vomit. Sheila was behind me, sort of keeping one hand on my back to make sure I didn't keel over. Behind her was Brent, I think, although I couldn't have sworn to it. Gator Cummings, who'd turned up somewhere around the same time as the admiral, brought up the rear. Anna had disappeared into the crowd sometime after the first punch was thrown.
The admiral herded us all into a military transport vehicle of some sort, the Russian equivalent of a Jeep or Humvee. We rode back to his quarters in silence. He motioned us out of the vehicle and we followed him into his quarters. He still hadn't said a word.
Finally, back in his sitting room, the admiral seemed to calm down.
He pointed at a chair. I sat. Next thing I know, he's handing me a stiff drink. I took it, held it for a minute, not entirely sure that he really wanted me to drink it.
'Drink. It's not poison. I brought it with me.' The admiral's face didn't even flicker, although everyone except maybe Brent knew how much against most Navy regs that was.
I drank. Bourbon ? not my favorite, but it'll do. The liquid coursed down my throat, smooth and friendly, and finally hit the pit of my much-abused gut.
'The rest of you?' the admiral asked. He received a chorus of no's from Brent and Sheila. He poured one for himself, then sat down on the couch across from me. 'Tell me what happened.'
I let Sheila do the honors while I nursed my bourbon. She got it all right, but left out a few details. Like what an astounding job she'd done getting us back on the proper approach path. I filled those in, and was kind of hurt when she looked like she didn't appreciate my help all that much.
'I see,' the admiral said after she'd finished. He shut his eyes for a moment, then said, 'And what is State's opinion?'
Brent mumbled something about diplomatic relationship, the usual crap you hear from State. The admiral listened to him for a while, his eyes still shut. He was so still that I thought for a moment he'd fallen asleep.
Then he sat straight up, nodded at Brent, and said, 'Thank you for your assistance. We'll take it from here.'
'Admiral, I-' Evidently no one had ever explained to Brent about arguing with admirals. There's really just one rule ? you don't.
'That will be all.' The admiral said it quietly, but he made it damned plain to these military ears that Brent was expected to pop tall then quickly haul butt. I was hoping the admiral might have to make it even clearer than that, but Brent disappointed me by getting the word. He was out of there with a quick 'we can talk tomorrow,' and then the door shut behind him.
For once, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I opened it once, caught Sheila's look, and figured out that I'd been right the first time.
Finally, the admiral spoke. 'For what it's worth ? not much right now, I suspect, not at least to the Russians ? I believe you. Something went wrong, just as it did with the altimeter. When we finally track down the error, it'll be something that we didn't understand ? the distance in meters instead of yards and miles, something the Russians can use to absolve themselves of the blame.' 'Why?' Thank God Gator asked the question. Sheila and I were in too much trouble to be talking. 'Why would they invite us here and then set us up?'
'I can think of a couple of reasons,' the admiral answered. For a moment, something dark darted behind his eyes, a look of grief and pain that I'd never seen on a flag officer's face before. Just a flash, then it was gone. 'Some of them concern the United States and our diplomatic relationship with Russia and the former Soviet states. Nothing like being magnanimous about a screw-up to make us in their debt.'
'I don't call getting beat up magnanimous,' I said.
'A little higher level issue than what happens to your carcass,' the admiral answered. 'There are other reasons as well, some of which may concern you. And some of which may have to do with me alone. I don't think we need to go into them right now. But until we're back safe on an American flight deck, I want your mouths shut. Completely. Not even a ' comment.' You understand?'
The admiral drained his glass in one gulp, and I followed suit. Then he stood, a clear dismissal. We trooped back out front to find the transport vehicle and a driver waiting for us.
We didn't talk on the way back to our quarters. The driver dropped Sheila off at the women's quarters, then Gator and me at our building.
Once we were inside, I turned to Gator, wanting to get his take on it.
Gator held up one hand. 'Not here. Not inside. Go to bed, Skeeter.
You've got a couple of long, quiet days ahead of YOU.'
I could see his point. I mean, everything we'd ever heard about Russia indicated that they probably had the whole building wired for sound.
Maybe the admiral's quarters, too, although come to think of it, we hadn't discussed anything too damned sensitive in there, either. Just those vague allusions about it having to do with him alone maybe. And maybe he had some toys from Lab Rat, something that would tell him if his quarters were bugged or something.
Whatever. The one thing that worried me wasn't something that any RIO could give me much help with. I mean, whatever good they are in the air, in the end they're just passengers.
So far, I was two-for-two for screwed-up missions. I was the pilot, I was the one responsible for getting us where we needed to be to execute the mission. And after a hosed-up altimeter and bombing run, all I could think of was ? what next? The next time, would it be something in the jet engines themselves? Maybe a little FOD planted somewhere that could get sucked into a turbofan and blow it ? and us ? to bits? Or something in the hydraulics, a pinhole leak that wouldn't show up until we'd been airborne for a while.
Well, whatever it was, I'd have to be ready for it alone.
I finally got to sleep, cold shower and all. The weather woke me up at 0300, wind battering against the glass, billowing the thin curtains hung on either side of it. The rain came next, hard and pelting. Rain ? hail and sleet more likely, as cold as it had been today.
I pulled the blankets back up over me, snuggled down and tried to get warm. Still too cold to sleep. I finally got up and pulled out the rest of my clothes from the flight pack and carefully arranged them on the bed as an additional layer. A few minutes later, the weather still battering my quarters, I drifted off again.
6
Someone was banging on my stateroom door. I groaned, rolled over, and pulled the alarm clock around so I could see it. Zero four hundred ? what the hell? I was due at least another two hours of rack time. Six whole hours I'd planned on; worked hard all day so I could get to bed around midnight. I felt old.
The hours, the sheer length of the day when you're on an aircraft carrier, is something few civilians will ever understand. When you're twenty-one, it's no big deal. Sure, it's a shock when you first join the Navy, but everyone around you is keeping the same insane hours, sleeping racked out on the floor between flight cycles, and after a while you start thinking it's normal. But the years creep up on you and it gets harder and harder to keep up.
Another assault on my door. No way to ignore it, pretend that I was still asleep. I stumbled to the door, barely coherent and damning the day that I ever decided to join the Navy, barking my shin on the desk. I yanked it open. 'What?'
It was Wilson, my leading petty officer. He had a concerned look on his face and a sheet of messages in his hand. He pulled the top one off and held it out to me.
'You couldn't call?' I asked. A stupid question ? almost everything in CVIC is so highly classified that even thinking about it outside of the intelligence spaces will earn you a lengthy prison term.
'I knew you'd want to see this right away.' There was a carefully neutral expression on Wilson's face. He was accustomed to waking me up and knew I'd be apologizing in a few minutes. It didn't bother him.
