“But Greece is a member of the United Nations,” Tombstone said. “They’ve had members on every peacekeeping mission so far. They always support the UN.”
“Sure, but it’s different when it’s applied to your own country. You know how touchy they are. They don’t like having a peacekeeping force in their own country one little bit. And Macedonia is going to be even less willing to cooperate with anything that might possibly infringe on their new independence.”
“I can see how it’s going to be a problem,” Tombstone said thoughtfully. “But this doesn’t sound like a Navy problem. Macedonia is landlocked.”
“For now. That’s apparently part of the problem. Greece is claiming that there’s a camp of rebel insurgent nationalists conducting guerilla operations along the Aegean coast inside Greece itself. So they’re thinking that they’ll need more of a naval presence than originally planned. Besides, nothing’s as flexible as an aircraft carrier — and it’s a good deal more diplomatic to have an airfield outside the twelve-mile limit than aircraft on the ground inside Greece.”
“Makes sense,” Tombstone admitted. “So where do I come in?”
“How would you like to be a special advisor to the commander of the UN peacekeeping force that’s ordered into Greece?” his uncle asked. “Think about it for a moment before you answer. For one thing, it would be composed primarily of ground troops, although Jefferson would be on scene off the coast providing air support, logistics, that sort of thing. And you’d have a whole host of resources to draw on from the Med. But the primary action would be on the ground. Frankly, I think that will make assigning a naval officer even more attractive to the Greeks. They’ll think you won’t understand the ground actions, that maybe they can baffle you with bullshit.”
Tombstone nodded. “After my little forays into Vietnam and Russia, I understand more about that aspect of war. They might not expect that. On the other hand, I might miss some subtleties a ground-pounder would pick up. An army or marine officer might be a better choice.”
“There’s one other factor involved. Remember who we’re talking about. This is Greece, the most ancient seagoing nation in the world. They were building combat fleets when our ancestors were still throwing sticks at each other. If there’s a conflict there, even with an inland country like Macedonia, naval warfare will play a big part. For one thing, there are islands scattered up and down throughout the Med and the Aegean. Perfect for remote supply bases and reinforcements. Any peacekeeping force in the area is going to have to do some island hopping just to keep things quiet.”
Tombstone nodded. “But still, the primary thrust of the battle is going to be on land.”
“Yes, it is. But like I said, this is a naval warfare country. Their land tactics are invariably influenced by their tactics at sea. You’ve seen that yourself at the Naval War College. It’s a way of thinking, an approach to operational art that’s different from our own. That’s why I thought you might be able to bring a unique perspective to the situation. You understand naval tactics and operational art better than any other officer I know. If anyone can outguess the Macedonians and puzzle out any hidden Greek agendas, it will be you.”
“What makes you think the other nations would buy into it?” Tombstone asked. Already the possibility of going to Greece was starting to appeal to him.
But not in command. You’d be one of those staff officers, those special advisors, that you’ve spent half your life bitching about.
“That’s my end of the ball game, Stony. Trust me, I know how to handle the politics involved. But before I could go to bat for this — and I’m not doing it as a favor, mind you, I really think you’re the best man for the job — I have to know whether or not you want it. Because believe me, being on the inside when there’s ethnic warfare involved can eat at you. Brothers fighting brothers — it will be like the Civil War in the States was. Only uglier. And you’d have no real power to do anything other than report back to the States when something starts stinking to high heaven. The upside is that you can make a difference in the world. The UN’s got to work as it was intended, as a force for world peace, and Greece has got to go along with that.”
“Oh, I want it, make no mistake about that,” Tombstone said. “Tomboy’s onboard Jefferson right now anyway, so it’s not like I have a home life.”
His uncle stood. “Well, then.” He held out his hand. “Pack your bags, Nephew.”
THREE
Airman Greg Smith stared out at the brilliant blue waters of the Aegean Sea. From his vantage point on the sponson, an open air compartment immediately below the flight deck, it seemed as though he were looking out from a cave. Clear sky merged with slightly darker water in an endless wash of blue from horizon to horizon.
Airman Smith was attached to VF-95 and worked as a plane captain. As a member of the line department, he was responsible for the overall care and well-being of his Tomcat when it was on the deck. He washed it, checked it for corrosion, made sure it was chocked and chained even during good weather, because out here you never could tell when a storm would blow in. You leave a bird unwashed, forget for a few days to check the delicate junctures between metals, and the next thing you know, bimetallic corrosion has set in.
Other plane captains might not be as meticulous about maintaining their birds, but there was no way Airman Smith was letting any pilot climb into his particular Tomcat if it wasn’t in perfect condition. After all, what if something happened to one of them? Something he could have prevented? He knew most of the pilots by sight now, at least well enough to speak a few respectful words to them as they signed out his bird in the flight logbook. They seemed like good fellows, all right guys. Of course, they had to be, didn’t they? Not just anyone got to fly Tomcats.
Right now, though, it wasn’t the condition of his aircraft that Airman Smith had on his mind. It was the upcoming mission, the one off the coast of Greece. He sighed, stared at the water, and wondered why the hell he was worrying about it. After all, he was just a lowly airman, Paygrade E-3. There were a lot of people a lot more senior that were getting paid to think about things like this, weren’t there? There had to be.
His grandfather had been thinking about it. Smith touched his breast pocket and felt the outline of the letter he kept stashed as a talisman. Not that he was superstitious or anything. No, nothing like that.
But Gramps — his father’s father — had been in the Navy, had been an enlisted pilot back during the Korean War. He’d flown lots of missions off carriers back before there were even steam catapults to blast them off the deck. Back then, as Gramps told it, they just started from the stern of the ship, gunned their engines, and prayed after they popped the brakes that they’d have enough airspeed to make it.
And Dad had flown off carriers, too. But a soft cat shot off the Saratoga on a North Sea patrol had ended his navy career only two weeks after he’d reported on board. Smith had been six years old when the two black sedans had pulled up in front of their home in navy housing. But even at that age, he knew what a chaplain coming up the sidewalk meant.
“He’s with Grandma,” Gramps had explained. “They’re watching out for us all the time.”
“I don’t want him to be with Grandma!” Smith had howled. “I want him here!” Gramps had pulled him close, let him cry himself out, and that was how it had started. The twelve years of constant moves, living with Mom and Gramps, watching Mom fade away into a dull, drab woman working two, sometimes three jobs just to keep food on the table. Gramps had explained that, too, had gone to the parent-teacher conferences, watched him play Little League, told him stories about the Navy and his time in Korea fighting the war.