Alpha Strike

CHAPTER 28

Tombstone gazed at the officers assembled in the room. Cheers echoed up and down the passageway outside the normally quiet conference room as aircrews swaggered out of CVIC, debriefed and ready to expand upon their exploits in the air. Even the restrained and professional faces of the senior officers seated around the table wore looks of quiet jubilation.

First, the most important part,” Tombstone said. “We lost two aircraft, one Hornet and one Tomcat. SAR recovered all three aviators, and there were no serious injuries. A remarkable performance. I’ll be talking to each squadron later on, but you all pass my congratulations on immediately.”

And it’s the first combat action I’ve ever had to sit out, he thought, surveying the squadron COs sitting around the table. Not a one of them even thought to question that, just like it never occurred to me when I was flying — that someday I could do more on the ground than in the air. Again, the image of his uncle’s face came to him. The old bastard could have told him what a bitter-sweet feeling it would be.

“You were all briefed on the plan, and it came off flawlessly. China’s key weakness in the Spratly Islands airspace has always been their lack of refueling capability. They’d counted on a quick, hard strike, with enough casualties to make us back down. They were wrong. Not only did their plan fail to allow for the strength of our response, they underestimated the Vietnamese government’s weakness. China badly miscalculated how Vietnam would take the sinking of her patrol boat. There’s a lesson in this fight — one war at a time. By taking on both the United States’ and Vietnam’s presence in the Spratly Islands, they overextended themselves. And you saw what happened. Vietnam simply waited for them to batter themselves bloody against our fighters and then picked them off when they tried to land in Vietnam.”

“What now, Admiral?” the CO of VF-95 asked. “A full alpha strike on China?”

“Not this time, Speedie,” Tombstone replied. “China was partially right about one thing — the United States is not ready to take heavy casualties in the South China Sea. It’s one thing to bloody their noses in international waters on our own terms. It’s an entirely different matter to take them on over their own mainland.” A few of the officers let out sighs of relief. The concerns about escalating military actions had been one reason Tombstone had scheduled this briefing immediately. Left to its own devices, the carrier’s rumor control system would have had the battle group on the verge of World War III within a matter of hours. “Our orders have not changed. In two weeks, USS Lincoln will relieve us on station. Between getting ready for turnover and keeping an eye on the Chinese, I think we’ve got plenty to do. You hear rumors about an alpha strike on China, you can put a stop to them. “Any other questions?” Tombstone concluded. The officers assembled around the table shook their heads. A few yawned as the gut-wrenching fatigue that always followed combat Missions set in.

“Go see your squadrons, and then get some sleep,” Tombstone ordered. “Come see me if any other issues surface.”

He watched them file out of the conference room, remembering how many times he’d been in their shoes, and then glanced down at the message in his hand. There was one other piece of good news to deliver, but it could wait until the morning.

“What took you so long?” Tombstone snapped. “I passed the word for you ten minutes ago. Did you forget how to get to my quarters?”

“Sorry, Admiral,” Batman said. He glanced around the officers assembled in Tombstone’s cabin, and a puzzled look spread across his face. All six captains on board the Jefferson were present, along with every squadron CO. “What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“It’s customary for admirals to call each other by their first names, Batman,” Tombstone said solemnly. “Although I suppose we’ll need to wait a few months for the Senate confirmation to make it official.”

“What? Oh, no, you don’t mean it!” Batman exclaimed. Every face in the room was split with a broad grin. “Oh, shit, Tombstone! For real?”

“Here’s the message,” Tombstone said, a rare smile lighting his face. “You’re number one on the list selected for promotion to rear admiral. See for yourself.”

Batman stared at the message, then started to smile. The corners of his mouth pulled further and further away from each other, until he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words.

“And I wanted you to have these,” Tombstone added. He handed his old wingman a red-and-white Navy insignia box. “There aren’t many sets in the ship’s stores, so I had to part with a set of my own. Bring you good luck.”

