“I don’t know yet,” Tombstone said. “But it looks like the UN is coming down solidly on Greece’s side. At least if you read between the lines. They’re going to try for peaceful settlement, of course.” He spread his hands, indicating the futility of that. “You know how likely that is to work.”
Coyote nodded. “Indeed, I do. So what can you tell us?”
Tombstone shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable with having so few answers. “For now, it’s a question of what you can tell me. How is Jefferson? How ready are you? And if you’re not one hundred percent, what do you need to get there?”
Coyote frowned, apparently slightly offended. “We’re always ready, Admiral. Just like we were when you were in command here.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Coyote.” Tombstone made an impatient gesture. “Okay, okay, your position is that the Jefferson is one hundred percent combat ready. Now that we’ve made that a matter of record, tell me the truth. What do you need?”
“A couple of spare parts, Admiral. That’s really about it. They’re already on high-priority replacement, so I’m not sure what else we can do to get them here. The main thing I need is for everyone and his brother to stop tapping me for liaison officers. I got enough people to man my squadrons, to fly and fix my aircraft, but I can’t be sending my best people off the ship to join staffs.”
Tombstone laughed, recognizing the eternal dilemma of a battle group. “That includes mine, I take it?”
Coyote grinned. “I would never say that, Admiral.”
“You don’t have to.”
There was a moment of silence, then Tombstone said, “Formal briefing tomorrow morning?”
Batman nodded. “Are you out of here tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yep, unless I can figure out a way to get some more stick time,” Tombstone said. To his surprise, Batman said, “We could make that happen, Admiral. I can move the briefing up to this evening and Coyote can get you in on the first cycles tomorrow. If you take a pilot with you, CAG will even loan you an aircraft so you can fly yourself to your final destination. In fact, Bird Dog should be back on board in a few hours. I’ll toss him in your backseat, let him bring the bird back. How about that?”
Tombstone stood, now feeling the effects of transiting too many time zones in too few hours. “Sounds great. After the evening meal, then?”
“You got it, sir. And where exactly are you headed for?” Coyote asked.
“A little place up in northern Greece, right near the coast. A place called Tavista Air Base.”
Tomcat Ready Room
Tavista Air Base
1400 local (GMT –2)
The Greek squadron duty officer averted his face from the woman standing in front of his desk. The small room was starting to fill up with pilots and NFOs wandering back after lengthy lunches, quick naps, and clandestine meetings with lovers — nooners, in military parlance — and he was hoping desperately that someone senior would walk in during the next several moments. Anyone, pilot or not, just someone who could answer the very difficult questions the woman was asking. Over the last five minutes, she’d becoming increasingly loud, and now her high-pitched voice was approaching a screech.
“You know where he is. Tell me now!” The woman darted around the edge of the desk and glowered down at him. “Is it another woman? You men — you hide each other, lie for each other — tell me the truth now!”
“I have not seen your husband for three days,” the duty officer said, trying for some semblance of official dignity. “He is not on the flight schedule.”
The woman snorted. “Excuses, excuses.” She turned as a particularly boisterous set of officers came into the room. The aviators recognized her immediately and fell as silent as the rest of the group. “You,” she said imperiously, pointing at one of them. “I know you. You fly with my Antipodes, yes?”
The RIO she’d pointed at turned pale. Dark circles around his eyes accented the haggard lines in his face. “No… no, I don’t know him.” He looked beseechingly at the rest of the officers. “I don’t know him.”
For just a moment, the woman looked uncertain. Then her expression hardened into determination. She abandoned the cowed duty officer and darted across the room and grabbed the RIO by his lapel. She shook him, then slapped him across his face. “You lie! You know where he is!”
The RIO seemed powerless to move, incapable of loosening the grip this madwoman had on his flight suit. The other aviators backed away from him.
“I… I…” the RIO stuttered, not knowing what he intended to say if he could ever regain control of his mouth. Then he had an inspiration. “Special duty — your husband is on special duty for General Arkady.”
“Ha!” she spat, but she turned loose of him. “And you said you did not know him.” She turned to fix a piercing glare on the rest of the men. “Cowards, every one of you. I shall go to General Arkady myself and demand an explanation.” She shouted a curse at the duty officer, then let herself out of the ready room, slamming the door behind her.
The assembled men let out a collective sigh. The deep gloom in the room deepened. Finally, the duty officer picked up the telephone. “I shall call Colonel Zentos,” he said to the room at large. “If he can reach her…” He let his voice trail off as he dialed the chief of staff’s telephone number. The rest of his sentence went unspoken, but every man knew what he’d intended to say.
If I can reach Colonel Zentos before the general hears her, she may live another day.
FIVE
Saturday, 6 May
Tavista, Italy
1800 local (GMT –2)
This time of year, the evenings in Greece were long and glorious. Sunshine hung in the air for an impossibly long time, keeping tourists out on a narrow cobblestone road. Traffic was light, since most people preferred to walk in this ancient city carved out of the hills. Roads ran at seemingly random angles up and down the hills, but all eventually returned to the main marketplace. The air was still warm, redolent with the sharp spice of cooking, the pungent smell of a city that spent its days drenched in sunshine. Whitewashed walls contrasted with the perfusion of flowers and foliage. Many of the walls had stood for centuries, refurbished on the outside with fresh coats of paint, but essentially structurally stable over the years.
