“Damn it, Admiral Magruder, you don’t have the faintest idea how delicate these matters are. The whole world is watching how we handle the Greenpeace matter, and your precious aircraft carrier can’t seem to find its ass with both hands. How the hell do you explain that?” Admiral Carmichael demanded. “That’s what comes of putting someone with no experience in D.C. in command of such a sensitive region. You have no idea, no concept-“
Tombstone’s temper finally ignited. “With all due respect, I’ve had just about enough. If you wish to discuss ALASKCOM with me, I would welcome your advice and thoughts. However, no one has seen fit to place me under your command, and I’ll be goddamned if I’ll take any more of your abuse. Is that clear? Sir?” Tombstone snapped.
Silence. Then, a faint chuckle. “I’ve heard you had a mind of your own, Magruder,” the voice said thoughtfully, all trace of his prior anger gone. “Now, prove it to me. Show me you’re something besides a hot-hot jet jock who will never get beyond the one-star rank.”
“if we had a few more operational commanders in charge of policy in D.C., Admiral Carmichael, we might end up with a more cohesive national strategy,” Tombstone said tartly. “You may see this as a sensitive political situation. I see something worse. I’ve got a missing civilian vessel, someone shooting at one of my P-3C aircraft, Bear-H’s in the area, and Admiral Wayne’s got indications of activity on a supposedly deserted island. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s all a coincidence. Now balance that against your precious island geek and tell me what you’d be worried about — some stupid bird or your air crews?” And that, Tombstone added silently, will go a long way toward telling me exactly who you are.
Static crackled over the circuit as Tombstone waited for the other man to answer. Relationships between admirals could be tricky at best, as those in the highest rarefied circles of naval command and control fought the battle for their own political survival. Tombstone had no desire to join that fray, and if it meant he would retire with one star instead of more, that was fine with him.
“Tombstone — can I call you that? — let’s put our cards on the table,” Admiral Carmichael said finally. “I understand about aviation, and how you folks have your own way of doing business. Believe me, sir, I’ve got no intention of asking your boys to go into harm’s way without adequate backup. But from here, it looks like a civilian vessel that’s got a history of doing sneak attacks on us has gone missing and some asshole Inuit lighting off fireworks. And maybe playing around with a walkie-talkie while your P-3C pilot is thinking Stingers instead of sparklers. I’m willing to be persuaded, though. So start talking.”
A rare smile cracked its way across Tombstone’s face. He’d heard that Admiral Carmichael was a screamer; a flag officer that pushed those junior to him as far as he could with his reputation for an abusive temper. Rumor control also had it that the admiral would back down if confronted, and that half of the purpose of his screaming fits was to test the temperament of those junior to him. “Admiral, I don’t believe in coincidence,” Tombstone said slowly. He considered bringing up the issue of chain of command, and then abandoned it. Admiral Carmichael certainly knew where he stood in the pecking order, as well as whom Tombstone reported to. There was no formal need for Tombstone to tell Admiral Carmichael anything other than what the minimum requirements of courtesy dictated, but something about the man’s reputation and in his voice intrigued the aviator. He would, he decided, make his own judgments about Admiral Carmichael.
“Coincidences are unlikely,” Admiral Carmichael agreed. “What else have you got?”
“You may not have seen the reports yet,” Tombstone said carefully, aware that Admiral Carmichael’s staff may have dropped the ball in getting the information to him, “but Jefferson detected some spurious radio transmissions from the island yesterday. I was willing to buy the vessel-off-course-and-firecrackers theory until I heard that. I called the battle group myself, and asked the staff to relay the pilot reports to me. Regardless of what you’ve been told, sir, there’s no way that was simply some firecrackers. First, the island is largely uninhabited, although Intelligence indicates it’s occasionally visited by Inuits from neighboring islands. Second, the TACCO on that P-3 was an experienced aviator, and he damn well knows what a Stinger aimed at him looks like. No,” Tombstone continued, shaking his head even though the admiral on the other end couldn’t see the gesture, “there’s something going on out around that island, Admiral. I don’t know what, but it falls within the scope of my duties to find out.”
“And within mine to make sure that Jefferson is safe,” Admiral Carmichael said gruffly. “Listen, Tombstone, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m damn well not going to endanger one of my ships if I can help it. You and I are going to have to work together on this matter, and the sooner we get to know each other, the better. Care to come on board for a short skull session with my staff?”
“On board Coronado?” Tombstone asked. “Sir, I didn’t realize you were coming this far north.”
“I hadn’t planned on it, no. We’re doing operations off the coast of San Francisco right now in preparation for Lincoln’s deployment. However, despite what you may think, I’m more than a little concerned about the situation out there. I’ll ask the captain to steam north, commencing immediately, and we should be within COD range by tomorrow. What do you think?”
“COD?” Involuntarily, Tombstone shuddered. As bad as flying on the C-130 out to Adak had been, he hated the workhorse personnel transports more. Suddenly, what should have occurred to him earlier dawned. “Wait. You can’t land a COD on the Coronado.”
“Ah. I see you haven’t gotten the word on something,” Admiral Carmichael said pleasantly. “On the Coronado, a two-seater training Harrier jump jet is considered a COD. The Marines own twenty-eight of the training version, and they’re damned generous about loaning me one. I can arrange for tanking support out of the Air Force in California, and have that Harrier in Juneau in a matter of hours. What do you think?”
“Yes, sir!” An odd tingle of excitement ran down his back. Despite his years of aviation, Tombstone had managed to miss the opportunity to take a check ride in the Marine Corps’ vertical takeoff and landing jet, the AV-8B Harrier. One of the mainstays of an amphibious assault ship air wing, along with the tactical helicopters the Marines used, the Harrier was built in close partnership by McDonnell-Douglas and British Aerospace.
Since its introduction into both nations’ fleets in 1986, it had seen action in Desert Storm, flying missions both from airfields and from U.S. amphibious ships. In one mission alone, four of the AV-8B’s were credited with destroying twenty-five Iraqi tanks. All totaled, the Harriers had dropped over three thousand tons of ordnance during the short conflict.
What made the Harrier seem so alluring to most aviators was its ability to both hover like a helicopter and fly like a jet, with its single Rolls-Royce Pegasus turbofan jet engine providing both lift and thrust. Two large air intakes on either side of the fuselage fed into the upgraded engine, and the swiveling exhaust nozzle replaced conventional systems. Outboard weapons stations could carry a wide range of bombs, air-to-air and air-to-surface missiles, as well as rockets or fuel pods.