Chain of Command c-12

by Keith Douglass

  I sighed. "And just what are you going to do about it if I say no? You're way out of line, mister, and I've got half a mind to just turn you over to Ambassador Wexler and let her deal with you."

  The conference between Than and Wexler had not been going well, not as far as I could tell. Of course, I wasn't invited to sit in on the closed meetings, but I could see the tightness around her eyes at the evening meal, hear the polite ice and venom dripping out of her voice every time she addressed Than. This impudent young officer in front of me might just have the key to resolving the entire matter.

  "Admiral, please." Now the Ukrainian's voice had taken on a pleading note. "At least consider it, Admiral. I know the country well, every landmark and guidepost in it. If the strike is confused or has problems finding the target, I can get them there. I will do this, Admiral. It is more important to my country than even to yours. You must understand that."

  "There is a whole lot I don't understand about this whole situation," I replied slowly. "Starting with why we have to come up with this back-alley solution to resolve this. As Admiral Magruder probably told you, there are ways to deal with this sort of problem that don't involve killing my aviators first."

  Yuri nodded, and seemed to draw back inside himself. "I am sorry for that, Admiral. It was necessary."

  "Then you write the letters to their families," I shot back. "You tell them how their husbands and wives died in the line of duty, died for something important. Make it meaningful for them, why don't you? Find some way to make it easier for them in the years to come that they'll be alone, raising kids, trying to make a go of it."

  Yuri straightened, and a new determination was evident in his eyes. "I cannot make it any easier for them," he said quietly. "And they may never know why their spouses paid the ultimate price. But I can tell you one thing ― if you do not do this, if you do not give this mission every chance for success, you will be the one who has to live with the consequences. Not I."

  An utter, dead silence settled over the room. Tombstone appeared withdrawn, disengaged from the entire confrontation. I appreciated that, since this was clearly my call, not his. Yet nonetheless, I figured his advice would be helpful. I turned to him. "Any thoughts, Admiral?"

  Tombstone appeared not to hear me at first, and then his eyes slowly refocused on me. I noticed how much older he looked, drawn and drained, as though his time on the ground had sapped something vital out of him. He shook himself slightly, as though ridding himself of a bad dream, and some of the tiredness drained away. I saw the Tombstone I had known for twenty years, strong and confident, the best damn stick I'd ever known in my life.

  "There's something to what he says," Tombstone began slowly. "There are a lot of things that can go wrong with a night mission. You know that." He glanced at Yuri, and something invisible passed between the two of them. It bothered me.

  "But I can't support putting you in an F14 for this mission," Tombstone continued to Yuri, his voice still thoughtful. "There's no pilot on this ship that I'd risk with an inexperienced backseater, and I'm not all that sure that I want a Ukrainian having a close-up and personal look at our gear from inside the cockpit. No offense, mind you. But there are times when we haven't been on the same side of the fight. You will remember that."

  Yuri nodded, and stayed silent. I gave him points for that.

  "However, it might be possible to put him in an E2," Tombstone added. "Sure, there's a lot of classified gear in there as well, but there's a little bit more space. We can take some precautions, make sure we don't compromise anything." He glanced over at me, saw I was paying attention, and said finally, "There's only one thing that matters to me, old friend, and that's making something good come out of all of this. If having him on scene increases our chances of making that happen, then I'm all for it."

  "He could sit in Combat," I argued, aware that my argument was weak. "You can see the entire picture from there."

  Tombstone shook his head. "But not the terrain ― not the actual radar sweep and raw data. If necessary, we can take that E2 right in with us, providing fighter coverage for it, and get an eyeballs-on assessment of exactly where we are. It's not something I'd like to do ordinarily, but if we have to do it to get the mission done…" Tombstone shrugged, making it clear that while he had his opinions on the matter, the final decision was mine alone.

  I sighed. "There are never any easy ones in this office, are there?" I asked him.

  Tombstone shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "The easy ones get solved way down below you. Everything that gets up this far is impossible, ugly, and bites. You ought to know that by now."

  "I do ― but thanks for reminding me."

