow dumped on them.
We approached the hangar, and the driver spoke briefly into a portable radio lying on the seat next to him. The heavy doors rolled out of the way, and we pulled to a stop inside the hangar itself.
The two Tomcats were carefully spotted some distance apart from each other, and there was no indication of any untoward activity taking place around either one. The driver had pulled up in front of my own bird, the double nuts one.
This time, I let myself out of the backseat before the officer could scurry around to open it for me. I walked up to my Tomcat, and ran a hand over the smooth, sleek skin. It was freshly painted, lustrous and unmarred by overwork.
'Does the admiral require assistance?' my officer escort asked, now clearly nervous. I shook my head and waved a hand in dismissal. Enough of playing the games ? I wanted some time alone to look at my aircraft.
The officer took up station a short distance away, again falling into a stiff parade rest position. The driver remained with the car, evidently at a loss. I started around the aircraft, first checking the nose wheel gear and the struts. I looked for evidence of any leaks, of any working or fraying on the joints, or anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing ? indeed it looked as though someone might have wiped it down with a soft rag to remove any traces of dust or grime.
I moved on to the avionics bays, checking to make sure each door was still securely locked. I produced the ring of keys from a side pocket of my flight suit and opened each door carefully, checking for any evidence of tampering. Not that our locks would have kept any really determined spy out, but at least I could hope there might be some evidence of tampering.
There was nothing. I rapped experimentally on one wing ? yes, the bird had been fueled, but that appeared to be it.
'Good morning, Admiral.' I recognized the voice of my RIO, even from a distance. 'You're up early, sir.'
'Just wanted to get a look at her, Gator.' I patted the double nuts bird lightly on the fuselage. 'You're pretty early, yourself.'
My RIO shook his head. 'Got bored so I thought I'd come on down here and take a look at her.' I read the unspoken suspicion in his face. We went over the Tomcat thoroughly for about an hour, lapsing into the easy companionship a pilot-RIO team should have. We talked tactics, emergency procedures, and we both had one factor clearly in mind during that. There would be no ejection over water, not if there were any way to avoid it.
Our chances of survival would be so close to zero as to preclude any discussion of the matter.
Our adversaries showed up about an hour later, along with the umpire selected for the engagement. Of course, the MILES gear was the ultimate arbitrator of win-loss. We reviewed again the ground rules for the engagements, reemphasizing the altitude limitations. Off to my right I saw Skeeter wince slightly at that, but there was no help for it.
Grueling and brutal honesty is the only way to keep pilots from repeating each other's mistakes.
Neither Admiral Ilanovich nor I made any mention of our discussion over breakfast. But the understanding hung in the air, a clear gentleman's agreement between us. We'd both adhere to it, I knew, as long as we were certain the other fellow was, but national pride would demand that that all change in a heartbeat if it looked like the other guy was cheating.
Cheating ? an oddly mild word to use about aerial combat. But then, these were odd circumstances.
Finally, interminable safety discussions later, our aircraft were towed out of the hangar by the ubiquitous yellow gear that dots every airfield, and positioned on their assigned spots. Gator and I ran one final preflight around the outside, double-checking the smell and consistency of the fuel. We agreed that everything looked all right, and Gator stepped back to let me precede him into the aircraft. I could feel the cold seeping in through my flight boots, even though I'd worn two pairs of socks. It gnawed away at my leather gloves through the steps up the
