“Rat told me. Jesus, Fastball, you fucking idiot. I’m going to see you fry for this one if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Hey!” Fastball struggled to a sitting position, and said, “Hey, I was the pilot. It was my call. What I did was—”
Bird Dog cut him off. “What you did was almost get yourself and your RIO killed. You were having problems, and you didn’t tell anyone. Climb, call, confess, comply — that ring a bell? What the hell were you thinking, Fastball?”
“I didn’t want to punch out.”
Bird Dog make a dismissive gesture. “Nobody wants to. You do it when you have to. And when you’re a freaking nugget, you leave the switch in command eject. Nobody’s going to want to fly with you now, Fastball. You might as well transition to Hornets, because I don’t know a RIO in the Tomcat community who would ever get in an aircraft with you again.”
A corpsman walked over to them, his stern expression at odds with his relatively junior rank. He took in the situation instantly, and turned to Bird Dog. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He laid one hand on Bird Dog’s arm.
Bird Dog shook him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m leaving. But you haven’t heard the end of this, Fastball. Not by a long shot.” Bird Dog stormed out of sick bay and headed for the CAG’s office.
TWENTY
The radioman held a message out to Batman. “I thought you would want to see this right away, Admiral.” He passed the admiral a single sheet of paper.
Batman glanced over it quickly, noting that it was from the chief of naval operations. He then scanned through the message garbage to the text of the message. And there he paused as a stunned feeling swept over him. He turned to radioman. “Find Admiral Magruder for me, will you? Tell him I’d like to see him as soon as it’s convenient.” As the radioman left, Batman read the message once again. He had spent enough time in D.C. to see nuances and subtleties in many things that would escape another officer’s notice. But he was damned if he could figure this one out entirely.
The message ordered Tombstone Magruder to return to the Pentagon by fastest means available. It was signed by Tombstone’s uncle personally.
Although Batman had the greatest respect for his friend, maneuvering within the political byways of the Pentagon was not one of Tombstone’s skills. Oh, sure, he could play diplomacy with the best of them, as he demonstrated in Russia when he was searching for his father. And when it came to combat, there was no one Batman would rather have on his side. But this, this smacked of intrigue and empire building.
And just what did the CNO think that Tombstone would find to do in D.C., anyway? For the last two years, he been a troubleshooter admiral, dispatched by the CNO to problem areas of the world. Was the CNO sending a message that D.C. was a problem area? Or was this something Tombstone should have seen coming? Tombstone’s position was unique in the Navy, and Batman had no doubt that the CNO had taken some flak for that.
A feeling of ineffable sadness swept over him. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he could see the handwriting on the wall. No, this wasn’t about a new mission for Tombstone — it was a sign that the end was approaching, as it did for every officer who didn’t quite fit the politically correct profile demanded by today’s armed services.
But he’d thought that the CNO could pull it off. That maybe for once the Navy would do the right thing, continue using Tombstone in roles that he had been so valuable in. But if this message was the harbringer of disaster, that wasn’t going to be.
Batman laid the message in the center of his desk.
There was a knock on the door, and Tombstone came in. Without comment, Batman passed him the message. The impassive face that had earned his friend his call sign was very much in evidence. Even so, Batman had the feeling that Tombstone was not surprised. They’d known each other long enough for Batman to be able to read every subtle change in his friend’s expression.
Tombstone passed the message back. “Got any ideas?”
Batman hesitated. His speculation that Tombstone’s career was at an end wasn’t anything he felt comfortable sharing. “No. Do you?”
To Batman’s surprise, Tombstone nodded. “Yeah. That call from my uncle — there’s something in the works, Batman. This goes no farther than us, okay? I’m not supposed to tell anyone. But it looks like the board results are out and I’ll probably be retiring before long.” He held up one hand to forestall comment. “But my uncle’s got some ideas. I’ll tell you about it when I can… if I can. Now, you have any idea about how I’m going to get back there?”
For one of the few times in his life, Batman felt slightly stunned. “The COD. Probably to Bahrain. From there, you shouldn’t have any problem — at least, not as long as things stay relatively quiet. Although, given what’s been happening, I’m not too confident about that.” He shot Tombstone an inquisitive glance. “So there’s nothing you can tell me about this?”
Tombstone shook his head. “Maybe never. But the fact that I’m not upset about it ought to give you some clue.” Again, that curious grin. “I’ll call Ops, get him to save me a seat on the COD. You’re on your own from here on out, Batman. You know that, right? Of course, you always have been.”
With that, Tombstone left.
Bird Dog finished telling CAG what had happened with Fastball’s ejection, and concluded with, “He’s lucky he didn’t get both of them killed. You’ve got to do something, CAG. He can’t go around pulling that shit, and from what I’ve seen of him, he’s dangerous in the air.”
CAG studied him for a moment. “Some people said the same thing about you.”
“Sure, they did. Back when I was a nugget. But as pissed off as I’d get at Gator, I never took us out of command eject. Never. And especially not when we were coming in to the carrier for a trap.”
Standard procedure called for the Tomcat seats to be in command eject. The actual controls were located in the RIO’s seat area. During an approach, or other times that demanded the utmost from a pilot, it was standard procedure to make sure the switch was set to command eject, which would allow the RIO to punch both the pilot and the RIO out. Otherwise, in its other mode, the RIO could punch out alone. But when a pilot had to keep both hands busy flying the aircraft or might otherwise get distracted, a RIO had to be able to exercise his independent judgement for both of them.
There’d been many times when Gator had threatened to punch himself out alone, swearing that he’d rather take his chances with SAR than spend another minute airborne with Bird Dog. But he’d never followed through on the threat, and Bird Dog wasn’t convinced that he ever would. Sure, it’d be a bitch explaining to CAG why he’d come back without his RIO or his canopy, but that would be a piece of cake compared to the problem that Gator would have faced had he followed through on his threats.
“There’ll be a Board of Inquiry,” CAG said. “You know that.”
“Ground him in the meantime,” Bird Dog urged.
“Automatic — as you should well remember. But Rat will be grounded as well… not that she’d be medically
