The men chuckled as they took CAGs words to heart. Facing the Venezuelans would be easier than the wire brush they would experience from Devil.
“And guys, this might be accelerated, we might flex to operating around Cuba — who knows. So get your people ready, groom your aircraft, stand your alerts and Semper Gumby.”
The commanders left and proceeded to CVIC. Wilson’s folder was big, and, as he sifted through the satellite imagery of the aimpoints and expected threat locations, he knew he needed help to divvy up element responsibilities. He thought of the launch sequence, the tanking plan, the EW suppression plan… details that depended on where the ship was going to be, details he needed answers for now. He would have to drive it and hope he was supported. Some forty carrier aircraft — and big wing bombers, SEALs if he needed them. And he had less than 72 hours to plan and execute.
Shane walked up with a chart of Venezuela covered in acetate. It was marked with the known SAM threat rings. Before handing the chart to Wilson, she mumbled, “Sir.”
Wilson took it and said, “Thanks, Shane.”
“Yes, sir,” she said over her shoulder.
“Shane?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, turning around to face him.
“Please take a seat.”
She did as she was told and sat down across the table from her CO. With a forlorn look on her face, she waited for him to initiate the conversation.
“Shane, we are spinning up big time, and I’m leading a huge strike with double the number of aimpoints I’ve ever seen. I need help, your help, to make me and the rest of the squadron smart on their threats, their level of training, the weapons they employ.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We need you to teach us. Today. No time to lose.”
Shane struggled as she formed an answer. “Sir, I can’t face them. They’ve all seen me naked! And my own roommate told them. Please don’t make me stand in front of them. I’ll get the information you need, and—”
“Ensign Duncan, knock it off.”
Shocked by Wilson’s abrupt rebuke, Shane looked at him with wide eyes.
“Are you a naval officer? Are you a warrior? Are you a woman, or are you a whiny schoolgirl? We are going into combat, in days, and we need your help. I don’t have time for the high-school Mickey Mouse about photos that you posed for. I don’t have time for who said what to whom. I’m commanding a strike-fighter squadron, and you are my Intel Officer. I am ordering you to give my squadron an order-of-battle briefing on Venezuela, and it had better be good. See Lieutenant Commander Armstrong and schedule it. Today. You’ve got hours to prepare. Now go.”
“Yes, sir!” a chastened Shane answered as she got up.
“We’ll revisit your concerns after this operation is over, but you’re in the big leagues. People can be hurt by real bullets.”
“Yes, sir!” she nodded as she turned to leave.
At that moment, the 1MC sounded; “Ding, ding… ding, ding… ding, ding… Rear Admiral, United States Navy, arriving.”
Wilson checked the PLAT monitor on the bulkhead and saw the outline of a C-2 appear from the right side of the screen. It stabilized in the crosshairs as it made its approach to Coral Sea, hook down. With a thud it trapped aboard. The steel braided cable screeched as it was pulled from its housing and the turboprops went to full power. When the aircraft stopped, the prop pitch changed to idle, and the 1MC sounded again.
“Ding.”
Devil Davies was aboard.
CHAPTER 42
From his stateroom desk, Wilson felt the ship roll in the long swells. He thought of the exchange with Shane and the tough love she had needed to snap out of it and to move forward. Once things spun down, he and Annie would follow up with Coach and Macho.
War with Venezuela was less than 72 hours away. He surmised they were already at war — undeclared, of course — but if any American unit encountered a Venezuelan ship or plane, it would be declared hostile in minutes.
A real shooting war. Weed and his band of “misfit” aviators were in an undeclared shooting war, a one-sided summary execution with no warning. For Wilson, there was no love lost for the poor smugglers on the boats or planes, and the rich Americans who participated in the destruction of their own society earned special contempt. But it was unsettling, the high-tech manner in which they were hunted and essentially shot in the back with no warning. Just tell them, he thought, wondering why the United States didn’t warn the druggies that, if caught on or over the high seas, they would be blown to bits. Even the Germans had done that during the world wars: give the merchant sailors a chance to look out for the U-boats — or stay ashore.
Weed was right. The media’s fifth column would take the side of the downtrodden smugglers “just trying to make a living,” while glossing over the drug lords who laundered billions in Panama each year and continued to feed a steady supply of poison into North America, poison that took down droves of kids each day… that could even take Derrick someday. Wilson’s guilt returned. How he wanted to be home with his son, to pick up a baseball glove and play catch, to listen to him, to be there for him.
Mary. He wondered what she was doing. He hadn’t received an email from her in days, which was unsettling. With the media reporting the Russian flights and the saber rattling in South America, it was strange he had heard nothing from her. Was she burned out dealing with the kids, with the Navy… or with him? Was she cheating on him?
The Firebirds of VFA-16, who made up his current “family,” were not hitting on all cylinders. Trench was off the ship and maybe down forever. Macho preoccupied, his intel officer also distracted. And Coach was a wild card. He needed to get everyone focused on the real enemy they would be facing in hours.
He heard a knock. “Come in.”
Annie stepped inside and closed the door. “Hey.”
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Just got through looking at my strike plan. Mining the port of Río Salta.”
“Wow. We aren’t screwing around.”
“Yeah, it’s the day after your strike on San Ramón. You need to take out most of the newer SAM sites, and we should be able to get underneath the older stuff and AAA. We’ll bottle them up in port… or keep people out.”
“Okay, we’ll do our best. Who’s gonna help you?”
“Stretch and Macho are on my strike planning team. We’ve got sixteen jets and a dedicated fighter sweep. We’re taking no chances that you guys will have shut down everything.”
“Well, happy mining. I just had a chat with Shane.”
“Yes?” Annie asked.
“Told her we need her game face. She’s been hurt, she’s been wronged, it is wrong, we’ll deal with it — but later.”
“Gossip happens—we’re gossiping,” Annie smiled.