She was devastated. What was he going to do now? What were they going to talk about? There was nothing else.
Pig, still glued to his computer, said, “When are you going to start?”
“Quit it, Pig.” He shook his head at her in disappointment, like she was an idiot child.
Moto’s muffled voice rose from the ball of limbs. “Next month. I start bouncing with the next class.”
“Wait, what?” She leapt to her feet and raised her arms signaling a touchdown. “Yes!”
Moto rolled onto his butt and scooted against the far wall, his face more pale than usual, something she hadn’t thought possible. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispered staring at a spot between his feet. “It’s going to be out there. Waiting for me again.” He took in a couple deep breaths. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. To try again.”
This was a first for her, seeing him like this. Seeing any of them like this. “What do you mean? You’re not going to go again? You’re going to quit?” She got off the couch and sank to the floor next to him. “Moto?”
“Pig,” she implored, hoping for a sliver of sympathy.
He looked up from his screen, taking in his two roommates. “You know what the problem is with you two? You think too fucking much. Give it a rest. You both need to dry out your undies and suck it up. It only gets harder from here.” He shook his head in disgust as he returned to the computer. “Give him a couple days, he’ll be fine. Moto, you’re never going to do that shit again. You will never suck off that much power and go low again, I guarantee you. You may fuck up and die a hundred other ways, but there’s no way you’ll ever be low on the ball again. Cool?”
Moto climbed stiffly to his feet, one hand pushing on her shoulder. “Cool.” He looked down at her. “Slammer said I was a classic deck spotter. Did pretty well during the day then bolter all night. He said he could tell exactly when I was looking away from the ball.”
Pig piped up from behind his screen, “Well, the first step’s admitting it. Say it again, ‘Hello, my name is Moto and I am a deck spotter.’ Go on.”
“I swear to god I am going to choke you with your dirty laundry.”
She looked up at him. “So you’re going to be alright?”
Pig answered for his roommate, “I wouldn’t go that far. They’re just giving him one more chance.” He turned his gaze to Moto. “She and I are both going to be gone. You going to be okay?” Moto nodded. Pig continued, “I mean, you’re going to have to drive yourself to school and there won’t be anyone for you to clean up after.”
Moto reached out a hand to her, heaving her upright as some color returned to his face. He answered Pig, “I don’t know where you think you’re going buddy, all the squadrons that need new pilots are here at home.” He walked away from her toward his room. “See you in a few. I’ve got to clean up before I get mistaken for Pigpen’s better looking brother.”
She felt the burden of worry and survivor’s guilt lift from her shoulders. As she flopped back down on the couch Pig scooted closer with his laptop. “It almost doesn’t matter which squadron we go to, this shit is spooling up fast.” She looked at his screen, watching jittery cell phone video of a Chinese patrol ship harassing a fleet of Filipino fishing trawlers. Shots rang out and a ribbon of splashes striped the water in front of one of the trawlers. There could be no clearer warning. Stay away or the next one will cut you in half.
Chapter 21
16 July
Virginia Beach, Virginia
Slammer sat across from Jimmy Mac, once again discussing his future. The CO leafed through the documents of his service record. “You’ve had a great run here, Slammer. I’m sorry to see you go, but a deal’s a deal. Give me a couple of months to get the right fit and I’ll have you on your way. How’s that sound?”
Slammer was so eager to move on he was practically jumping out of his skin. But the right fit was important and he knew Jimmy Mac would have his back. “That sounds great, Skipper. Thanks.”
There was a rap on the door. “Enter,” Jimmy Mac bellowed.
Mandy walked in carrying a laptop and some folders. She noted Slammer across from Jimmy Mac and said, “You again?”
He grinned. “Just leaving.”
“You want to hear the follow-up to the intel Mandy’s been working on in DC, Slammer?” Jimmy Mac asked, standing. “You might as well learn what’s been going on before you stick your nose in it.”
Slammer nodded. “Yes, sir. Thanks.”
