A glint of pale moonlight on the wing of one of Mercury Flight’s two A-6E Intruders caught Tombstone’s eye. It was what naval aviators called a “Commander’s moon,” bright enough to help older pilots — the ones who held ranks of commander and higher — compensate for less acute vision in difficult night carrier landings. Commander Matthew Magruder hadn’t really thought of himself in that category until tonight, but the difficulty with the tanker had made him all too conscious of the fact that he wasn’t the hotshot Top Gun pilot who’d joined the Jefferson three years back. Three years could be a lifetime to a fighter pilot.
It also made him realize that this could be his last chance to recapture that old life. And the long ferry mission had made him aware all over again of just how much open skies and thundering jets really meant to him. Coming back to the Jefferson again was only part of what was driving him tonight. The carrier was special, of course, but Magruder would probably have jumped at the chance for an assignment anywhere beyond the confines of Washington, Anywhere he could recapture the feeling of freedom this long flight out of sight of land had brought back.
Two years chained to land hadn’t dimmed the sheer joy of strapping on an F-14 and reaching for the limitless skies.
Of course he’d flown often enough those last two years, but it hadn’t been the same. Getting in enough hours to qualify each week wasn’t like the day-to-day cycle of carrier ops. He had always felt tied to the land, bound to that hated Pentagon office that would reclaim him when each flight was done. It had been two years of Hell but it was over now.
Now he was going home to the Jefferson. It should have been the happiest day of Tombstone’s life … would have been, if not for the circumstances that surrounded the new assignment. Seemingly overnight a minor boundary dispute between Norway and the Soviet Union had blossomed into armed conflict. With NATO virtually a dead letter and the United States hesitating over unilateral intervention, the crisis was still a local one confined to Scandinavia. But everything pointed toward a change in the wind, and it looked as if Jefferson would once again be sailing into harm’s way. Why else would Mercury Flight be ferrying planes out to replace aircraft destroyed in the flight deck accident the carrier had suffered almost a week ago? It wasn’t normal practice … except when it looked like those planes would be needed.
He supposed the same could be said for himself. That same accident had cost CVW-20 her Deputy CAG. Someone back in Washington must have thought the carrier’s air wing would be needing a new second-in-command soon, or they wouldn’t have tapped Tombstone for the job. It had been a hurry-up job all around, with no time at all for Magruder to be properly briefed on his new job. It was nice to know that someone thought he could handle the position all the same.
Of course, there was always the chance that this was just another public-relations ploy. The hero of Wonsan and the Indian Ocean crisis was a useful card to play when public support was the goal. And America’s new President, the first Democrat to occupy the White House since Jimmy Carter, needed every good card he could lay his hands on now that it looked like the Soviets were bursting back on the world stage with a vengeance.
The thought made Tombstone cringe inwardly. He had never been comfortable with the hero treatment even though he’d come to terms with it after North Korea. But his staff job at the Pentagon had been little more than an excuse to keep him available for public appearances, Congressional testimony, and media events. He had joined the Navy to become an aviator, to fly a fighter like his father and his uncle before him. Boring paperwork and exercises in public relations had never been his goal. A sleek fighter and open sky were all Matthew Magruder wanted or needed.
If his return to active duty on the Jefferson was intended or just another piece of PR work, Tombstone thought, then the people who’d ordered it were going to be surprised. He wouldn’t allow anyone to saddle him with another rear-echelon role. Never again, he vowed silently.
The moonlight gleamed off the Intruder’s wing again. The bomber was drifting right, out of formation. Magruder bit his lip and keyed in his radio. “Mercury Five-one-one, Mercury Leader,” he said. “Let’s tighten it up, there, Lieutenant.”
The reply was a startled “Sorry, sir.” Slowly the Intruder nudged back into formation.
It had been a long flight, and all four pilots were tired. This had been the most sustained flying Magruder had done in two years, and he imagined the others weren’t much better prepared. They’d been drawn from Reserve Air Groups in the States, and like Tombstone they wouldn’t have had much excuse for practicing any of the types of operations that were routine for carrier-based flyers.
Two Tomcats, two Intruders … and at that they’d still be short of a full complement by three more planes. That accident on Jefferson’s flight deck had been a messy one. It wasn’t the best way Tombstone could think of to get the assignment he’d coveted, especially when the Deputy CAG he was replacing had been a friend from the old days. Commander Isaac “Jolly Green” Greene, who’d survived a shoot-down during the Wonsan operation, and had played a key role in the Alpha Strike that had stopped the war between India and Pakistan, hadn’t been all that well liked by his comrades on the Jefferson back then, but he’d been a first-class Intruder pilot and a fine squadron commander with a reputation for guts and determination. He’d beaten Magruder out for the coveted Deputy CAG post when Jefferson’s new deployment had first been announced, and despite his own disappointment Tombstone had been glad that it had been Jolly Greene who took it away from him.
It seemed wrong somehow that the big, sarcastic man had bought it in a flight deck accident. He had survived deadly Triple-A fire over Wonsan and the icy waters off the Korean coast, only to die when the Intruder he was riding in as an observer had skidded while landing on a wet deck. His ejection seat had thrown him clear of the carrier … but hours of searching by SAR copters had never found him.
That wasn’t how Tombstone would have wanted his homecoming to start … but now he’d be stepping into the dead man’s shoes whether he liked it or not.
Tombstone buried the thought. At least he was back on carrier duty again, where he belonged. That was what really counted.
CHAPTER 3
“Mercury One-oh-nine, Charlie now.”
Tombstone acknowledged Jefferson’s order to break out of the holding pattern and start his final approach. The rest of Mercury Flight had already landed safely, though one of the Intruder pilots had nearly lost it in the last few seconds. Some good coaching from the Landing Signals Officer down on the carrier deck had kept the kid from cracking up, but it had been a close call.
That incident, coming hard on the heels of his own refueling problem, was the sort of thing that would have warned off someone who believed in bad omens. Tombstone had never considered himself superstitious, but this flight was shaking his skepticism.
Now only Darkstar, the KA-6 tanker that had flown back from the rendezvous point with them, remained aloft with the Tomcat. It would keep on circling until the F-14 had landed, in case Tombstone needed to tank up again before landing.