  I turned to Yuri. "I'll think about it, okay? No promises but I'll think about it."

  "I can fly an F14," Yuri said unexpectedly.

  "Off a carrier?" Tombstone demanded.

  Yuri appeared to be about to elaborate, then shook his head slowly. "Only once. And I have never landed."

  "Not good enough then. I'll think about the E2, that's all."

  A sudden banging on my door distracted all three of us. I saw Tombstone jump; I wondered how long that startled reaction would stick with him.

  "Admiral? Admiral Wayne?" The voice was all too familiar. I had taken the precaution of locking the door prior to starting the conference, but I was afraid that might not even be enough given who was on the other side of it.

  Tombstone let out a low, involuntary groan. Yuri looked puzzled.

  "Admiral, I know you are in there. I've got to see you immediately." The voice would brook no denial.

  "In my stateroom," I said quietly to Tombstone. "Go ahead and take a shower ― you'll find a spare flight suit in there. Might be a little short on you, but it's better than that filth you're wearing. You too," I said, taking in Yuri with a gesture. "Scoot ― go hide."

  Yuri's head swiveled back and forth between me and the door. "Who is it?" he asked quietly.

  I looked at Tombstone, then grimaced. "A reporter ― Pamela Drake, ACN."

  Yuri's face lit up. "I have seen her," he breathed. "May I meet her?"

  Tombstone shot me a look of disgust, and I shrugged. Such are the consequences of exporting democracy and international news reporting around the globe. "Maybe. But not now. And I know Admiral Magruder sure as hell doesn't want to talk to her. Go on, both of you ― in my cabin until I get rid of her."

  Tombstone and Yuri walked to the back of my room and slipped into the large bedroom just off it. The door shut, and I heard by the small click that Tombstone had locked it.

  I went to the door of my office, unlocked it, and opened it suddenly. Pamela, who'd been about to knock on the door again, stumbled in. She recovered herself, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at me. "Where is he?" she asked.

  "Where's who?" I tried for an innocent smile, knowing it wasn't coming off.

  "You know who," she snapped. "Tombstone. He's on this ship ― I heard the 1MC announcement."

  "Oh, that." I swore silently, wishing I'd remembered to tell the bridge to lay off the formalities. "That wasn't Tombstone ― it was someone else."

  "Who?" Pamela demanded. As I fumbled for a quick answer, an expression of satisfaction crossed her face. "Yes, it was. Don't bother lying to me, Admiral. I know he's here."

  "Even if he were, I'm under no obligation to put you in touch with him," I said stiffly. I hate being caught short fumbling for a lie. "I haven't even seen him myself yet. And you will recall, Ms. Drake, that you've agreed to limit your movements around the ship to those I have allowed for you. We clear on that?"

  Pamela glanced around the room, and her smile broadened. "Oh boy, this is going to be a hell of a story," she said softly. "Admiral, you've got to let me talk to him. I know he's here."

  "He's not," I answered roughly.

  "You don't lie very well, Admiral." She pointed at the couch on which Bird Dog and Tombstone had been sitting. I turned, and one look at it told me where I'd made my
mistake.

  The soft, cream-colored fabric was coated with mud, dirt, and leaves. There were two large filthy patches on it, and a third slightly cleaner spot where Yuri himself had sat. I groaned despite myself.

  "Listen, Pamela, for old time's sake ― can't you give the man a break?"

  She crossed over to my sitting area, plopped her butt down on the one clean chair ― mine ― and smiled. "If you tell me what's going on and give me an exclusive, I promise to hold up on reporting it. How about that?"

  "I could have you thrown in the brig," I offered, now goaded past the point of tolerance. Damn it, why did everybody on this ship feel like they were allowed to give me orders?

  "Which worked so well the time that Tombstone tried it," she shot back acidly.

  About that she'd been right. Although the confrontation in the Mediterranean had eventually escalated to just that contingency, the resulting furor that Tombstone had faced over tossing Pamela in the brig had only been mitigated by the criminal charges brought against her for interfering with military operations. Both sides counted it a draw, but the controversy that had raged made both sides bitter.

