“It would be, except they’re not gonna be there,” he said. He patted the copilot on the arm. “Don’t you worry, youngster, we’re a little bit smarter than that. Maybe in an armored helicopter we might come in closer, but as fragile as your bird is, we’ll need every advantage we can get. We’ve got a little diversion planned.”
“A diversion?” the pilot asked. “Like what?”
A lighter look lit the chief’s face. “Let’s just say we’ve got some allies we didn’t know about before,” he said carefully. “Up until now, they’ve been only voices on the radio. But one of the things we always try to do on a mission is to get indigenous forces to support us. Maybe not spearhead it — they’re usually not trained enough for that — but for something like a diversion, or harassing action, they’re damned fine.”
“Indigenous?” the copilot wondered. “But there’s nothing on that island — not apart from the intruders and your man.”
The chief traced one finger east along the Aleutian chain, touching several larger islands briefly. “Maybe not on that rock, but there are on other ones. This whole chain is almost an island nation. Inuit tribes live on most of the larger ones, and travel back and forth to the smaller ones as needed.” He reached across the table and pulled a brown folder toward him. “Did you guys get briefed on the native transmissions?”
Both aviators shook their heads in the negative.
“Didn’t think so,” the chief said. He handed the folder to the senior pilot. “You’ll want to have a look at this, sir.”
The pilot read rapidly, the copilot crowding in next to him to read over his shoulder. “Cold War trainees,” he said finally. He closed the folder with a sharp snap. “And still in place. Who would’ve thought?”
“Nobody. And that’s the point. If the U.S. Navy forgot about ‘em, you can damn well bet the Russians did.”
“But they barely have a radio,” the pilot said. “What? You’re gonna assault that island with shotguns?”
The chief shook his head. “No, we’re not. Fortunately, we brought along a little extra armament.” A grim smile cracked his face. “Plus a few fancy toys they’ve probably never seen before. Hell, we didn’t get ‘em till last year. But I’m betting those men will catch on pretty damned fast how they work.”
The pilot shook his head doubtfully. “Aren’t you depending an awful lot on an untrained mob?”
“Remember, they’re only there as a diversion,” the chief argued. “Here’s what’ll happen.”
The chief spent the next ten minutes laying out the plan, covering all aspects of the diversion, the tactical pickup, and the successful exit from the area. When he’d finished, he said, “I don’t care what the admiral told you, sir. Special Forces missions are always strictly a volunteer evolution. If you’ve got any doubts about this plan, we’ll look for somebody else to fly it. We can’t afford any weak links in this chain.” He stared searchingly at the two aviators.
The pilot leaned back on his chair. A slow smile crept across his face. “I think if anybody can pull this off, you can. And as for your flight crew,” he glanced at his copilot, who nodded, “I think you’ve already found your crew.”
“You’re sure this will work?” Batman asked.
“Yes, sir,” Huerta said gravely. “We’ve torn this plan apart every way we can think of, and it’s our best bet for getting Sikes out. But part of it depends on that fancy new aircraft of yours.”
Batman leaned back in his chair and sighed. “The JAST bird. I notice it plays a heavy role in this.”
The chief nodded. “You bet. We need that high resolution look-down, shoot-down capability. The regular Tomcat’s a pretty impressive bird, but it’s not enough for this mission.”
Batman leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of him. “You probably don’t know it, but we’ve got a serious problem here. The JAST pilot who flew the bird out was medevaced early this morning. Appendicitis.” He paused, and surveyed the dismayed expressions on the three men’s faces. “Any RIO can run the backseat on the JAST aircraft. The avionics are enough alike that it just takes a few hours of briefing. But the power plant, the flight controls, and the whole performance envelope are so different that it takes hours to get certified on it. Other than the man who drew it out, there’s only one person on this boat qualified to fly it.”
“Well, whoever it is, we need him,” the chief said sharply.
Batman started to smile. “I think I can convince him to go along with this. You see, it’s been a while since he’s gotten to fly much, and he’s pretty eager for a couple of extra hops.”
“Just who the hell is this non-flying aviator?” the pilot said. “Everybody flies on this boat, everybody.”
Batman’s smile broadened slightly. “Me.”
“Come on, Tombstone, you know it’s the right thing to do.” Batman’s voice held a pleading note. “That man on the ground deserves it.”
“I’m not so sure,” Tombstone said slowly. “One of the hardest lessons that I had to learn when I was in your shoes was that my flying days were quickly coming to an end. I hated it, but I finally admitted that I was of more use in TFCC than in the cockpit.”
“This situation’s a little bit different, don’t you think?” Batman argued. “If it were a matter of just sending a Tomcat — hell, I’ve got plenty of men who’d volunteer. And women, too,” he added hastily. “But the JAST bird is something else.”
Tombstone sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, his old wingman was right. “And we can’t get another pilot out from Pax River?” he asked one last time.
“No, Admiral.” Batman’s voice took on a formal note. “Too long of a time lag. Things are moving too fast — by the time we got someone else out here, that SEAL could be dead. The mission has to go ASAP.”
Tombstone sighed. “All right,” he finally capitulated. “What do you want me to do?”
“I could use your help, sir,” Batman continued, the same grave tone still in his voice. “As you point out, the battle group needs an admiral in command of it. I respectfully request that the admiral shift his flag to the USS Jefferson, and relieve me of command. At least for the duration of this mission,” he concluded.
Tombstone sat bolt upright in his chair. “You want to be relieved?”
“Well, I’d just as soon it weren’t permanent,” Batman said wryly. “But things go wrong. In the event that something happens, I don’t want Jefferson left alone. And since you’ve been admiral on board her before, you’re just the man to relieve me.”
It made sense. Damn, but it made sense. “Okay, Batman,” he said, surprised at how eager he suddenly was to feel the steel decks of Jefferson under his feet again. “You realize there’s going to be hell to pay for this later?”
“There always is, isn’t there, Stoney?” Batman chuckled slightly. “But we bring that SEAL home and all screw-ups are forgiven. You know that.”
Tombstone nodded, all too aware that what Batman said was true. “Expect my COD flight in two hours, then,” he said, and broke the connection.
He stood up from his desk and started pacing the room. The amphibious ship was a fine vessel, but it was nothing compared to being on an aircraft carrier. To be in command of one one more time, just one last time — he sighed, thinking about how many lasts he was coming to in his career these days. “One last time,” he said aloud. He smiled briefly. “A hell of a way to end a career.”
Six hours and one Harrier flight later, Rear Admiral Matthew Magruder took command of the aircraft carrier USS Jefferson, relieving Rear Admiral Edward Wayne in a short, hastily arranged ceremony. And, even though he knew it was only for a short period of time, it felt damned good to be back.