Batman stared down at the two silver stars gleaming against their white cardboard backing. “Still come mounted on cardboard,” he said reflectively. “Funny, I guess I thought once you made admiral, they’d be on black velvet or something.”

The assembled crowd broke into a line of jostling senior naval officers queuing to shake his hand and offer their congratulations. One by one, they started filing out of the office, until Batman and Tombstone were alone.

“You had to surprise me, didn’t you?” Batman said. “Couldn’t let me just read it on the message board.”

“You would have done it differently if our positions had been reversed?” Tombstone said gravely, his eyes still warm. “I don’t think so — not after you forgot to tell me about Pamela being on that COD.”

“Hell of a payback, Tombstone. You’re pissed at me for the surprise, so you get me promoted just to get even.” Batman shook his head. “The things you’ll do for revenge.”

“There’re even more surprises in store,” Tombstone said. “Guess who called me this morning?”

“The president, wanting to offer me his personal congratulations?”

“Almost. My uncle. You know, the old guy with more stars than both of us put together? He asked me to pass on his congratulations — and one other thing as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, seems like he’s going to have an opening for a Carrier Battle Group Commander. For this battle group, as a matter of fact. He wondered if you wanted your name put in the hat for it.”

“He had to ask? Damn, what have you been telling your uncle about me, Tombstone? Of course I want it! It’d be my first choice!”

“I told him I’d have to get back to him, seeing as you’d gotten so fond of the Pentagon and all.”

Batman snorted. “Right. If I get it, I’d be relieving you. And be back on the ship I grew up on, so to speak. Hell, I’d arrange for all the other selectees to have accidents if I thought it’d guarantee me this battle group!”

“Still up to DC, of course, but my uncle does swing some weight with the heavies. After his tour on special assignment to the White House, he got to know his way around the Pentagon fairly well. You’d have to cut your tour in DC short-“

“Yes!” Batman cried. “Oh, yes, yes, there is a God!”

“I take it you’d have no objection, then,” Tombstone said dryly.

“And what about you?” Batman said suddenly. “Any idea of where you’re going?”

Tombstone shook his head. “Not a clue. There’ve been a couple of possibilities discussed, but nothing even more than a passing thought. It won’t be to sea, though. Probably DC would be my guess.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be too bad,” Batman said thoughtfully.

“Hah! Look who’s talking! You were just crowing over the chance to get out of there!”

“My situation’s a little different from yours.”

“How so?”

“I don’t have a RIO who thinks I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread. You do. And DC is a hell of a big place, Tombstone. Big enough for one admiral and one lieutenant commander to get lost in the shuffle.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just this, amigo. You’ve got a chance to have something very good with that young RIO of yours. These circumstances — it wouldn’t work, and you’re smart not to try. But you pass on this one when you get ashore, Stoney, and you’re going to regret it. I guarantee it.” For a second, something wistful shone in Batman’s eyes. “She’s a fine RIO, Tombstone, and a hell of a woman. And one of our own. Don’t blow it, okay?”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll think about it.”

Batman left, clutching the precious stars in his hand. Tombstone watched him go. He’d make a fine admiral, no doubt about it. And if he had to give up command of his carrier group to anyone, he’d have picked Batman.

He scowled and reached for the next folder on top of the pile that threatened to slide off of his desk. During the last week, the normal paperwork associated with running a battle group had accumulated to a daunting stack. In two weeks, USS Lincoln would relieve USS Jefferson on station in the South China Sea, and the logistical issues and lessons learned were responsible for at least half of the folders demanding his attention. Nothing short of a full alpha strike from the mainland would get him out of wading through it today.

He heard a light tap on his door and sighed. COS had extracted a promise that he would spend four hours on paperwork and had guaranteed no interruptions. Tombstone wondered who had managed to sneak past his gatekeeper.

“Come in,” he snapped irritably. “And it better be important!”

The door opened slowly, and Pamela slipped in. “Maybe not in the grand scale of things, but I did want to say good-bye before I got on the COD. We leave in an hour. I promised COS I’d only take up a couple of minutes of your time.”