“Great, we’re going to the Coliseum. She’s briefing the Fleet Skippers and XOs that are in town. You can run the slides. That work for you, Ninety-Nine?”
Mandy handed Slammer the computer. “Absolutely.”
A few minutes later Slammer sat in the front row of the briefing room with Mandy’s laptop at the ready, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible among the dozen heavyweights seated around him.
Jimmy Mac took his place at the podium and began. “I’ve asked my Intel Officer to give you a quick brief on developments in Asia. More detailed information is coming down the pike, but this is a time-critical situation so we wanted to get you all smart on the background. This has the possibility of developing into a world class shit storm in a very short amount of time.” He gestured Mandy to stand. “Lieutenant Mandy Parker drove down from the Puzzle Palace just this morning. Mandy?”
“Good morning gentlemen,” Mandy said as she replaced Jimmy Mac at the podium. “This morning I’ll give you a brief SitRep on events transpiring in the South China Sea which have Washington extremely concerned. Portions of this brief are classified Secret, NOFORN. Your individual Air Wing Intel Officers are still at the Pentagon and will return shortly with more detailed order of battle briefs.”
Slammer clicked the keyboard and the screen at the front of the room displayed a tactical planning map. “The South China Sea encompasses three major archipelagos—the Spratlys, the Paracels, and Macclesfield Bank. These archipelagos contain more than thirty thousand islands, atolls, and reefs. The Spratlys themselves have over seven hundred fifty of such, but in all, they only add up to a meager landmass of under three square miles, total. The value, of course, is the sea. The Spratlys cover more than one hundred and sixty-four thousand square miles. When you add the other two island groups, the total sea area is nearly eight hundred thousand square miles. Roughly equivalent to Texas, California, Montana, New Mexico and Arizona.
“The region is surrounded by many players.” Mandy directed a red dot from a laser pointer. “Malaysia, Vietnam, the Philippines, Taiwan, the People’s Republic of China and until recently, Brunei. There is no indigenous population in the region and until the last couple of decades there was not much effort to control the area despite the many competing historical claims to sovereignty dating back hundreds of years. However, in nineteen sixty-eight, oil was discovered off the coast of Brunei. Since then the interest in accumulating territorial rights has accelerated on pace with the global demand for energy. A recent estimate by China’s own National Offshore Oil Company puts the potential reserves at one-hundred twenty-five billion barrels of oil, which would vault China to number four in the world in terms of total reserves. They also estimate a massive five-hundred trillion cubic meters of natural gas.”
Mandy gave Slammer the signal and he clicked to the next screen. “The South China Sea also accounts for thirty-five percent of the global fish catch. China, with a population exceeding one billion, has many mouths to feed.”
Jimmy Mac was clicking his pen impatiently. “Mandy, cut to the chase. Was it the Chinese?”
“Sorry, sir. Yes. Gentlemen, you may be aware that the Sultan of Brunei’s private plane disappeared recently while flying back from an Association of Southeast Asian Nations summit.”
Slammer clicked to a new slide showing a warship flying the PRC flag. “We intercepted communications between a PRC operator and this ship. The ship was recently moved by the Peoples Liberation Army to the South China Sea with the missi
on of enforcing China’s territorial claims, mainly chasing Vietnamese and Philippine fishing boats from the islands.”
One of the COs commented, “I noticed you mentioned earlier Brunei no longer claims any territory? I’m assuming that’s somehow related to the incident with the Sultan’s plane?”
“Correct, sir. The Sultan himself was not on the plane, though he was originally scheduled to be. He sent his brother to the summit at the last minute. After the state funeral last week the Sultan relinquished claims to islands he has held since nineteen eighty-four. He’d grasped the tiger by the tail, and let go before it bit again.”