For Brad and Clara Summit, it was the honeymoon of a lifetime. It was what they’d planned on, saved their pennies and scrimped for during the eighteen months they’d been engaged in order to afford their dream beginning to their life together. Married only three days earlier in Minneapolis, Minnesota, they had flown straight into Athens, rented a car, and driven north to Tavista.
“It’s all too perfect,” Clara exclaimed. She paused next to a streetside vendor, inhaling deeply and letting the spices suffuse her senses. “Everything I dreamed of — and you.” She turned to face her new husband, love gleaming in her eyes. “It could not be more perfect, Brad. And neither could you.”
Brad reached out and pulled her close, still marveling that this wonderful woman had agreed to spend her life with him. At thirty-three, he’d given up hope of ever finding the perfect mate. But then Clara had appeared in his life, a graduate student auditing his course in ancient English literature. He’d always insisted that it was her mind that attracted him first, but in his heart of hearts, he knew better. It had been her eyes, deep azure, a match for the unbelievable water they’d flown over in the descent to Greece. He’d never seen that particular color before, and spent hours musing over the fact that the very edge of her pupil was shot through with golden streaks. A lifetime would be too short to delve into all the mysteries those eyes held.
“Me, too,” he said, then silently berated himself for not coming up with more perfect words. Shouldn’t an English professor be able to do better than that? Maybe quote a sonnet, at least be able to put into words how very much he loved her. But he settled for saying it again. “Me, too.”
They lingered for a moment, standing close on the sidewal
k with their arms wrapped around each other. Pedestrians simply veered around them, some pausing to chuckle or smile wistfully at the sight of a couple so much in love. Finally, Clara pulled back slightly. “I’m famished. How about some lunch, then we go back to our hotel room?”
Brad chuckled. “Then what?”
Suddenly, he could hardly wait. He pointed at a café just off the main road. “How about there?”
Clara didn’t even look at it. “Perfect. Come on, then.” Brad led the way to the café, hoping the food would be good. It had been at most of the local spots that they’d eaten in, and he was thankful that neither of them were prone to Montezuma’s Revenge.
They seated themselves, their eyes grateful for a break from the sunshine. Once their orders were placed, they went back to staring into each other’s eyes.
Without warning, a violent explosion rocked the café. Clara, who had had her back to the door, was thrown over the table and landed on top of him. The table followed, slamming into the back of her head and driving her face into his neck. He could feel her teeth graze his skin, the hard weight of her body on his underneath the old wooden table. For a moment, his world consisted of nothing more than Clara’s weight and a violent wash of sound.
There was a moment of silence. Then the screaming started, panicky wailing, as the patrons tried to make some sense of the world. Brad heard himself cry out, his voice harsh and anguished. He reached around Clara, and tried to shove the table off of her body. It resisted, then slipped partway off so the weight was resting on one edge to the side. He bucked, forcing it up for a second. As it moved, he slid to the side, dragging Clara with him. Cut glass slashed into his hand. He cried out again, for a split second oblivious to anything except the pain.
The noise, there was so much noise. It was overwhelming, a chorus of voices screaming out in pain and anguish.
Then it hit him. The only one not screaming was Clara. He bent over, his own pain forgotten, and cradled her face in his hands. “Clara? Oh my God, Clara!”
Her eyes were half shut, the perfect orbs that haunted his dreams rolled back under her eyelids. Her mouth was slack.
He bent over, moaning, trying frantically to escape the moment that he knew was careening toward him. It wouldn’t be long from now, not long at all. It bore down on him with an awful inevitability that frightened him beyond all reason.
Clara’s face was unmarked, the smooth clear skin still flushed by the blood that had moments before pounded in her veins. There was not a mark on the front of her, and he felt cold dread growing at what he must do.
Gently, no longer calling out her name, he rolled her slightly onto her side. Warm wetness flooded through his fingers. He moved his hand up her body to the base of her neck, then down her back. Mangled tissue slipped under his fingers, evidence of the deadly impact she had taken from behind. The noise in the room receded as his future crashed in on him.
Tavista Air Base
1820 local (GMT –2)
General Arkady heard the news first from Colonel Zentos. His command post monitored the police frequencies, and although the early reports were confused and incomplete, Arkady knew immediately what he was facing.
“How many casualties?” He asked, his voice cold and hard.
“At least twenty, sir. There are no exact figures yet, but it looks like the front half of the café was obliterated by the bomb.”
“Is anyone claiming responsibility?”
The chief of staff shook his head. “Not yet. But it’s early still.”
General Arkady stood. “A cease-fire — surely they must now see the futility of it.” He pounded one hand on his desk, and shouted, “It is one thing to kill another soldier. But to attack innocent civilians, to bring this war to the very streets of our city — no, I will not allow it. I will not.”
“Was it the Macedonians?” Zentos asked.