Tombstone leaned back in his chair and tossed his pen on the desk. “So soon?” he asked. “I thought you might stay for part of the wrap-up or the transit back to California.”

“The story’s not out here anymore, Stoney. It’s back with the politicians. I’ll let someone who likes tamer stories cover that part of it. Besides, Bosnia’s flaring up again.”

“Some things never change, I guess.” For a moment, he envied her. After the challenge of dealing with the Chinese, the trip back to the States was going to be boring. Still, he might actually have a chance to fly a bit more. How much more satisfying, though, to be able to leave when things got slow.

“Some things do change. Like us. It’s been different this time,” Pamela said.

“Has it?”

“Oh, yes, I think so.” She paused, studying his reaction. “You’re different.”

“Think the stars make that much difference?”

“It’s not just the rank, Tombstone. It’s you. Seeing you here, on your ship — knowing what you do, the responsibilities you have. It makes a difference.”

“This is where I wanted to be the entire time, Pamela. I thought you knew that — what it would be like.”

“I knew but I didn’t know.”

They both fell silent. There was no point in resurrecting the perennial argument about their careers. The last time they’d met, they’d decided it would never be resolved, and they’d broken their engagement. While seeing Pamela this time had awakened all of his old feelings, he now recognized that it had been mostly reflexive nostalgia.

“Maybe sour grapes,” Tombstone suggested.

“How so?”

“Being on the ship and all. As much as I’d like to, you know there’s no way that — I mean, how can I expect the crew to — it just wouldn’t-“

“You mean making love?” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

“Tombstone, if that’s all we had, it wouldn’t be much, would it?”

“It’d be a real good start, right now,” he said reflectively. He let his eyes run over her body hungrily.

“And a real dramatic end, if you got caught.”

“There’s that. But maybe an end is in order.”

“After all these years, you’re ready to give up? Leave the Navy?”

“People do. I’ve got over twenty years in. A rear admiral’s retirement pay’s not bad. We could get married. Try living a normal life, maybe.”

“Oh, Tombstone.” Pamela studied him for a moment. “If you’d made that offer ten years ago — hell, even two years ago — I’d have taken you up on it.”

“And now?”

“And now I know better. You’d have hated me for it, in the end.”

“Now’s different. Pamela, I haven’t been in a cockpit on a regular basis for three years — longer if you count that tour of duty at the Naval War College. It’s not fun anymore.”

“Maybe that’s the payback for all those years of flying. In those years of what you call fun, you learned something. You proved that today.”

He was silent for a moment. “I’m grounded, you mean?”

“You know you are. At least, you won’t be flying as much as you used to. You can’t, Tombstone. It’s not fair to your air wing and to the crew.”

“I can’t fly, and you won’t marry me. Somehow, that doesn’t sound like a happy ending.”

“Did they ever promise you one? I thought that’s what duty was all about.”

“Duty means a lot of things. Right now, the only thing I can think about is whether I’ll ever see you again.”

“I’d count on it if I were you, Admiral,” she said lightly. “When you least expect it, perhaps.”

She touched her fingers to her mouth and then brushed them gently against his lips. “That’s permitted on board your ship, isn’t it?”

His lips tingled where her fingers had touched him. “Yes — but this isn’t.” He stood, drawing her to her feet with him, and drew her close. They paused for a split second, and then their mouths locked together, hungry, demanding release from the pressure of the last weeks. His hand caressed her neck, and started downward. He felt the jutting prominence of her collarbones, the soft upper slope of her breasts. Even as he felt his body responding, he knew it was the last time.

“Enough!” she finally gasped, and pulled away. “Any more and I’ll miss my flight. Any second now, COS will be banging on the door, shooing me out.”

“Any more and I’d be joining you on the COD. And if he thought your visit was too long, imagine how he’d feel about that,” he said raggedly.

Good-bye, Stoney,” she said softly. “See you next war.” The door clicked shut behind her.