  "Or just send you back to the mainland," I continued as though she hadn't spoken. "In fact, I'm inclined to do just that. Ambassador Wexler and Ambassador Than are planning on leaving tonight."

  Pamela sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, really?"

  "Yes." Although they didn't know it themselves yet. Damn it, the last thing I needed was for them to hear it from her. "At least, I'm pretty certain they will be," I amended, trying to give myself an out.

  Pamela settled back in the chair, looking less and less inclined to leave my quarters voluntarily. "Well, perhaps I'll go with them. Or perhaps I won't. It depends on where the story is, and right now I don't know. I will ― by then I'll know."

  That wasn't bragging, just plain fact. Pamela had a worldwide reputation for being able to sniff out the story at any locale. She operated on intuition and guts, showing up on scene before any other reporter and getting in the middle of the action faster than even the military forces. I pretty much knew what her choice would be, if things went as I thought they would. She'd want to be on Jefferson, trying to get the inside scoop on the attack.

  Somewhere in the background, I heard the splashy sound of a shower starting. Pamela's eyes lit up. "And who is in your shower, Admiral?" she asked gently. "Could it be who I think it is?"

  She was on her feet in a flash, heading for my bedroom door. I stood and tried to head her off, but she slipped past me.

  She tried the knob, and discovered it was locked. She pounded on the door and hollered, "Tombstone! I know you're in there, damn it!"

  I grabbed her around the waist and jerked her back. "You will not invade my private quarters," I said angrily. "Of everything you've pulled, Pamela, this is about the-"

  The door slowly opened, and a clean, freshly flight-suited figure stepped out. It was Yuri.

  He tendered one hand to Pamela Drake, and said in a voice approaching awe, "I'm Yuri Kursk. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Drake."

  I heard Pamela suck in a hard, harsh breath, then transform her face instantly into a winning and sweet expression of welcome. "And a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kursk," she purred. She took him gently by the elbow, drawing him over to the corner of my room. "We've met before, haven't we? Or at least in passing."

  "Met" was probably too strong a word. Pamela had finagled herself on board Jefferson during the last Mediterranean conflict, just before Yuri had planted a bomb outside Tombstone's quarters. I wondered what particular version of double-talk enabled her to come up with that interpretation.

  "I am a great fan of yours," Yuri began, damn his hide. He was obviously completely taken with her, something I had suspected from the first moment he'd mentioned her name. "Perhaps we could talk."

  "I'd like that very much," Pamela said, her teeth delicately nibbling on her lower lip. The smile was genuine now, warm and welcoming. "Could we go somewhere private? My stateroom perhaps?"

  "No, you don't," I said. I grabbed Yuri by his elbow and snatched him back from her. "You're not to talk to her ― not about any of this. You don't understand what you're getting into, man. She could worm military information out of the Devil himself."

  A dawning look of comprehension crossed Yuri's face. He glanced back at Pamela, obviously torn between his admiration as a fan of hers and the need for military secrecy. "I understand," he said finally. He bowed reluctantly to Pamela. "I'm afraid our little talk will have to wait until later."

  "Perhaps so," she murmured. "But you've already given me a good deal to think about, your mere presence on this ship." She glanced over at me, then said, "Any concerns about another bomb, Admiral Wayne?"

  I saw Yuri stiffen. I made a small motion, dismissing the incident. "Not at all. Commander Kursk is here at my request."

  Pamela took a step toward me. "Oh, really? And just why would that be?"

  Fed up, I grabbed her by the shoulder and propelled her toward the office door. She put up a brief struggle, but I was far stronger than she was. Finally, she gave up and went along with it.

  "Out," I ordered. I shoved her out into the passageway, being none too careful about it, then slammed the door behind her. I turned back to Yuri. "So much for secrecy ― I'll be surprised if she hasn't wormed the story out of you by the time we get the strike under way."

  Tombstone's head popped out of the door to my stateroom. "Is she gone?"

  "Yes." I shot Yuri a disgusted look. "No thanks to your friend here."

