"You know… flying? With an airplane? Working with the Thais?"
"That's it, man!" Nightmare said. "Working with 'em by day and playing with 'em by night! Some of those That babes-"
"Uh uh," Batman said, shaking his head. "Not me. None of this here local gook poon for yours truly! That's why I'm for the Airport Hotel!"
"So what's wrong with local girls?" Price asked. "You prejudiced or something?"
"Nah. I just want a gal in my league, is all. You know how stews just love fighter jocks…"
"You'd be a natural with your medal, Stoney," Nightmare said. "You go into the bar, see? You sidle up alongside a lonely-looking lovely, and you quietly let slip that you are a genuine American Naval hero, winner of the Navy Cross…"
"… and all of a sudden you've got twenty gorgeous girls," Batman finished for him. "All rubbing up against you in their low-cut gowns, just begging you to take them back to their room!"
"Sounds crowded."
"That, my friend, is the true and deep tragedy of the American hero.
Alone… unloved… unappreciated, he nevertheless must bear the slings and arrows of misfortune-"
"That's 'outrageous fortune.""
"Y'know, Stoney, now that I think about it, maybe you should let me borrow that fancy ribbon of yours. I could put it to real good use!"
"Yeah!" Nightmare snickered. "It's gonna be wasted up in that jungle!"
Tombstone laughed, but the reminder about the medal brought a small stab of guilt. He still felt uncomfortable with the whole hero idea and wished the others would drop the subject.
"Well, Stoney," Batman said slowly. "I'll tell you. I will be thinking of you while you're up at that remote, jungle outpost. I truly will. And the first stew I get in the sack, I'll slip in the old salami and say, 'Stoney, this screw's for you!""
"Your generosity is overwhelming." He looked away from the group, toward a large, mounted photograph on one paneled bulkhead. Taken from another aircraft, it showed ten aircraft from VF-95 flying in formation toward the camera, with the bow-on Jefferson astern and below.
The squadron.
Despite the banter, Tombstone had been looking forward to his assignment at U Feng ever since CAG had told him about it that afternoon. He was not one for nightlife, and he didn't feel the driving need to bed and boast that seemed to animate the others. Batman, perhaps, was more typical in that respect. At least he followed the aviator's party line.
Well, he could have his stewardesses, and welcome. Tombstone was eager to see something of a mystic land that was more fairy tale than fact.
One thing was certain. His assignment to U Feng was going to give him a week away from the ship. A week away from Batman. Tombstone liked the guy, but he could certainly get on a fellow's nerves with his super fighter jock routine.
Tombstone leaned far back in his chair and scratched himself comfortably.
Yes, Batman could bang his stews until he was blue in the face… or wherever. For Tombstone, the jungles of the exotic Golden Triangle might be just the vacation he needed.
CHAPTER 6
"Now hear this! Now hear this! Lieutenant Commander Magruder, report to the admiral's office on the double!"
Tombstone turned as the voice blared from the 5-MC speaker mounted high on the island above the flight deck. "Now what the hell…?"
Chief Bob Smith looked up from the maintenance reports he'd been reviewing with Tombstone. "What the shit you been up to, Commander?"
"Beats me, Smitty," Tombstone said, handing another stack of maintenance forms to the bearded senior chief. "But it sounds like I'd better find out."
He started down the line of aircraft parked along the edge of the flight deck, their tails hanging out over the water like gigantic, roosting birds.
Across the deck, green-jerseyed handlers were working around an SH-3D Sea King helicopter which had arrived on board Jefferson twenty minutes earlier.
Tombstone had seen the landing but not the passengers. He wondered if the helo's arrival had something to do with his summons to see his uncle.
At a doorway leading into the island he nearly collided with Batman, who was just coming out onto the roof. "Hey, Stoney! You hear?"
"I heard."
"You up for a lecture from your uncle or what?"
Tombstone pulled off his cranial and his floater ― the helmet and life jacket worn while working on the flight deck ― and shoved them at Batman's gut.
"Whatever it is, it'll beat the hell out of listening to any more of your stories!"
Batman laughed. "Aw, you're just jealous, Stoney!" Breakfast in the Dirty Shirt Wardroom that morning had been made entertaining by Batman's tales of his rendezvous in Bangkok the night before with a gorgeous blond stewardess named Becky. "You oughta come into town with me tonight! Becky's bringing a friend!"
"Not tonight," Tombstone said, grinning. "Too much paperwork to do."
He made his way down gray steel corridors, then trotted up a succession of zigzagging ship's ladders up through the heart of the island. Minutes later, he arrived at the admiral's outer office on the 0–9 deck level and opened the door. A yeoman first class looked up from a steel desk and nodded.
"Mr. Magruder! You're to go right in, sir."
The inner sanctum looked more like an executive's office than something on board ship, with wood-paneled bulkheads and oil paintings of sailing ships and Navy aircraft. The deck was carpeted, and the furniture would not have been out of place in a men's club. Only the round, steel-framed portholes along one bulkhead proved that they were still aboard ship.
Tombstone had always been troubled by the protocol of having a two-star admiral for an uncle. Navy custom and common sense both dictated that he play it conservatively and pretend he didn't know the guy… at least until they were alone and discussing nonmilitary subjects. It was easier this time, though. The admiral was not alone. Captain Fitzgerald stood by the bulkhead, looking out a porthole, and there were three civilians seated in chairs in front of the admiral's desk.
He realized that these must have been the passengers who had arrived earlier aboard the Sea King. Two were men, one small with owlish-looking glasses and a crumpled suit, the second taller and brawnier and wearing a loud print shirt and a handlebar mustache. The third civilian was a woman.
She was lovely, wearing a conservative gray skirt and jacket which seemed out of place with the disarray of her blond hair ― the result, Tombstone decided, of the cranial she'd worn during the helo flight to the carrier. Her eyes were a pale, ice blue.
"I'm Pamela Drake, Commander," she said in a crisp, businesslike tone as she rose. It was clear immediately that she was the one in charge of the trio. "American Cable Network. This is my cameraman, Bob Griffith. My soundman, Hugh Baughman."
He shook hands with the two in turn. Griffith was the tall, mustached man, Baughman the one with glasses.
Tombstone exchanged a brief glance with the admiral. "Welcome to our boat, Miss Drake," he said.
"Pleased to meet you, Commander." She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at the admiral. "But I don't care to be patronized. I may be a civilian, but I know you call something this large a 'ship," not a 'boat.""
"Actually, he's quite correct, ma'am," Fitzgerald said. "Aviators always call their carrier a 'boat." God knows why. Even when you get too old to fly, like me or the admiral here."
"Mind your manners, Captain," the admiral said. As Pamela resumed her seat, he turned to Tombstone. "It seems that you're something of a celebrity, son. Miss Drake here has come out to the Jefferson to get some film clips for a news program special she's doing. When she found out you were aboard, well…"