He stopped beside the bulky form of an E-2C Hawkeye to get his bearings and pick out the best possible path out of the chaos. Something flapped overhead in the stiff breeze coming through the opening of the number-two elevator, and Magruder looked up. In port, the overhead of the hangar deck would be strung with dozens of flags and banners of states, territories, foreign nations, and so on. When the ship was at sea the flags weren’t supposed to be hung, but apparently someone had placed the flag of Norway, a white and blue cross on a red background, in a prominent position dominating the center of the hangar, where everybody could see it. There was little doubt of the crew’s feelings, whatever might be coming out of Washington.
Tombstone thought back to the briefing. It was clear enough from the emphasis on the military situation that Admiral Tarrant expected Jefferson to be involved in the fighting. Whether the President finally took the plunge and ordered support for the Norwegians, or whether the Soviets chose to enforce their huge exclusion zone, that looked like the most probable outcome. But what could one carrier battle group do to help the beleaguered defenders around Bergen? Land-based air could swamp the carrier’s defenses, lurking submarines would be a constant threat … and the Soviet Red Banner Fleet was out there somewhere, an awesome assemblage of naval firepower. The Americans didn’t even have their old advantage in carriers anymore. There was at least one of the new Russian CVs in the Red Banner Fleet, and even if it was smaller and less dangerous than the Jefferson, it was a carrier nonetheless, capable of challenging America’s power-projection capability in a way no enemy had been able to try since the Second World War.
It made his new assignment all the more frustrating when he thought about the odds they were up against. While men like Coyote and Batman risked their lives flying cover for the battle group, he’d be condemned to Captain Stramaglia’s idea of his proper place.
His proper place, he told himself, was in the cockpit of an F-14.
“Mr. Magruder … sir?” The voice came from behind him, loud enough to hear over the hangar deck noise but still somehow tentative and uncertain. Magruder turned to find himself looking at a young, red-haired lieutenant with pilot’s wings and an apprehensive look on his freckled face.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” he shouted over the roar of one of the tractors — a “mule” in flight-deck parlance — hauling an F/A-18 Hornet toward one of the elevators.
“Sir, CAG told me to talk with you. Said I should see you before … before I turn in my wings …”
Inwardly, Magruder groaned. What did CAG expect of him, anyway? Once a pilot decided he’d lost the edge, there wasn’t much point in trying to change his mind. In fact it could be dangerous. If this youngster had decided that he wasn’t fit to fly but tried to hide it and stay in the air, he could end up making mistakes that would kill people. Including himself.
On the other hand, Magruder remembered the times he’d come close himself to calling it quits. And he’d talked Coyote out of quitting once too. That had turned out for the best, obviously. Coyote Grant was still on his way up.
“Look, Lieutenant, we can’t talk here!” he yelled. “Come on with me! We’ll find someplace quieter!”
Someplace quieter turned out to be Tombstone’s quarters. There weren’t many places even on a boat the size of the Jefferson where privacy was possible, and if this kid was planning on spilling his guts about his problems Tombstone didn’t want a lot of witnesses. Whether he turned in his wings or not, the kid would face a mountain of scorn if he broke the unwritten aviator’s law that a good flyer never, ever let the pressure make him lose his cool.
“All right, son,” Magruder said at last as he closed the door. “What’s your name, first off?”
“Roger Bannon, sir. They call me Banshee.” Bannon hesitated. “I’m with VA-89.”
Magruder nodded and smiled encouragingly. The wing’s single attack squadron, the VA-89 “Death Dealers” flew the A-6E Intruders that Magruder was supposed to be paying special attention to in the days ahead. Perhaps that was why CAG wanted him to deal with Bannon’s problem, whatever it was. “It’s a damned good outfit,” he said aloud.
“Yes, sir.” Bannon looked uncomfortable.
“You said you wanted to turn in your wings. Want to tell me about it, son?” He was surprised at how easily he seemed to fall into the role of the father figure.
“I–I was the one who crashed the Intruder last week, Mr. Magruder. I screwed up bad on a landing … missed the wires but didn’t have enough power to make it a bolter. Skidded … God, I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” Bannon closed his eyes as if reliving the moment in his mind. “The planes … the people who died … it was all my fault.”
“You must’ve been doing pretty good to eject from that mess,” Tombstone said quietly. “Looks like you came through without a scratch.”
A spasm of pain crossed the young face. “I was … everybody says it was lucky. I wish now I’d never got clear. My chute opened and snagged on something, so I didn’t even hit the deck.”
Magruder hesitated before probing further. It looked like it wasn’t so much fear as guilt that was weighing on Bannon’s mind, but he was no expert in psychology. He wasn’t sure how to handle the kid. This was really a job for the chaplain. But chaplains didn’t always understand the way another aviator did. Tombstone felt he had to try, at least, to help Bannon. “there must have been an inquiry,” he said.
Bannon nodded. “They said … they said it was an accident, that I could return to flight status when CAG thought I was ready.” He swallowed. “But it doesn’t seem right …”
“Look, you can’t be impartial judging yourself over something like this.” Magruder groped for the right words. “You should … you should trust what CAG and the Captain had to say about the accident. They’ve had a hell of a lot more experience than you. When you’ve seen more carrier duty you’ll realize these things happen. Even if you never go into combat you’re running a risk when you serve aboard a carrier.”
Bannon didn’t answer, but he’d fixed a wide-eyed stare on Magruder’s face.
“Now the way I see it, son, you’ve got a couple of choices. If you want to turn in those wings, that’s your business. The Navy doesn’t want men flying who don’t have the confidence to pull it off. But once you do it, there’s no second chance. You won’t fly for the Navy again. And chances are you’ll find out, somewhere down the line, that it was a mistake to run away from the problem. But you’ll never be able to face it down, because you quit.” He paused. “Your second choice is to try the old ‘get back on the horse’ philosophy. A lot of people think that’s the best way to handle this kind of thing. Me, I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Magruder?”
“Push too hard and you could end up getting into more trouble. Now what I think you need to do is have another little talk with CAG. Keep your wings, but see if you can get assigned as an LSO or something like that. Take it one step at a time. When you’re ready, you’ll know it … and then you’ll be able to get back in the cockpit and show yourself and everybody else that it really was an accident. A fluke.”
“Do you think Captain Stramaglia would let me do that, sir?” Bannon asked, sounding eager for the first time.
“Give it a try. I’ve served with him before, and underneath the tough shell there’s a tough guy inside … but he’s fair. And I’ll recommend it to him if it’s what you decide you want.”
“Th-thanks, Mr. Magruder.” Bannon started to say more, but Tombstone held up his hand.