Mandy nodded and Slammer clicked to a new screen. “In reality only three true contenders for the territory exist: the Philippines, Vietnam, and of course, the PRC. There have been a number of small skirmishes between China and the other two over the past few decades and each of these players has made attempts to secure territory by building military outposts on the Spratlys. But recently China has stepped up their offensive, both overtly and covertly. The existence of the new patrol ship is well known, as is the building of runways on remote atolls, and China’s increasingly strident claims of historical sovereignty over the entire South China Sea. But we have now confirmed it was PLA Spec Ops who attacked and destroyed a Vietnamese oil exploration post a few months ago, killing everyone on the island. And more recently this action against Brunei. Furthermore, as I was leaving the Pentagon this morning, reports were flowing in regarding a serious fire aboard a Philippine frigate that may have been started by a stowaway. The PRC has taken a very active and aggressive tack toward influencing the issue.”
“How certain can we be that domestic terrorism isn’t the culprit?” an XO in the back asked.
Mandy answered, “Sir, somewhat clumsy efforts were made to make these appear to be a terrorist attacks. But our SIGINT in the region, as well as satellite evidence and other protected sources lead us to believe the Chinese are directly behind all of these incidents.”
It was almost the end of Mandy’s presentation, and Slammer watched her gather steam for her finale. “The Pentagon projects that without intervention in the region, armed confrontations are imminent. Perhaps within three months.”
“That would be suicide for the Vietnamese,” Jimmy Mac said immediately.
“Sir, the Vietnamese have been climbing out of economic ruin for over thirty years. They’ve bought some of the latest Russian weapons systems. They’ve little to lose and everything to gain.”
Commander Clam Baker, CO of the Blacklions spoke for the first time. “The Chinese aren’t about to let them have the oil.”
That, Slammer thought, was the most indisputable statement of the day.
“Sir, there is no love lost between the Vietnamese and PRC,” Mandy answered. “The Chinese killed sixty-four Vietnamese soldiers on a disputed island in nineteen eighty-eight. The incident was caught on film and has been a source of embarrassment for both nations. The more recent island attack was conducted at night and wiped out all witnesses. Vietnam, unlike Brunei, has shown no inclination to back down. Just like the Chinese, the Vietnamese see these resources as vital to jumpstarting their economy and pushing their military into the twenty-first century.”
Jimmy Mac closed his note pad. “What’s the brain trust in DC saying? Can we afford to contain this as a local issue and keep our noses out of it?”
Mandy shook her head. “That is not the prevailing attitude, Sir. One third of the world’s crude oil is transported through the South China Sea to markets, and half of the liquid natural gas shipping as well. A China/Vietnam conflict will destroy economic activity in the Pacific and adversely affect business throughout the globe. Domestically, at the least, we can expect a thunderous stock market crash and a severely depressed economy.”
Commander Baker nodded soberly. “The truth is we can get through the economic troubles. The real problem is…”
Mandy finished the thought. “An oil-rich China will extend its influence throughout the Pacific and fuel its imperialistic ambitions. They want to become the most powerful nation on earth and they’re growing tired of trying to hide it. This year China spent more on its military than Britain, France, and Germany combined. They have increased their military spending by twenty percent each of the last few years and that trend only shows signs of accelerating. They have commissioned two homegrown carriers to complement the current one bought from Russia, with a further two in the design stage. They are not messing around.”
Jimmy Mac thanked Mandy and the squadron leaders rose to disperse. A couple of months to find the right squadron fit might be too long, Slammer thought, impatient again. Because this thing is happening fast. He scanned the roomful of COs for any familiar faces he could approach.
Later that night he sat on his couch hunched over the coffee table, his cell phone next to a paper with Quick Silvers’ number scrawled on it. He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, cradling his face in his hands. The bristle of the day’s growth scrubbed at his palms as he rubbed his hands over his jaw line. Fuck. This was complicated in so many stupid ways. He didn’t think it would do Quick any favors if they were seen together socially right after she graduated. Especially since it had been his class. And then there was JT. There would be loud whispers of favoritism tainting them both. Just the thought of that was enough to make him crumple the paper.
