Alpha Strike

CHAPTER 31

“Attention on deck!” the Chief of Staff snapped.

The ranks of officers and enlisted personnel stiffened slightly, but made no other appreciable movement. Even the Navy Band detachment seemed immobilized as they struck up “Ruffles and Flourishes,” only the conductor’s right hand beating out the tempo.

Vice Admiral Thomas Magruder strode up the steps to the platform and returned his nephew’s salute. The band finished with its final bars, and Tombstone dropped his hand. His uncle greeted old friends on the dais, then took a seat in the chair slightly to the right of the podium. The colors were posted, the national anthem played, and the chaplain offered an opening prayer.

Tombstone stepped behind the podium and adjusted the microphone. There was no need for it — his staff had checked and double-checked every detail thoroughly, rehearsing the change of command ceremony until even the most junior ensign on the Jefferson could have recited every line by heart. The only part that would be new would be Tombstone’s farewell speech.

He looked out over the ranks of men and women — almost two thousand of them, the remainder on watch, liberty, or leave — arrayed around the two hundred metal chairs on the flight deck of Jefferson. Civilians and military guests from other commands packed the space encircled by the ranks, rustling their programs and catching up with old friends. His eyes sought out Tomboy and found her standing in ranks with her squadron. A small smile passed between them.

It had been his decision to hold the ceremony on the flight deck, although they’d kept the cavernous hangar bay spotlessly ready in case it rained. The weather in Alameda, Jefferson’s home port, could be unpredictable in the spring.

During his early days as a junior officer, Tombstone would have tried to find some way to get out of attending any ceremony. It had seemed boring beyond endurance, standing in ranks, listening to the dinosaurs drone endlessly on about honor, duty, and courage. What possible justification, he’d wondered, could there be for wasting so much time over a ceremony? Get the new admiral on board, brief him, and get back to the routine. The constant demands of training and repairing aircraft never ceased.

It was, he realized suddenly, the final perquisite of command. No doubt his transfer from the Jefferson meant far more to him than it did to his staff and the crew. His relief, Rear Admiral Edward Everett Wayne, would make his own mark on the ship and staff. Even if he proved to be an impossibly idiotic flag officer — which Tombstone sincerely doubted Batman would — he would only be there for eighteen months. The staff could do that standing on their heads.

These last few moments were advertised as essential to letting the crew know who was in command. But more than that, it was a starkly poignant moment for the officer leaving command. It was the last moment he would gaze over his people — his people — before he would turn responsibility for their lives and well-being over to another. It was the time in which he severed the umbilical cord that bound him to each man and each woman, a point in life clearly delineated when he could finally put down the burden of their safety.

And it was a time to say his second good-bye of the day. He wasn’t sure which was the more difficult, leaving his command or finally admitting that his relationship with Pamela was over.

He suddenly realized that the crowd was murmuring politely. He cleared his throat and heard the sound reverberate from the huge speakers set at either end of the dais.

“Vice Admiral Magruder, distinguished visitors, officers and crew of CARGRU 14, USS Jefferson, and Air Wing Nine. I thank you for your presence here today at this change of command ceremony.”

He paused for a moment. He’d thought long and hard for the last week about his speech, and had finally resuscitated a number of old naval aphorisms, pasted them together with his best wishes, and committed them to memory. Now, understanding the true purpose of the ceremony, he slid his cheater notes into his pants pocket.

“I want to leave you with one thought. Duty, ladies and gentlemen. That is the essential ingredient that distinguishes military service from any other career in the world. It is an obligation to always be prepared, to learn how to practice your skills and arts for the day that they will once again be needed. It is especially difficult when your country seems not to appreciate you. But there it is. When all else fails, when you’re tired, exhausted, and far from home, I want you to remember one thing — that duty demands not what is easy, not what is convenient. It requires doing what is right, time and again, unnoticed and unapplauded. It is your sacred obligation. And one that you will fulfill in the following months with my relief. It has been my pleasure — and my honor — to serve with you.

“I will now read my orders.” Tombstone paused again, staring down at the photocopy of the message traffic he’d received just hours before. He read the originator and the subject line out loud, and then continued with the text. “When relieved, report to commander, Pacific Fleet, for further assignment.” A weaselly assignment, stashed in Hawaii on the PACFLT staff until his next assignment was decided by the higher-ups.

Batman read his orders, a solemn note in his voice. Tombstone tried to remember if he’d ever heard his friend sound so serious. He hadn’t, he decided. He wondered whether he should tell Batman what he’d just realized about the ceremony, and then decided he wouldn’t. Better that his old wingman learn it in his own way.

Finally, it was over. He and Batman exchanged salutes and formally and publicly reported the change of command to their immediate superior, commander of the Third Fleet. They followed the admiral off the podium to the sound of the “Anchors Aweigh” and headed for the reception table set up below on the hangar bay.

“They’re all yours, Batman,” he said quietly. For a moment, just a few seconds, Tombstone felt a deep sense of loss.

“I’ll take good care of them, Tombstone,” Batman said solemnly. Tombstone wondered if there’d been the same look of quiet jubilation in his eyes when he’d taken command of the carrier group. It would come within the next week, he knew. The sudden doubts, the overwhelming burden of commanding such a potent weapon. Batman would find his own way of dealing with it, just as he’d found out how to cope with his earliest doubts about his abilities as a pilot, Tombstone knew. If he had to relinquish command, it could be to no better officer.

“Any idea of what they’ve got planned for you?” Batman asked as a mess management specialist filled his cup with punch.

“Not a word,” Tombstone answered. It bothered him a little, that not even a rumor had leaked out of the E-ring at the Pentagon.

“I might be able to shed some light on that,” he heard a familiar voice say. “Congratulations, by the way, Batman. I know you’ll do a fine job.”

“Thank you, sir. But have you heard anything about Tombstone’s orders?”

Vice Admiral Magruder smiled. “I have, but I’m sworn to secrecy. I can tell you this, Tombstone. Just a hint. If you thought the Spratly Islands and the Chinese were a challenge you’re gonna love the next two years!”