“O’Brian grabbed me in the corridor and told me about it, but his version was rather different,” Tolwyn said quietly. “Claims you were riding him too hard.”
“I’m riding him hard because I think he’s got the makings of a first-rate combat pilot. He’ll get his wings back and he’ll do well, once he gets that pampered defiant streak out of him.”
Tolwyn smiled.
“My sister-in-law,” he said, shaking his head. “All caught up with the family name and wealth. Wants the lad to be a nice clean career officer, an adjutant in some safe brownnosing job where he’ll reach admiral through the political route. Gods, how we’ve fought over that boy.”
Tolwyn looked away for a moment.
“Tell me about O’Brian.”
“Sir?”
“I want the straight line, no butt covering for a superior.”
“I don’t think he can cut it, sir. He’s going to crack before we’re done. That briefing scared the hell out of him.”
“Exactly what I thought. But he’s the fair-haired boy of someone back at headquarters who made sure his efficiency reports look like they were written out in fourteen-karat gold. He’s also got more than one enemy and I think that’s why they put him on the Tarawa. Figured you’re all dead anyhow once the show starts, so why waste a good officer.”
“Can you get him transferred out?”
“Too late. I told Banbridge what I thought, but all he saw were those reports and he wants him to stay. Though I hate like hell to think about what I got you into, at the same time I’m glad you’re on that ship to balance things out a bit. I hate to put you in this spot son, but if O’Brian should crack you know what you’ll have to do and I’ll back you all the way.”
Jason nodded.
“Anything I can do for you, son?”
Jason shook his head. He had no real life outside the fleet. The only woman he was really interested in was going out there with him. His mother? At least the insurance would go to her. Damn, she had given everything, a husband, one son, and now another. A lot of money from a grateful nation, three blue stars hanging in her window, and loneliness. He could imagine the letter that Tolwyn would send, to be folded away with the other two. No, there was nothing the admiral could do now.
He realized Tolwyn was the same in a way. Wife and sons killed early on in the war. Nothing except the fleet, and one spoiled nephew. He hesitated and then decided to go ahead anyhow and make the offer.
“Sir. I’ve grounded Kevin as you know. If you want I could transfer him off the Tarawa for an evaluation and discipline review. He’ll get cleared—hell most pilots have pulled similar stunts at one time or another. We’ll be gone and you can transfer him over to Wolfhound. Put him in with Hobbes’ unit, that Kilrathi is a damned fine leader.”
Tolwyn’s features grew dark and Jason instantly knew that he had made a mistake,
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to show favorites,” the admiral growled. “The boy’s assigned to the Tarawa and by God that’s where he’ll stay. A Tolwyn doesn’t run from a fight. I’d rather lose him than have to live with the shame both for myself, and for him.”
Jason felt a warm glow of pride for his commander and he drew up stiffly.
“It’s always been an honor to serve under you, sir,” he said softly.
Tolwyn nodded, and then extended his hand.
“Good luck son, and good hunting.”
CHAPTER VI
Jason paused for a moment and waited. He felt the shudder and didn’t even bother to look at the shifting starfields on the other side of the launch bay airlock. Seconds later the ship’s nav computer announced successful jump and started the countdown for the next jump which would hit in just over eleven hours.
So they were on their way in.
He turned back around.
“No way, no damned way, I need a cleared launch area and taxiway for my ships. Now either that landing craft gets moved or I’ll order it pushed over the side right now!”
“Listen here, young sir,” Merritt growled, stepping up closer to Jason. “These ships are my responsibility, and if I don’t have them I don’t land. And I’ll tell you this, if you lay a hand on that landing craft I’ll kick your butt from here to Earth and back.”
“You damned grunt,” Jason growled. “If you don’t have fighter cover, this carrier will get cooked before you’re even out of the airlock.”
He could sense that the entire deck was going quiet. Hundreds of marines were bunked out under the wings of the Sabres and in any spare corner that could be found. Tension was already high and they would most likely enjoy a good demonstration of hand-to-hand combat just about now to break the boredom.
The deck was crowded beyond anything he had ever imagined possible. Each of the landing craft was damned near the size of a Broadsword, capable of carrying up to a hundred men, two M-77 light ground assault vehicles, an array of medium caliber weapons, with a full battery of ground bombardment missiles slung to the undercarriage. That alone gave him the creeps. Ten landing craft, each loaded down with enough missiles to rip the Tarawa apart a dozen times over, were sitting fully exposed on deck. Except for the hot-loaded planes, all armament aboard Tarawa was stored in blast-proof lockers beneath the flight deck, only to be hoisted out and loaded on just before launch. But no one in the design of the carrier had envisioned the addition of ten marine landing craft. There simply was no place to store the armament other than on the racks of the ships, a fact which Jason felt was the equivalent of handing a lit bomb to Maniac and then telling him to go blow something up—sooner or later something would indeed blow.
If the Sabre lost in the training flight crashed on the deck now, it would ram straight into several of the landing craft—and the Tarawa would simply disappear.
“Ah, sirs?”
Sparks, moving fast, pushed her way in between the two.
“Just what the hell is it, Sparks?”
“I’ve been thinking, sir. Take a look straight up.”
“Damn it, Sparks, not now.”
“Look up, sir. See them hooks on the ceiling? They never pulled them out when this ship was converted over from a transport. We could hang eight of the landing craft up there, and there’d be just enough room underneath for the taxiway. If we jiggle the other planes around, we’ll be able to squeeze in the other two landing craft and still have room to spare.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Merritt snapped. “Each of those craft weigh nearly a hundred tons unloaded.”
“I know that, sir. I was thinking, though, we could rig up a null gravity unit inside each landing craft. Move it up there and it’d hang weightlessly. How the hell do you think they do it on cargo ships?”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Jason sighed.
He looked over at Merritt who broke into a grin of approval.
“Make it so, Sparks,” Jason said, and he started to walk away, glad that his body was still intact.
“Commander.”
Jason looked back and Merritt came up alongside and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Care for a drink?”
“Maybe later, Colonel,” Jason said coldly.
“Look, Commander, I’m sorry. I’m used to getting my way. It’s part of being a marine I guess. I know you were trying to do things right, I just wanted to see how you’d do it.”
“Checking me out, is that it, sir?” Jason retorted.
Merritt smiled.
“Don’t blame me. I know the odds on this mission. I guess you have to have a death wish to be a commando to start with. But the other missions I’ve been out on, I always figured there was a fair chance of coming back. I just want to know if I can count on you in the pinch.”