“Do you have comms with the carrier?” Pamela asked.
Peacock nodded. “Yes, this close we should be fine. But we’ll be there in—”
“This can’t wait.” She pointed at the man lying motionless on the helicopter deck. “There’s something they have to know immediately.”
Batman stared at the small symbols converging on each other just off the coast. “I don’t like this, not one little bit. Tell that helicopter to get the hell out of the way. Where are his fighters, anyway?”
“They were running out of fuel, Admiral,” the TAO said. “Should be finished with the tanker in just a moment. Bad news on the helo, too. He’s got a hydraulics leak. Can’t tell how bad yet. He’s still got all controls, but pressure to the system is slowly dropping.”
Batman stood and began pacing in the small compartment. “Why the hell are the Macedonians doing this, anyway? It’s not like they have a chance.” He pointed at the screen. “Are they completely insane? Between the Greeks and our own forces, they’re so badly outnumbered that there’s not a chance in hell that—”
“Home plate, Angel 103,” a voice came over tactical.
Batman brushed aside the TAO and picked up the microphone. “I’ll tell him myself.” He keyed the mike. “This is Admiral Wayne. You need to be at wave top getting the hell out of there because—”
“Admiral, with all due respect, sir, this can’t wait. There’s something you need to know immediately.” The pilot’s voice was calm and unbothered by the fact that he had just interrupted the admiral in command of the battle group. There was a strange rustle over the speaker, then the pilot’s voice, sounding distant now, said “Go ahead, Miss Drake.”
Every face in TFCC turned up to stare at the speaker. Batman’s jaw dropped, and he felt the blood rush to his face. Just as he started to speak, Pamela cut him off.
“Admiral Wayne, we found the sniper who was taking shots at your Tomcats. Both of us recognize him. He’s on Admiral Arkady’s staff.”
“What sort of nonsense is this?” Batman snapped. “He’s not Greek — he’s Macedonian. I realize that they may all look alike to you, Miss Drake, but mistaking our allies for the enemy is understandable under the circumstances.”
“Give me that,” a new voice said in the background. Another rustling noise, then a new voice on tactical. “Admiral, this is Captain Buddy Murphy, Marine Corps. Drake is right. I recognize him. The Greeks are shooting at our aircraft, Admiral. They’re probably the ones who shot me down as well.” There was no mistaking the anger in the Hornet pilot’s voice.
“Greek?” Batman turned to air at the tactical display. The three waves of aircraft were now only fifty miles apart. His mind raced furiously. With aircraft spoiling for a fight and wings loaded with weapons closing in on one another, there remained one critical, all important question left unanswered: Just who the hell were the bad guys?
SEVENTEEN
“Divert? No way, Jefferson. We’re inbound with casualties.” The SAR pilot’s voice was firm. “We’ll take a vector around the big boys, but—”
“Not an option,” Jefferson’s TAO replied. “Air’s clobbered with fighters for a hundred miles in every direction. You don’t have enough fuel.”
“I don’t have enough airfield, is what I don’t have,” the SAR pilot muttered, but Pamela could tell from the sound of his voice that he wasn’t transmitting. There was silence for a moment, then the circuit crackled back to life. “Roger, so do we have a bingo field?”
“We did. Until they started shooting at us.”
“Peachy. Just fucking peachy.”
“Can it, Angel 103,” a new voice said over tactical, one that Pamela recognized immediately. “It’s not like you’ve never landed anywhere except a carrier. Find a quiet spot, hole up for a while, and we’ll get you back onboard as soon as we can.”
“Roger, sir.” The surliness was gone from the helicopter’s voice. “Wilco.”
“Fine. Advise us of your LZ coordinates. Guard this circuit — you’ll know soon enough when we’ll want you airborne again. And stand by for additional tasking. I may want you to disembark your current stick and be available for SAR in the area.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral. We’ll guard this circuit and military air distress.”
“Roger. Out.”
Silence on the circuit again. Finally, the pilot said over ICS, “Everybody copy that?” A chorus of yes answers followed. “Good. I’ve got a local map, but I need some intell. Any input would be welcome, especially from you locals. And you, Miss Drake. Not that you’d need any encouragement.”
“Now that you mention it,” Pamela said, “I know where we could go. Refuel, too.”
“Fuel is good. You’re talking about the Macedonians, I take it?”
Pamela nodded, then realized he couldn’t see the gesture. Listening too long on the circuit had given her the feeling of being inside the middle of the battle, as though she were sitting right between the pilot and the copilot. “Yes. They’ll be monitoring military air distress, right?”
“Should be. They’ve got assets airborne, they’re going to be listening.”
“So we call them on MAD, make the arrangements.”
“You think they’ll go for it? Might be that the last they heard, the Americans were shooting at them.”
“I’m not going back to that camp,” Murphy said. “No way. I went to enough trouble just getting out of it.”
Pamela turned to him. “That was then, this is now. It’s the only place we can land, refuel, and be available for other SAR missions.”
“I say again for possible penetration,” Murphy said sarcastically. “You do realize that we’re talking about the same people that had me trussed up like a pig a few hours back?”
“Get it through your thick Marine head,” she snapped, losing all patience with him. “They’re not the enemy. You got it?”
Murphy nodded. “Oh, I’ve got it. I’m just wondering if they do.”
“You’re going where?” Batman roared. “I told you to hole up somewhere, not defect.”
“Sir, what Miss Drake says makes sense,” the helo pilot answered. “We owe the Greeks bad for what they’ve done. And if the Macedonians aren’t our allies, at least they’re the next best thing — the enemy of an enemy.”
“So you’re assuming the enemy of an enemy is a friend,” Batman answered.
“Beats the alternative. I’m losing hydraulic pressure every minute, sir. If I set this bird down somewhere, there’s every chance I can’t get her back up. Then you’ve got a SAR mission on a SAR crew and pax, and I have to tell you, I’d feel pretty foolish about that.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It would for me.”
“That’s it,” Pamela said over ICS only, “keep him talking. He’ll calm down. Tell him I’ll blast his name over every hourly broadcast if he doesn’t.”
“Thank you, Miss Drake. Appreciate the advice, but I believe I can probably deal with Admiral Wayne on my own terms,” the pilot said.
