layers of cloud and rain. Tai had to fight to keep from staring through the canopy, watching for the American battle group to reappear.
His alarm went off again. He searched his radar screen. Nothing but trash images, and the stronger blips of his nearest squadron partners. Then —
Out of the darkness and rain-battered air, a Tomcat thundered past him in afterburner. Tai jerked hard to the left by reflex, turning his tail to the Tomcat’s jet wash. The storm caught his wing, started to flip him into a barrel roll before he corrected.
Batman leaned forward in his leatherette chair, his hands clamped down on the armrests. “It worked,” he breathed, hardly daring to say the words out loud for fear of jinxing the entire evolution. “Of all the damned foolish ballsy plans that ever stood a snowball’s chance in hell of working — dear God, it worked.”
The predatory cries of American pilots ravaging the gaggle of Chinese fighters rang out over tactical. Fox calls, target calls, the occasional frantic plea for a wingman, it all blended into the cacophony of combat. The same words, the same phrases that Batman had heard too many times before in too many parts of the world. He closed his eyes and followed the progress of the battle, picturing the manuevering, the tail chases that ended in perfect firing position, the hard terror that flashed through a pilot as he saw the impossibly bright fire of a missile careening toward him — it flooded him, the sense that he was airborne with them, fighting the war again as a pilot instead of a chair-bound admiral. He heard the exultant splash calls, the constant sequence of American voices, no fighter voice disappearing from the babble without warning, and knew it was coming.
“Admiral?”
Batman opened his eyes and saw the TAO staring at him. A grin started across Batman’s face. “Tell them, permission denied.”
Just then, the call came across tactical. “Homeplate, this is Viper lead. We got four left — looks like they’re turning tail and heading back to the mainland. Request permission to follow them inside the twelve-mile limit and finish this off.”
Batman heard the hot blood of battle singing in the pilot’s voice. He looked over at the TAO, who was just starting to frame the obvious question.
“Because I’ve been there before. You heard me. Call them back,” Batman said.
TWELVE
Jackson would be almost relieved when night arrived. At least he couldn’t see the ocean sweeping past the open doors. The seas just kept getting taller; now, the biggest ones completely blocked the doorway as they rushed past. You could hear them hissing, too; avalanches of water.
On the other hand, darkness did not bring rest, at least not for long. Except for brief breaks, everyone kept going, doing what needed to be done. Lots of welding up above, where the missile had come through the side and whalloped the overhead. This was a life-and-death matter, and they all knew it.
Finally, after the majority of the heaviest moving and cleaning was finished, Jackson headed for the plane now assigned to Bird Dog, to see if anything had happened to it. To make
He was halfway across the bay, waiting for two men to cross in front of him bearing a section of fractured catwalk, when he saw Orell Blessing stroll out from under the wing of Bird Dog’s plane. Orell glanced both ways, but casually, as if expecting to find a friend, then meandered off toward his parked tractor. He appeared to be whistling. He hadn’t seen Jackson.
Jackson stood where he was for a long minute, thinking. Then he headed toward the plane.
“What exactly are you saying?” Beaman asked. He was standing near the disassembled tail wing of an F-14 that had been damaged by falling metal.
“I’m saying I didn’t mess up Bird Dog’s plane, or anybody else’s,” Franklin said in a low voice. “I’m saying Orell Blessing did it. And I can prove it.”
Beaman tapped the heavy wrench against his palm. “Now, why would Orell Blessing want to sabotage Bird Dog’s plane?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying I can prove it.”
“How?”
“Well, just a little while ago I saw him walking away from Bird Dog’s new plane. So I went over and started checking it out. Hydraulic lines on the nose gear strut had been cut. First time you put some extra pressure on it — like in a landing — and
Beaman was looking grim now. “Nobody screws with my plane, Franklin, so you can bet your ass I’ll check this out. But what you say still doesn’t prove
Franklin clenched his jaw. It wasn’t a completely unfair question. “ ’Cause like I said, I can prove it.”
“And like
“Well, I already set it up. I made sure Orell saw me checkin’ out the plane, and replacing that cut hydraulic line. I didn’t let on I was thinking anything suspicious. So Orell will think he needs to cut that line again. And that’s when you can catch him.”
Beaman stepped out onto the hangar deck and almost fell over. The wind was simply unbelievable, a solid hand pushing him toward the bow of the carrier. And the rain — although he was wearing a complete slicker outfit, the water somehow slashed him to the skin, even blowing up under the pant legs. He felt like he was breathing underwater.
But he wasn’t alone up here. Other men were moving around, clinging to lifelines and carrying flashlights and tool boxes. Defying death to keep the carrier intact. True heros, as far as Beaman was concerned.
He moved carefully across the nonskid, his body pressed down in what resembled a wrestler’s posture. A nice, stable position. Slipped past the island to the area where several planes were being stored on deck, their fuselages bobbing to the hammering blows of the wind.
And he saw a small, blurred glow bobbing around the deck at waist level.
Still, Beaman felt a rill of vindication run through him. This weather, no one was supposed to be out on the flight deck alone. No one. Beaman pointedly ignored the fact that he was on the flight deck alone in violation of all standing orders. What the air boss would do to him if he caught Beaman — just one more possibility to be ignored.
A single flashlight bobbing around, that meant one man. One man meant trouble.
Beaman watched the light flick out. He waited, certainty chasing the cold chill out of his bones. Another brief flick of light.