Arkady turned to glare at him. “Who else would do this? Greeks killing Greeks — who else would possibly commit such an atrocity?”
Zentos thought he knew the answer to that particular question. Wisely, he kept his thoughts to himself. “Until someone claims responsibility, General, I think that—”
Arkady placed both hands on his desk and leaned across to glare at the colonel. “I do not need your thoughts at this time. What I need is for your actions to mirror your supposed commitment to me. The rebels have struck at the very heart of our city, and you talk to me about proof?”
The colonel kept silent, aware of the danger. Still, Arkady’s reaction puzzled him. It wasn’t the general’s way to be worried about casualties, particularly not civilian ones.
“I want those reporters,” Arkady raged. “Let them see the brutality of Macedonia, let them understand how they fight their war. And the UN would have us work out a settlement with these terrorists? Never. Not as long as I’m in command.” He paused for a moment, and continued in a different tone of voice, “Your SAR mission — when is it scheduled?”
Zentos was slightly taken aback by the change of subject, but said, “Tomorrow afternoon, General.”
The general nodded. “Bring me results, Colonel. Or suffer the consequences.”
USS Jefferson
Admiral’s Conference Room
1500 local (GMT –2)
Tombstone studied the chart outlining the disposition of the UN forces inside Greece. The troops were concentrated along the border, with most of them assigned to Tavista Air Base. “Lot of firepower for one air base,” he noted. “How are they handling the logistics?”
“Pretty well, so far,” Batman answered. “They’ve assured us that their maintenance facilities are more than capable of handling our Tomcats. We’ll have to take some extra fly-away boxes in for the Hornets, but most of the consumables are interchangeable with the Tomcats. O-rings, cotter pins, that sort of thing.”
“They’ve got a major rework facility co-located there,” Coyote supplied. “The Tomcats should be fine for anything up to and including an engine change out.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Tombstone answered. “In fact, let’s hope all we end up doing is flying nice, quiet surveillance missions.”
Both Batman and Coyote looked doubtful. “I don’t think so,” Batman said. He shuffled through the message traffic in front of him, selected one, and passed it to Tombstone. “You heard about that American couple that was killed in the bombing?”
Tombstone nodded. “They weren’t the only ones. Lot of local folks were injured, too.”
“Yeah, but they’re the ones getting the big publicity push,” Batman said. “And the Greeks are making the most of it. They know exactly which buttons to push with us.”
“How so?”
Batman gestured to Lab Rat. “Fill the admiral in.”
Lab Rat stood and pointed a clicker at the computer in the back of the room. A full face photo of a Greek general officer flashed onto the screen. “This is General Dimitri Arkady, chief of staff of the Greek Army and current commander of the UN forces. UNFORGREECE, it’s called. He’s a hardliner and he’s been looking for an excuse to push this entire conflict to a military resolution. The terrorist bombing was just what he needed. He’s calling for preemptive retaliatory strikes against known and suspected Macedonian forces.”
“Hell of a peacekeeping mission,” Coyote said, his face twisted with distaste. “Peace through superior firepower.”
“It’s gone further than we originally thought,” Lab Rat said. “Intelligence reports indicate he’s already got the first two strikes planned and weaponeered. And he’s making a big push in the international media about how it’s a duty he owes to his great friends the Americans.”
“How’s that playing out?” Tombstone asked. Pamela Drake’s face flashed through his mind, and he felt a wave of grief surge through him. Whatever differences of opinion they’d had, and no matter that he was completely content married to Tomboy, Pamela had been more than just an acquaintance. A fiancée for several years, d
angerously close to being a wife.
Pamela would have been able to cut through Arkady’s bullshit. He could see her now as clearly as though she were in the room, hammering the general with tough questions, spiking follow-up questions into the broadcast. How would she have slanted this story? he wondered.
“Most of the media is going along with it,” Lab Rat said. “They know how to hook their American audiences.” He shook his head. “We think we can go anywhere in the world and be safe. Hell, we can’t even go downtown after dark in some American cities.”
“But it’s going to be hard to back him into a corner over this one,” Tombstone observed. “We’ve used American civilian casualties overseas too many times ourselves as a justification for military action.”
Lab Rat nodded. “Exactly our assessment. When he’s taking the same position we’ve held in public so many times, it’s going to be difficult to counsel moderation in the UN.”
Tombstone stood and stretched. “So you’re telling me I’m stepping into a hornet’s nest, right?”
Batman nodded. “That’s about it. From what Lab Rat says, the Greeks are locked and loaded, and they’re going to use the UN strike assets to conduct the attacks.” His face grew somber. “Be careful, Tombstone. Arkady’s a slippery critter, and the world’s getting to be an ugly place again.”
Tombstone looked at him levelly. “I’m just an advisor. But, yeah, I’ll be careful.”
SIX
Sunday, 7 May
Tomcat 200
0800 local (GMT –2)
Tombstone sat on the catapult, waiting for the launch. These were the moments he felt most fully alive, with everything on the line and waiting for that final salute from the catapult officer. Below him, the shuttle was already fastened to his aircraft, thousands of pounds of steam pressure behind it, waiting for release.
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