a voice said, and a figure rose up, pale in the gloom. The blankets fell away, and the figure staggered toward him.
Tombstone’s eyes widened.
“ — so Washington would like me to get a look at this new bogey, if at all possible,” Tomboy concluded. “Based on our radar data, the attacking unit could have been a Combat UAV with its own warhead, A Combat UAV, or CUAV, possibly carrying multiple missiles, has really got the Pentagon sweating. They want to know more about it, and they want to know
She looked around the table. Besides her, the meeting was attended by Batman, Coyote, Lab Rat and Bird Dog. She found comfort in their familiar faces. She also felt the slight buzz in her head that accompanies west-to- east jetlag, and struggled to remain focused.
Batman drummed his fingers once across the top of the table. “I take it you were impressed by Dr. George’s story, then.”
“I’d call him a credible witness.”
“So would I. The question is, what do you want to do about it? What exactly is your plan?”
She took a seat and leaned across the top of the table. “I need to fly as near the coast as possible, in an unescorted Tomcat, to see if it’s possible to lure this bogey out. If it engages, fine. If we get the chance to shoot it down, even better. But the main goal is to gather as much data on it as we can. If the Chinese have one of these things, they probably have more, and we need to know how to face them in the future.”
“Oh,
“Those are my orders,” Tomboy said. She knew Batman was already aware of this, but let him have his say. He deserved the opportunity to vent.
“Well, I don’t like it,” he snapped. “At best, it’s likely to be a wild-goose chase, or should I say a wild Tomcat chase? At worst, it could cost me a pilot, and a certain RIO on loan from the Pentagon, not to mention a perfectly good F-14.”
“The Pentagon considers this worth a try, Admiral,” Tomboy said quietly.
“Well, what about the storm? There’s no sign of the typhoon Dr. George keeps talking about, but the barometer
“That’s what radar’s for, Batman.”
“Not with this thing; this thing is stealthy.”
“The Pentagon considers this worth a try,” Tomboy repeated, in exactly the same tone of voice as the previous time.
Batman sighed. “Wouldn’t want to argue with them, would we?”
Dinner was dried-out white rice with a few pieces of fatty pork in it, and water. This was passed into the cell by an unarmed PLA soldier while another PLA soldier, this one carrying an AK-47, stood guard behind him. Lobo understood the logic: Jumping the inner guard would do no good; he had no weapons to steal.
She glanced at Admiral Magruder. Tombstone. He stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed and his scowling face as unyielding as a granite carving. Although she hated to admit it even to herself, especially since in the final analysis result he was just as powerless as she, nevertheless she felt almost desperately happy he was here. Before his arrival, every time the door opened she had pressed herself against the back wall or burrowed into the pile of musty blankets in a pathetic attempt to hide. She had expected, each time, to see a long file of PLA soldiers waiting outside while the first one came in, smiling, laughing, reaching for her in the darkness….
She knew there would be nothing Tombstone could do if the soldiers came for her in that way — nothing any one person could do — but still, his presence was welcome.
At least she had someone to talk to.
He’d already told her how he ended up here, and she had described being picked up by the PLA boat after punching out of her Tomcat and floating around for a while. She’d told him about Handyman, and saw the pain cross the admiral’s face.
Now, rice bowl in hand, she asked the one thing she hadn’t dared bring up yet. “What do you think they’re going to do with us, Admiral?”
“Tombstone,” he said absently, squatting on his heels and eating the rice with his fingers. They had been given no utensils, not even chopsticks. “I have no idea. Most likely they’ll questions us, then use us for propaganda or bargaining chips.”
“And what are
“You know the drill from SERE school. We hold out as long as we can with name, rank and serial number. When it gets too bad, do as little damage as possible. Make them work for every bit of information. If they force you to read a confession, do it in a way that makes it clear you’re reciting a speech someone else wrote for you.”
She nodded, remembering the wooden, almost comically insincere “confessions” given by the few allied pilots who had been shot down over Baghdad and subsequently captured.
She ate some rice. Her throat was so tight she could barely swallow it, even with a chaser of water. She didn’t want to ask the next question, but felt she had no choice: “Do you think they’ll question us?”
He turned toward her, his eyes unexpectedly kind in the hard face. “I expect so. But if it’s torture you’re worried about, I can’t say what they’ll do. It’s best not to dwell on it.”
She swallowed, lowered her head. She would
“They’ll come get us, Lobo. You can count on it.”
Lobo looked up at him, despair in her eyes. “Like they got your father out?”
Just then, the door clunked open, and a grinning Chinese soldier walked in. “All finish eating?” he asked. “Good, good. We have question for you. You first, lady. You come with us now.”
Hot Rock sat on a chair beside Catwoman’s bed and stared down at her. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay.” Her voice was soft and dopey, her face as purple and mottled as an overripe plum. “I’ll be NPQ for a few days, then I’ll be back on the flight schedule.”
“Yeah, I know. Busting my ass again.” He started to reach for her hand, then changed his mind. She looked like one huge wound, and that was only the parts not covered by sheets. The worst stuff was hidden. From what he’d heard, it was amazing she was alive at all. And fly again? Maybe. Probably not.
He licked his lips. “Catwoman, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I wasn’t more help out there. They had me boxed in. There was nothing I could do.”
Her eyes rotated toward him. “I’m sure everybody did their best.”
He nodded. “That’s right. Bird Dog did a hell of a job flying back in. Half his wing was shot off, but he refused to dump the plane for fear of losing you. Did you know that?”
Her lips curved up briefly. “I always said he was too stupid to be a pilot.”
“I just wish I could have done more to help, that’s all,” he said again. He sounded so sincere he startled himself.
She gave a brief nod. Her eyelids fluttered. “Maybe next time.”
