The centerpiece and justification of it all was just ahead, the great slab-sided form with its unique cubical island structure, a design quirk left over from a radar system that never really worked all that well. It was the grand old lady of the fleet, the USS Enterprise, jeweled by the sunfire striking off the canopies of the ranked aircraft on her decks.
“Now, that is a pretty, pretty picture,” Arkady breathed into the intercom.
“I agree,” Amanda replied. “This is her last West Pac. One of her reactors has already been powered down due to neutron fatigue. When she goes home this time, it’s to the breakers yard.”
“Yeah.” She saw his helmet bob in acknowledgment.
“I’ll tell you something though, babe. On the day they haul the Big E’s flag down, I’m going to take myself out and get me drunk enough to be able to cry “
“You can lend me a shoulder, Arkady. I’ll have a few tears to shed myself.”
The aviator keyed his radio transmitter “Air Boss Seven One Alpha, this is Retainer Zero One cross-decking from USS Cunningham to Task Force Flag. Requesting approach and landing clearance.”
“Retainer Zero One, we are involved in a fixed-wing recovery at this time. Hold on station off our starboard quarter and stay alert for descending traffic. You are next to land.”
“Retainer Zero One. Rug.”
Amanda twisted around in the cockpit and scanned astern. A single F/A-18 Super Hornet was in the approach path, riding the invisible beam of the Fresnell lamp down to the carrier’s deck. Flying dirty with undercarriage, tail hook, and flaps all fully extended, it seemed to float hesitantly out of the sky, unwilling to surrender the freedom of flight. Then, as the flattop came into the field of vision, the true perspective of the landing became apparent. The last few seconds of the plane’s descent became a flashing blur of speed, climaxing with the puff of blue smoke that marked the impact of landing gear on antiskid.
“Retainer Zero One, this is Air Boss Seven One Alpha. You are cleared to complete cross decking. Be advised you will be positioned on Spot Three. Watch for your deck controller.”
“Roger D. Cunningham arriving.”
As Retainer Zero One sidled across the last thousand-odd yards to the carrier, Arkady switched back to the cockpit interphone. “What’s the game plan, babe?” he inquired.
“What do you mean?”
“This is going to be your first face to-face meeting with Admiral Tallman. Knowing you, you’ve got to have a plan.”
“Nothing much beyond trying to convince him that we’ll stay out of his hair if he’ll stay out of ours.”
“Watch yourself, though. Trying to convince an admiral that you know more than he does is touchy work.”
“I’m going to try it anyhow. You know me, love. I hate being tied down.”
They found themselves taking pleasure in this use of endearments, taking advantage of this pocket of privacy to let down their guard for a brief moment.
“You sure? We haven’t tried it that way yet.” Amanda heard the grin in Arkady’s voice, and she reached forward over the cockpit divider to administer a quick poke in the shoulder.
The circle-dot-line deck symbol of a vertical landing point grew under the helicopter. Bouncing lightly on her landing gear, the Sea Comanche touched down. One of the Enterprise’s flight-deckhands escorted her on the dash across to the base of the island. A marine orderly was standing by at the hatchway, waiting for her.
“Captain Garrett?” he yelled over the clamor of the flight deck. “Admiral Tallman sends his compliments and requests that I escort you to his day cabin.”
“Very well,” she yelled back, shedding her flight gear “Let’s go.”
Amanda followed him into the island structure. As she passed through the hatchway, she reached out and gave the worn metal near the dogging latches a greeting pat. Shore dwellers have friends, lovers, and relations. Manners also have ships. Amanda had put a tour in aboard the Big E a few years back. It was good to say hello again.
“Pardon me, Corporal. Before we go topside, I need to freshen up a little. Is there still a women’s head on this deck?”
“Yes, ma’am. Two frames aft down this passageway.”
Amanda was unzipping her Nomex flight suit as she brushed past the door. Underneath, she was wearing a set of summer khakis, not one of her usual wash sets, but one of her custom tailoreds, ironed out into knife-edged creases. She’d considered wearing her whites but had decided that would be overkill. But she had brought a new set of decoration ribbons. When one went into the lion’s den, one carried what ammunition one could. Gentlemen, there is one Navy Cross in this room, and neither of you is wearing it.
A few moments to check the touch of makeup she had donned and another few to comb her hair smooth from the tousling it had received from the rotor wash, and she was ready.
The Enterprise’s Flag Quarters were that curious mix of luxury and utility unique to such habitations. Golden oak wall panels and navy-blue carpeting challenged an overhead cluttered with cable clusters and insulated ductwork. The large combined office and sitting room was furnished with a comfortably masculine-looking couch-and-chair set done in burgundy leather. The two men occupying the cabin hastily came to their feet as she was ushered in.
“Commander Amanda Lee Garrett reporting on station, sir.”
“At ease, Commander, and welcome aboard.”
Admiral Tallman was a solid man carrying only a little middle-aged weight. His dark hair was thinning and his rather narrow brown eyes shone with a mixture of humor and shrewd intelligence.
When he shook her hand after their exchange of salutes, there was a slight bow and touch of old Georgia courtesy to his action. There was also a faint smile on his face. He recognized the meaning behind those neat rows of gleaming ribbons over her left breast and he appeared willing to acknowledge her points on protocol.
“Commander Garrett, this is my chief of staff, Commander Nolan Walker.”
Walker was essentially a colorless man, gray eyes and pale skin providing no contrast for his graying blond hair. As Amanda accepted his hand she could feel the adversarial sparks jump between them. She couldn’t quite call whether it was because she was a woman or because she had a ship and he didn’t. There weren’t all that many command slots in the modern Navy, but there were a lot of officers like Walker, a year or two overage in grade and listening to their career clocks ticking down toward zero.
“A pleasure to meet you, Commander Walker,” Amanda replied levelly.
Tallman gestured Amanda into one of the cabin’s chairs, taking the couch for himself. Walker preferred to stand, leaning back against the cabin’s desk.
“I’m glad we’ve finally got to meet face-to-face, Captain,” the Admiral said. “I’ve heard a lot about you and the Duke.”
“I hope it’s been favorable, sir,” Amanda replied politely.
“It has been from my intelligence people. They say the Cunningham’s been coming across with some pretty good stuff. This remote sensor net you’ve been deploying seems to be producing as advertised.”
Amanda nodded. “We’ve had good luck with it so far. Mated up with our onboard Elint and Sigint systems, we seem to have a pretty good package going. I have to give the credit to Lieutenant Rendino, my intelligence officer, and her people. They’re the ones who are making it work.”
Tallman shrugged. “It’s still your watch, Captain. The thing is, you seem to be working in pretty close. From the look of it, you were right up on the beach last night.”
Amanda nodded. “That’s an aspect of stealth doctrine. You simply can’t reduce the radar cross section of a vessel the size of the Cunningham to zero. There will just about always be some kind of residual return. If you loiter around in open water, you run the risk of standing out enough to be noticed, like a ball bearing on a beach. If you work in close, you can lose your RCS against the shore clutter.”