  Tombstone came out with a fresh flight suit on, one that barely reached down to his ankles. He was barefoot, evidently having decided not to put the filthy ground boots back on his feet.

  "We'll have to deal with the publicity sooner or later," he said with a sigh. "Get your PAO up here, along with Lab Rat. We'll have them work out the cover story ― then we'll get it down pat. It's gotta be perfect, Batman. At least until we let our people back in the States know what is going on."

  "I'll brief Ambassador Wexler," I agreed. "She may have some ideas for us as well."

  Tombstone snorted. "Sarah'd probably take lead on the strike herself, if she could."

  And that, I reflected, was probably true. Indeed, so would Pamela Drake, for that matter.

  "Let's get down to CVIC, if you're up to it," I said finally.

  "Lab Rat's probably chewing on his whisper circuits, trying to get his hands on you."

  Tombstone nodded. "Got some running shoes I can borrow?"

  I sent my Chief of Staff and a Marine guard down to check the corridor between my stateroom and CVIC. It was only a short distance, maybe forty feet, but I wouldn't put it past Pamela to be lurking for us, waiting to pounce along the way.

  With the Marine stationed at the only intersecting corridor and the Chief of Staff at the far end, I stepped out into the passageway and motioned Yuri and Tombstone to follow me.

  We hurried, almost trotting down the corridor, then slipped into the alcove that was the entrance to CVIC. The watch-stander buzzed the door open immediately. We pushed through the main briefing area and back to SCIF, ignoring the startled and inquiring glances from the rest of the Intelligence Specialists.

  Back in Lab Rat's inner sanctum, I finally relaxed. Even Pamela Drake couldn't get past the multiple combination locks and the watch-stander out front, I was pretty sure.

  As we stepped into Lab Rat's office, I saw Bird Dog seated in front of him. His head was bowed down, his hands on his knees, and he was speaking in a low tone of voice. He stopped, looked up startled, and quit speaking as soon as we stepped in. "Ready for us?" I asked, although it was obvious that Lab Rat was still debriefing Bird Dog. Still, the matters we had to resolve were far more urgent.

  Lab Rat nodded slowly, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Yes, I guess so. Thank you, Lieutenant Commander Robinson."

  Bird Dog stood slowly, and scuttled off to the hatch. He kept his eyes fixed on
the ground, although he murmured a polite greeting as he slid past us.

  I turned to watch him go. Now that puzzled the hell out of me. Just half an hour earlier, that same young man had been standing in my office filthy-dirty and exhausted. I would have thought the first place he would head would be for the shower, maybe to catch some sleep. I'd told him to stop by and let Lab Rat debrief him, but I figured he'd at least shower first.

  Evidently, he hadn't. He was still in the filthy, ragged condition he'd been in when he'd inflicted those telltale marks on my couch.

  I turned back to Lab Rat. "What was all that about?"

  Lab Rat shook his head, and his eyes cut over to Yuri. "Just a debrief, Admiral. That's all."

  I nodded, understanding. Lab Rat had something on his mind he didn't want to talk about in front of Yuri.

  "Let's get started then," I said, pulling out a chair from around the small briefing table. "Admiral, you want to start?"

  Lab Rat stood. "Just a moment, Admiral Wayne," he said, a hard note in his voice. "I'd like to conduct this debriefing with Admiral Magruder alone. And before that, I'd like to speak to you privately."

  Lab Rat's face was flushed, but his expression was adamant.

  "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Tombstone," I pointed out. "Hell, he had command here before I did. You used to work for him, Lab Rat."

  "Admiral, I'm afraid I have to insist. Yes, I've worked for Admiral Magruder and I have the utmost respect for him." Lab Rat's expression softened slightly, then hardened again.

  "But you're in command now, sir. If you listen to what I have to say and then want me to brief Admiral Magruder about it, I will. But it's for your ears only at first, sir. I really think that's best."

  I started to snap at him, then caught myself. Intelligence work was Lab Rat's area of expertise. I knew how he felt about Tombstone, and if he wanted to talk to me privately, then he had good reasons to. Still, I felt markedly uncomfortable at the idea.