Alpha Strike

CHAPTER 29

“Admiral?” Lab Rat asked. “I think I may have what you asked for.”

“Shoot, La — uh, Commander Busby,” Tombstone said.

Lab Rat groaned inwardly. The nickname appeared to be permanent, if even the admiral had trouble remembering his real name!

“It’s a matter of saving face, Admiral. That’s one of the most critical parts to dealing with an Asian nation. It’s something I don’t think we’ve ever understood, not completely. But I think I might have a cover story that would work.”

“I’m listening.”

“Here’s the idea.

Fifteen minutes later, Tombstone was nodding. “Get this on the wire to your spook buddies, Commander. They may not take your suggestion, but it sounds like a fine operational deception to me. If anyone in the State Department’s got a hair on their ass, they’ll pull this one off. Helluva good idea!”

If Lab Rat hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the somber admiral was even starting to smile. It was just as well he was sworn to secrecy — while his colleagues might be able to believe his plan, not a single one of them would have believed that old stone face had smiled.

“How are you holding up?” Bird Dog asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. “You ready for some aerobatics? Tell me if you’re not — you’ll be cleaning it up if you puke.”

The backseater nodded.

“Use the ICS. If I’m not looking, I can’t see you nod,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the answer came finally. “I think some aerobatics would be just great!”

“Okay, Shaughnessy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Bird Dog jammed the throttles forward, pitched the nose of the Tomcat up, and headed into an Immelmann.

She may own it on the ground, but up here it’s all mine! And the more she knows about that part of it, the better she can do her job.

He’d never been too good with words, but a highly illegal and damned well-deserved ride in a Tomcat ought to make up for a hell of a lot of mistakes!

A war whoop echoed over the ICS as he reached the pinnacle of the maneuver. He felt a grin split his own face and added his best imitation of a rebel yell to her voice.

Damn, it was nice to have a backseater that appreciated the fancy stuff! Maybe it was time to talk to Shaughnessy about getting some college under her belt and going to AOCS. In six years or so, Gator might just find he had a little competition.

Then again, if her eyesight held up, she just might have her eyes on the front seat! From the way she was enjoying the aerobatics, she just might.

“Admiral? Lieutenant Commander Flynn to see you, sir,” COS said.

Tombstone looked up from his desk and frowned. He’d known this day would come soon enough, and he still hadn’t decided how to handle it. The more he tried to ignore Tomboy, the more he found her creeping into his thoughts. He could spot her in seconds in the crowded dirty-shirt mess in the forward part of the ship, and lately he’d taken to avoiding the VF-95 Ready Room. Every time he stepped into it, she was there.

She’d noticed, he was certain. How could she not know something was wrong when the man she’d flown with for a year, day in and day out, in combat and on routine hops, suddenly started avoiding her?

“Show her in, COS,” he said. Well, absent a plan, he’d have to play it by ear.

“Commander,” he said formally, while COS lingered at the door.

“Admiral, thank you for seeing me,” she responded. Her voice was low and steady, although her usually light complexion looked starkly pale against the flaming red hair. She wore khakis, ribbons, and her wings, every inch the professional naval officer and pilot that she was. Suitable dress for a junior officer to see the admiral.

“Please — sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. For a moment, he considered asking her to sit on the couch, to put her at ease. After all, if this meeting was difficult for him, it had to be doubly so for her.

“Thank you — I’d prefer to stand, if that would be all right with you, Admiral. This won’t take long.” She paused and took a deep breath. Then she placed her hands at the open collar of her khaki shirt, slid one hand inside, and tugged. Her wings popped off and lay, shining gold, in the palm of her small hand. She looked down at them for a moment, and then sighed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tombstone snapped. For a moment, as her hand went inside her shirt, he’d been afraid that — no, it wouldn’t have been possible. Tomboy make a pass at him? On the ship? Never.

“Quitting. You won’t ask me to — you wouldn’t ever ask that of your own backseater. But it’s obvious to me that that’s what you want. I thought I’d save you the embarrassment.” She stepped forward, reached across the desk, and gently placed the wings in front of him. Her hand lingered on them for a moment, as though saying good-bye. Then she stood, straight and proud, and looked him in the eyes.

“Thank you for seeing me, Admiral. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” She turned and walked toward the door.

Shock held Tombstone in place for a few seconds. Tomboy quit? Why would she ever think that’s what he wanted? How could she?

As she reached for the doorknob, his throat suddenly unfroze. “Commander! Tomboy! Now just hold on one damned minute!” He was out of his chair and around his desk in a split second. He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. Face to face, her head barely reached his wings. She was looking down, but he saw one tear trace its way down her pale cheek.

“Sit down, Tomboy,” he said, shoving her gently toward the couch. Her call sign came to his lips automatically. “That’s an order.”

She resisted for a second. “Please don’t make this any harder than it is, Admiral. You don’t know what it took to come here. I won’t change my mind, no matter what you say.”

“Just sit down. I’m not asking you to change your mind-” not yet, anyway, he added silently “-I just want to talk to you for a moment.”

She nodded jerkily and walked around the coffee table to sit perched on the edge of the couch. Her eyes were still locked on the floor.

Tombstone sighed, berating himself for having let it come to this. Of course she’d thought he wanted her out! How could she not, when he’d avoided getting near her for the last month.

He lowered himself into the chair at right angles to the couch and leaned back. It was his mess, and it was up to him to straighten it out.

“I have a problem, Tomboy. Not you, me. Somewhere between the Kola Peninsula and the Spratly Islands, you started to be something to me besides a RIO. I don’t know exactly when or how, but I do know that’s true. When I realized it, I started avoiding you. I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, I told myself. You couldn’t handle it — at least that’s what I wanted to believe. The truth is that I couldn’t.

