Trench remained still, his humiliation almost complete.
“I see things, Mark, and so do others. You are a superb aviator and can go far. You are a warrior I want leading a group of JOs down the road. I suggest you take these words to heart, and stay away from women in this squadron and, I would say, the entire ship. It can only lead to ruin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“One more thing, and this is for both of you. Your job is to fly Hornets off this ship in support of national tasking. You must work together and fly together in formation. You must not undercut each other in front of the others, especially the sailors. You must do the job together, but you do not have to like each other.”
The chastened junior officers nodded. Annie then changed course.
“Very well. Trench, you are now dismissed. Lieutenant Commander Teel, you may leave as well. I have something I want to say to Macho, alone. Please excuse us.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Trench said, still troubled by the experience. Olive followed him out, closing the door behind her.
With the others gone, Annie studied Macho for a moment before speaking.
“Why did you join the Navy?”
Unsure of the reason for the question, Macho answered. “I wanted to prove something to myself, do something exciting.”
“Not many women fly jets. There’s only five of us on the whole ship. You are in rare air.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Macho agreed, grinning with pride.
“So, have you proved anything to yourself?”
“Well, yes, ma’am. Here we are in a man’s world, you know, succeeding. I mean, we know that women can fly and do anything the guys can. I appreciate that you were one of the women who paved the way for us in the ‘90s. And I want to build on that.”
Annie nodded with a smile. “We can do anything the guys can.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Macho gushed, lowering her defenses further.
“Then what is your goal this tour?”
“Well, I want to help you and Olive lead the women here. To ensure that guys like him are not harassing or assaulting them—”
“Assaulting?” Annie asked, concerned.
“Well, you know, ma’am, the whispered comments, the frat boy antics on liberty… like in St. Thomas. Girls have to stick together against those guys.”
“Yes, assault. Those stray comments, men being men…. Why, a girl could go to pieces under the pressure.”
Macho realized that the conversation was taking a troubling turn.
“Pressure is a low-fuel jet trying to recover on a pitching deck on a black night, or Marines screaming for help in an Afghan valley while you try to find them. You’ve been here a while, and you are doing well enough, but you’ve not experienced pressure like that yet.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be….”
“You know, Tiffany, this is a tough business. You are expected to kill, and you can be killed out here. You want a challenge? You’ve come to the right place. But it’s not about proving something to yourself or others. The bottom line of our business is combat effectiveness, not agendas and not revenge. Certainly not the PC crap Washington cares about. We are warriors, you and I. We are also adults, old enough to know the ways of the world. If you want to be offended you can be, but if you want to make a difference and contribute to the unit cohesion and combat effectiveness of this squadron, we need you to do that. Frankly, we demand it. If you cannot give us that, you need to do something else. If I catch him behaving untoward to anyone in this squadron or aboard this ship, I’m going to rip his lips off. He can see he’s been warned and you saw it. But if I catch you sowing discord and forming your own little clique that can tear this squadron apart, I’m going to hammer your tits. Do you understand?”
Taken aback, Macho answered her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“If, in the future, any of your fellow officers act in an immature way that doesn’t cross the line, then shoot them a condescending look. I believe you have some experience in this area. Then drop it.” Macho nodded her understanding, her eyes locked on Annie.
“I’ve lied before in my life. We’re only human, and we must be forgiven. But if you ever lie to me again, it will be bad for you. Very bad.”
“I’m sorry, XO. Won’t happen again.”
“I know it won’t. That’s now behind us. You have a problem, come to me first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Can you fly on his wing?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He’s a solid pilot, and you can learn from him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Annie smiled a warm smile at her nugget pilot. “Great. Have a nice day. Dismissed.”
CHAPTER 21
Daniel drew on his cigarette as he observed Mayor General Edgar Rodolfo Hernandez through the smoke. The two of them were at a safe house near the Aviación Militar Nacional Bolivariana de Venezuela base at El Libertador in the coastal city of Maracay. Previously known as the Fuerza Aérea Venezolana or FAV, the Air Force brought to the Bolivarian Republic a modern fourth-generation threat that included a squadron of older model F-16s and 24 more modern Suhkoi Su-30 multi-role fighters, and a few squadrons of light attack aircraft. The force was well suited for internal security and air sovereignty alert missions, possessing a 707 in-flight refueling tanker and a handful of electronic warfare aircraft.
While no match for a concerted American effort, the AMV was a capable South American air force that could pose problems for the Americans should they decide to test Venezuela, the topic the two men were discussing in the dimly lit room in a non-descript neighborhood. Hernandez, who wore civilian clothes for the meeting, had only his aide and a bodyguard outside. He knew they were no match for Daniel’s team. Hernandez hoped the meeting would be over soon. He couldn’t wait for his reward and found it difficult to concentrate on Daniel’s words.
“Edgar, my supply lines are almost completely cut. I haven’t had a single shipment of any kind make it to the Yucatan in almost two months, and my operations in the islands are severely curtailed. Unlike normal interdiction efforts, my mules are disappearing. They go over the horizon in a plane or boat and are never heard from again. They disappear, as if in the Bermuda Triangle. Even my lily pad trawlers. Some of my best men, men who know how to outfox the Yanquis, are gone without a trace. And it’s becoming a challenge to replace them. Not only for me, but my colleagues are also feeling this new phenomenon, and we do not know what it is. I suspect the Americans. Who else has the intelligence to locate my shipments and the firepower to destroy them without warning? Their elite soldiers know their business. Without a trace, Edgar. We have a problem, mí General.”
Hernandez was a fighter pilot by trade, one of the youngest FAV pilots to fly the F-16 when it was purchased by Venezuela in 1983. He survived the 1992 coup by being on the loyalist side, and, because there were so many openings in the officer corps, he moved up fast. He was the Commanding General of the Venezuelan Air Force, now known as the Aviación Militar Nacional Bolivariana de Venezuela, or AMV in the Bolivarian Republic. While he had never flown in combat, Hernandez knew how to survive — not only in the air force bureaucracy, but while currying favor with the politicians in Caracas. Having a friend in Daniel — who saw to it that one million dollars a year appeared in his offshore accounts and that some of the finest mistresses in Aragua State appeared at his plush safe houses — made life worth living.