Maxwell nodded. “Keep an eye on my squadron, CAG.”
“Don’t worry about your squadron. You’ve got Bullet Alexander.”
He didn’t know how much Boyce had heard about how the new XO. They stepped onto the escalator that took them to the deck edge. “Bullet’s still getting his feet wet,” he said. “Some of the guys might try to give him a hard time.”
“I know Bullet. He worked for me back in VFA-87 when I was XO and he was a lieutenant new to the squadron.”
“You didn’t you tell me you knew Bullet from before.”
“You’re his boss. I wanted you to form your own impression.”
“So? How did he handle himself in your squadron?”
“Well, we had some young hotshots who thought Bullet was getting a free ride. You know, the old bullshit about the black guy getting special treatment. They figured that it would be great fun to humiliate him in one-vee-one ACM exercise.”
ACM — air combat maneuvering — in its purest form was one-on-one dogfighting. It separated the amateurs from the pros. Maxwell said, “And did they humiliate him?”
“Bullet worked his way through the roster, flying against one pilot after the other. After he’d finished kicking each guy’s ass, he’d present him with an eight-by-ten glossy from the HUD tape showing his tail superimposed in Bullet’s gunfight. For extra measure, he’d autograph it for them.”
Maxwell threw his head back and laughed. “That’s ballsy.”
“I think your squadron will be just fine.”
They reached the top of the escalator. A short, red-lighted passageway led to the flight deck ladder. A C-2 COD was waiting to fly Maxwell and Bass to Taiwan.
The two men shook hands at the base of the ladder. Boyce clapped Maxwell on the shoulder and said, “Go get the Black Star, Brick. And come back alive. That’s an order.”
Maxwell picked up his bag. He knew that was as close as Boyce could come to being sentimental. “Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.”
He stepped up to the darkened flight deck.
CHAPTER 12 — CHINGCHUANKANG
“Is this gonna hurt?” asked Bass.
Maxwell looked at him in the darkened cabin and nearly laughed. Strapped into the rearward-facing seat, wearing the floatcoat and cranial protector, Bass looked like an alien creature.
“Relax,” said Maxwell. “When the catapult fires, just go with it.”
In the dim light, Bass’s eyes appeared as large as Frisbees. Maxwell knew the feeling. For a pilot, sitting backwards like a piece of cargo while being catapulted off a ship was the ultimate feeling of powerlessness.
He felt the rumble of the two turboprop engines going to full thrust. The airframe of the C-2A COD — Carrier Onboard Deliver aircraft — was vibrating like a tuning fork.
“What’s happening?” said Bass.
“You’ll see.”
“When is this thing going to—”
Whoom. Bass’s head snapped forward as if he had been tackled. He lurched into the straps that bound him to his seat. In three seconds the COD traveled the length of the catapult track, accelerating to 120 knots.
Maxwell felt the catapult stroke end. The nose of the COD lifted, and the landing gear clunked up into the wells.
Bass raised his head. “Are we dead?”
“That was nothing. Wait till you sit through a carrier landing.”
“Screw the landing. That was the last boat I’m ever gonna be on.”
Maxwell peered through the window on the opposite side of the cabin. He saw only blackness outside. No lights, no horizon, no sky. The COD was showing no navigation lights, droning northwest over the strait to Taiwan. They were bound for Chingchuankang, the air base nestled in the central mountains of the island.
The cabin was silent except for the metallic hum of the turbine engines. Bass settled into a contemplative mood, no longer his talkative self.
Maxwell had come to like the young Air Force officer. He guessed that beneath the flippant exterior, he was probably a competent fighter pilot. Over the years he had learned to spot the little nuances by which pilots revealed themselves — the way talked with their hands, the way they described their own experiences. Boyce had seen it too, or he wouldn’t be taking a chance on Bass.
Bass’s voice broke the stillness. “You know how I got roped into this. But you seem like a pretty sane guy. Why the hell are you doing this?”
“I’m a tourist at heart. I’ve never been to China and this seemed like a good chance to have a look around.”
“I take it back. You’re not sane. In fact, you guys are all nuts.”
“Now you know the truth.”
“I should have let your boss send me to Leavenworth. At least I’d get three meals a day, regular hours. They’d let me do crossword puzzles, maybe even shoot some pool. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, if you like bread and water.”
“Do you know how the Chinese will treat us if they catch us? Fish heads once a day, bamboo under the fingernails, electrodes on the nuts to make us talk.”
“Being a prisoner isn’t our best option.”
“Being dead sucks too.”
Maxwell nodded. At least they were talking about it. It was healthy to vent their fear, to make jokes about that which terrified them. They were embarking on a trip into unthinkable danger. Maxwell didn’t want to calculate how slim their chances really were.
Silence fell over the cabin again. Bass’s question slipped back into Maxwell’s mind. Why are you doing this?
He had given a flippant reply, carefully avoiding the truth. Because I have nothing to lose.
Everyone important to him was gone. No children, no wife, no family except an aging father. His astronaut wife, Debbie, had been taken from him in a fiery accident one sun-strewn day at Cape Canaveral. His own career as an astronaut had come to an abrupt end. He’d lost Claire Phillips once back in time, then she returned like a fresh wind to his life. Now he’d lost her again and—
He caught himself. Knock it off, Maxwell. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. He had been decorated for bravery in two wars. He had put his life on the line as a test pilot and astronaut. Had he done it for no higher reason than that he had nothing to lose? Was courage nothing more than an act of hopelessness?
Hell no. There had always been more to it than that. It was a private set of beliefs, an ingrained code that was peculiar to the warrior class. Men like himself and Red Boyce and, he hoped, Catfish Bass, followed a calling that transcended their own lives. They were patriots and warriors, in that order.
With that thought he told himself to quit thinking. Too much thinking before going into action dulled your senses. Let it go. Just do your job.
He felt the drone of the turboprops change pitch. The nose of the COD tilted downward. In the darkness below lay the island of Taiwan.
The clamshell door in the aft cabin swung open. A short, ramrod-straight figure stood in the darkness on the tarmac.
“Welcome to Chingchuankang.”
Maxwell recognized the voice and his heart sank. Oh, shit.
“Colonel Chiu,” he said. “Good to see you again.”
Chiu didn’t bother shaking hands. He gave Maxwell and Bass each a peremptory nod. “Follow me. Your bags will be brought to you.”The base was blacked out. There was no light spilling from windows, no illumination on the sprawling ramp, no taxiway lights. The COD had been nursed to its parking spot on the darkened tarmac by an unlighted follow-me jeep.