But he owed her dinner, no doubt there. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked when she wasn’t wearing a flight suit. That would be nice to see again. He smoothed the paper against the coffee table, leaning his head further down, running his fingers through his short hair. He knew what his mom would say—that Quick reminded him of Robin. And she did, in a good way. In a way that made him not want to make the same mistake, pushing it back until it was too late. It was okay to admit it now. They weren’t going to be in the same squadron, and she was leaving in a couple days for half a year or more. They could afford to go on one date, somewhere far away. Maybe they could cruise down to the Outer Banks in his Cobra, swapping the driving every once in a while till they found a little restaurant in some small beach town. Just one dinner before she cruised away. Who knew, she might be dead in six months. Or he might. No use waiting anymore.
Then again, there was a good chance she’d tell him to pack sand after all the crap he’d said.
Fuck it. He picked up his cell to dial just as the device started chirping. “Hello?” He stood, a smile creasing his face when he recognized the voice. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought, his spirits soaring.
Book Two
- The Blacklions -
Chapter 1
18 July
Norfolk, Virginia
Quick was bathed in the fresh yellow light of the new sun rising over the administrative buildings of the biggest Navy base in the world. She stood on a pier with a quarter of the globe’s super-carriers tied up on adjacent moorings: three massive Nimitz class ships, the most powerful warships ever built. She craned her neck, taking in the full scope of the one in front of her. Tied up against the pier, the USS Bush towered above. She had been in the Navy for three years and every previous time she had visited a carrier she’d arrived from the sky. Now, for the first time, she was about to walk aboard. It was an interesting paradox. From the air, the carrier looked like no more than a comically small landing strip, yet standing here in its shadow, the ship seemed larger than the town she grew up in—which, in fact, it was. The Bush, all 1,100 feet and 4.5 acres of her, would soon be buzzing with more than 5,500 sailors and aviators.
“Morning.”
The familiar voice, clipped and businesslike, came from behind her. It couldn’t be. She spun around and sure enough Dusty Rhodes was striding past her heading for the ship’s gangway lugging a pair of fully packed sea bags. She heaved hers off the ground and trotted to catch up. Their graduation ceremony from the Gladiators was this coming weekend but she was going to miss it because her new squadron was scrambling to
embark with the Bush three months ahead of schedule. She’d gotten a call from Jimmy Mac himself last night congratulating her on qualifying, and letting her know she needed to report to VFA-213 today with her bags packed. The ship was leaving in three days with the morning tide and she would be on it. Her heart sank as she realized that Dusty had obviously received the same call.
She didn’t know much about the Fleet, but she knew that without the air wing that joined it, a carrier was just a big flat-topped boat, and she knew that the wing deploying with the Bush was Air Wing-8. They would complement the ship’s company with eight squadrons of people, planes, tools and parts. The wing, as tenants of the ship, hauled all of their belongings on and off each time the Bush docked in Norfolk, scattering back to their various bases along the Eastern Seaboard to train and spend time with their families until it was time to go back to sea. Then they would return, packing all their people, planes, tools and parts back into the massive ship, bustling about like bees moving into a hive until the carrier was crammed full once again. And then the lines would be cast off and the Bush would make her stately way into the Atlantic Ocean.
The Bush was the center of the Carrier Strike Group commanded by Rear Admiral Ghost Kasperbauer, which consisted of a half dozen destroyers and frigates, and at least one attack submarine lurking beneath. Each of these ships would fall in with the Bush as she made her way through the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay into the open sea. That meant thousands more sailors on board their own ships dreading the months ahead away from their loved ones, and king size beds, and privacy, and cars, and other things you can’t bring with you on a warship. A few miles from port a dozen helicopters would buzz out, alighting on the appropriate frigates and destroyers as well as the Bush herself. Then later that day the planes of Air Wing-8 would arrive. Wave after wave of fighters, jammers, and early warning planes would flock out to the Bush and bring purpose to the 4.5 acres of floating diplomacy, transforming it from just a flat-topped boat into the most powerful tool for projection of offensive power the world had ever known.
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