“Aye, aye, sir,” Magruder replied.
“And knock off the formal little sailor routine.” CAG looked down at his desk. His tone changed, losing the mild bantering manner and becoming grim and cold. “You heard about the Bear hunt?”
Tombstone nodded. “Sounds like a real mess. What happened up there, CAG?”
“Goddamn nuggets screwed up, that’s what happened,” CAG growled. “First one of them wanted to play stunt pilot and got himself in trouble, then his call made another one decide it was time to rock and roll. A right royal cock-up from first to last.”
Magruder didn’t say anything. He might have been able to do something to keep the situation under control if CAG had let him go up with Ajax Flight as he’d requested, but it didn’t seem like the right time to point that out to Stramaglia.
There was a knock on the cabin door. CAG looked up and barked out a quick “Come!” It was Coyote, wearing his khakis now instead of a flight suit and looking just as grim as Stramaglia. “I’ve got the reports on this morning, Sir,” he said. He held up a folder in one hand.
“About time, Grant,” Stramaglia said harshly. “Park your butt and let’s go over exactly what that fine bunch of glory hounds of yours did.”
Magruder started to rise. “I’ll let you-“
“Stay put, Magruder. If you’re going to be my deputy you’d better be in on this.”
As Tombstone resumed his seat CAG leaned forward and took the bundle of paperwork from Coyote. Stramaglia deposited the folder unread on the desk and looked Coyote over slowly. “You lost two men and a plane out there this morning, Grant … and worse than that, you let your people violate the ROEs and maybe pushed us into a full-fledged war. Does that sum up the situation in your estimation?”
Coyote nodded slowly, his face a mask. “Yes, Sir,” he said quietly.
“Got anything to say for yourself?”
Hesitating, Grant looked from Stramaglia to Magruder and back again. “It was a very fluid situation, Sir,” he replied. “Men can make mistakes especially when the men have limited experience.”
“Don’t make excuses!” Stramaglia barked. “You are the squadron commander, Mr. Grant, and that makes you responsible. So don’t hide behind your men!”
Coyote didn’t answer, but he glanced at Magruder again. There was a long silence before Stramaglia went on. “If we didn’t need every experienced aviator in the stable, I’d pull you and that kid … what’s his name? Powers? I’d pull You both off the flight roster. Him for being an irresponsible asshole and you for letting an irresponsible asshole run loose. As it is, I can’t afford to do that. But you can be sure I’m going to have some things to say that aren’t going to look good in your files, Grant. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, Sir,” Coyote said meekly.
“All right. Now on to new business. Odds are our Russian friends aren’t going to be too happy with us after this one. Washington hasn’t responded with any official word, but the admiral and I are agreed we need to up our readiness in case of a retaliation. Capish?”
Grant nodded. “I agree, Sir. Best to take the cautious approach.”
Stramaglia glared at him. “Glad to hear you approve,” he said coldly. “As of now I’m putting one squadron on Alert Fifteen at all times. Javelins will be first up. Owens’ll post the rest of the rotation.”
“Yes, Sir.”
CAG’s order made good sense, Magruder told himself. It meant that the four fighter squadrons aboard would each pull long hours waiting in the ready rooms each day, suited up and ready to respond to an emergency. But at least they could put eight or ten planes in the air on short notice … although it would give the Air Boss headaches to keep so many aircraft ready for a quick launch.
“That’s it for now, Grant,” Stramaglia said after a moment. “But make sure you have a little talk with your people about what happened today. Because if Powers or any of those other hotdogs runs wild again, I’ll have your hide!”
Coyote left hastily, looking pale. He wouldn’t meet Magruder’s eyes on his way out.
When he was gone Stramaglia steepled his fingers on his desk and looked at Tombstone through narrowed eyes. “You think I was too hard on him, Magruder?”
“He’s a damned good man, sir,” Tombstone said. “And he can’t nursemaid every nugget up there.”
“And he’s also your friend.” CAG shook his head. “There’s no room for friendship in a job like this, Magruder. Think about that. Someday you might have to treat a friend that way.”
“But-“
“From where I’m sitting the important thing about what happened this morning is the fact that we just shot up two Russian airplanes. If by some miracle the Russkies don’t treat that as an act of war, we’ve got to make damned sure there aren’t any repeats. And if they do come after us I’ve got to make sure those damned hotdogs are on a short leash. Your buddy Grant’s the one who’s responsible for the Vipers, so he’s the one I have to land on with both feet. If you don’t like it, mister, then you’d better not plan on ever sitting in this chair.”
Tombstone swallowed and nodded slowly. He didn’t like it, but CAG was right … as far as he went. But surely there was a better way to handle it. “I understand, sir.”
“Good. Lesson over. Now get the hell out of here so I can start figuring out how to save a squadron commander’s neck when I file my report.”
Magruder was halfway out the door before he realized what Stramaglia had said. Perhaps the man really did care about the officers in his outfit after all.
Coyote met him in the passageway.
“Thanks a lot for all the support, buddy,” he said bitterly, blocking Magruder’s path. His face was flushed, and his eyes were angry. “You could’ve said something to get that bastard off my back. Instead you just sat there and let him dish it out!”
“C’mon, Willie-“
“Never mind! I guess that’s what happens when you get the big promotion, huh? All of a sudden keeping your own nose clean is more important than helping out your friends.” Coyote turned away abruptly and started down the corridor.
“Coyote-” Magruder began. Then he shrugged and turned away. It was no use arguing with Coyote now anyway. Maybe when he calmed down …
How could he think I wouldn’t stand by him? Magruder wondered, hurt and angry. He’d gone to bat for Coyote after Grant had left, even knowing that Stramaglia was likely to come down on him just as hard as he had on Viper Squadron’s commander. Didn’t Coyote realize that he’d never let a friend down that way? Or was the friendship too strained by time and distance now to hold up any longer?
He was beginning to think Stramaglia was right. There was no room for friendship in his job now.
“The President of the United States!”
The men and women gathered in the underground chamber surged to their feet at the announcement from the Marine guard at the door, but President Frederick Connally waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as he entered, impatient with the ritual. Didn’t these people realize there were more important things to worry about than observing the formalities?
He looked around the small room with its walnut paneling and the massive teakwood conference table that dominated everything. The expressions his top advisors wore told him the news wasn’t good.
With a sigh he settled into the leather chair at the head of the table. An Air Force officer carrying an innocuous-looking briefcase took up a position nearby.
Connally hated that briefcase and everything it stood for. It was the “football,” holding the codes that would grant Presidential authorization for a nuclear weapons release. The football had been much on his mind these last few days.