“Do you know I almost called you every day while you were on shore duty and I was at the war college? Every day I thought about you, wondered what you were doing. I didn’t, though. I was afraid that I’d call you and hear you act surprised, or that you’d just treat me like your old pilot. I’m ten years older than you are, Tomboy, so I use that word literally. Or maybe you’d feel uncomfortable with a rear admiral calling you, asking if you’d like to go to a Patriots game some weekend. So I took the easy way out. I was afraid of rejection.”

“I wish you’d called,” she said softly.

“Let me finish,” he said abruptly. “In the last month, I’ve been running scared. You’re one of the finest RIOs I’ve ever flown with, male or female. You’re good, so good it almost scares me. I’d rather fly with you than anyone else. But then you and Batman seemed to hit it off, and — and, damn it, you’re assigned to my ship! I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything. Do you understand?”

Finally, she looked up. Miraculously, the tears had cleared from her eyes. “That’s not what I thought.”

“I know what you thought, and I should have figured it out before. You can’t quit, Tomboy. I don’t want you to, and the Navy needs you. Those junior women pilots coming up behind you need you, too.”

“And what about us? Is there an us?” she asked. “Not now, I mean. But this tour won’t last forever, Tombstone. In another year, we’ll both be rotating back to shore duty.”

“Do you want that, Tomboy?” he asked, suddenly afraid his voice would crack.

“Yes. Very much so.” Her eyes were shining, and the color had returned to her cheeks. “I can live with where we are now. And a year from now, things will be different.”

He stared at her, hope growing in his heart. “You mean that?”

“You’re an idiot, Tombstone, if you can’t see that I do,” she replied tartly. “If I’m allowed to call the Admiral an idiot, that is.”

“Sometimes the Admiral is,” he answered softly. “And he’d like to do something idiotic right now.”

“Then I’d better be leaving before I compromise your reputation,” she said, abruptly standing up. She held out her hand. “We have a deal, I believe.”

He unfolded himself slowly from the chair and took her hand. For a second, the urge to pull her close to him, to feel the lithe body mold itself to his, was almost unbearable. Then he focused on the sharply pressed uniform, the rows of combat medals on her chest, and the empty spot marked with two little holes in the shirt above the ribbons. He released her hand and crossed over to his desk in one step.

“I believe you’re out of uniform,” he said gravely, and handed her the wings.

“It’s customary for a senior officer to pin the wings on,” she said, closing her hand over his.

He slipped one hand inside her shirt, feeling the silky softness of her breast on the back of his fingers. He positioned the wings above her ribbons and pressed the two prongs through the holes already in her blouse. Fumbling under her shirt, he slipped the two retaining clips, commonly known as nipples, over the back of the prongs, firmly attaching her NFO wings to her uniform.

“There,” he said. “I don’t know how many times I could stand to do that on a cruise. That’s the last time I ever take my hand out of your shirt without getting a hell of a lot more physical. You ever try to quit on me again and I’m going to charge you with sexual harassment.”

Tomboy laughed. “I won’t quit on you again, Tombstone. Especially not now. Hell, with what I’ve got to look forward to in a year, I don’t want you flying with anyone else!”

“Then get the hell out of here and let me get some work done,” he snarled in mock ferocity. “And by the way — stop by air ops and see if you can get on the schedule for tomorrow. Among other things, I’m real overdue for five day traps.”

“And we’ll talk about the night traps later,” she said.

“What the hell is this all about?” Third Mate Gringes asked the master of the ship, waving the radio message in his hand. “Since when did we start taking on Navy helicopters?”

“Since they decided one of their people wanted to have a little chitchat with us,” the master replied. “Evidently our complaint about the fly-overs got some attention. And there’s no reason why they couldn’t land here,” he continued, pointing out to the broad, empty expanse of deck. “When we were in the Navy, we had helicopters setting down on a lot smaller deck than that.”

“Guess I’d better dig out that emergency gear,” Gringes replied. “It’s been a while since I was an LSO.”

An hour later, following a hasty FOD walk-down, Gringes saw the helicopter appear on the horizon. The SH-60F made two exploratory circles of the deck, getting a look at the area, and got an update on relative wind from the bridge of the massive RO-RO. Finally satisfied, it settled neatly onto the deck.

One flight-suited crew member hopped out and darted over to the Third Mate.

“Hi! Commander Busby, USS Jefferson,” the man said, offering his hand. “I gather you were expecting us.”

Gringes stifled the reflex to salute. “Yes, sir, we sure were. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you up to the master — uh, captain.”

“Any chance you could ask him to meet us in your radio room?” the Navy officer said. “It’ll save some time, and things are getting a little urgent out here.”

“Don’t we know it! We’re cranked up to max speed to get away from you people. Guess it didn’t do much good, since you were able to hunt us down so quickly. What’s all this about, anyway? The Navy want to give us a permanent helo detachment?” Gringes asked, his curiosity rising to unbearable levels.

“I’ll brief you in with your master, if he says it’s okay. And, no, we’re not staying. In fact, I’ve got to get back to the carrier as soon as possible. We’re just coming over to ask a little favor, that’s all.”

“I guess we could try to pretend we’re a decoy carrier,” Gringes said over his shoulder as the officer followed him into the skin of the ship. “Don’t know that our owners would like that much, though.”

“Nothing as serious as that. We just want you to send a message out for us.”

“A message? With all the communications gear you’ve got over there, you want us to send a message?”

They paused on a landing between flights of stairs, and Gringes thought he saw a flash of amusement in the other man’s face.

“Let’s just say that the source of this particular message is important,” the officer said finally.

“What kind of message?”

A smile lit Commander Busby’s face. “A weather report.”