I hope this meets with your approval. It is important that a congressman receive correspondence from his constituents. Thank you, Lieutenant Woods, for your letter and your support.
Sincerely,
Lionel Brown, Vice Admiral,
United States Navy (Retired)
Congressman, 49th District of California
Woods stared at the page after he had finished reading the letter.
“He didn’t even mention what I said. How can he write a letter like that and not even mention it? He didn’t even say anything about Father Maloney’s memo or the law stuff. Nothing.”
“It’s a form letter, Trey, just like I told you it would be.”
“It can’t be,” Woods said. “This must just be the first letter, there’s probably another one coming that will answer mine.”
“You’re dreaming,” Big said.
“But it is the perfect solution!”
“That’s got nothing to do with it. You’ve bought into the myth that we live in a representative democracy that is actually responsive. That’s rubbish. Congressmen exist for one purpose only — to stay in office. That’s why they start running for office as soon as they get in. That’s all they do. Shoot, Trey, during the cold war there was more turnover in the politburo than in Congress.”
“Bullshit—”
“It’s true.”
Woods wasn’t even listening. “It’s one thing to tell me my idea is stupid, or wrong. But to treat me like some Rube from Brawley writing about his check for farm subsidies…”
Big sat up. “You really think a congressman saw your letter? What have you been smoking? Some flunkie gets the letters, sorts them by issues, and cranks out whatever form letter is closest. Then they mark down your issue, which side you’re on, and count them up. All you’ll get out of your letter is that somewhere in your congressman’s office, your letter caused some bright young college graduate with unlimited ambition to put a mark on a list that shows one of the congressman’s constituents is in favor of a stronger response to terrorism. That’s it.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.”
“Don’t they want to do anything about it?”
Big chuckled. “You don’t understand. You don’t get the critical difference between the ability to do something and the will to do it. They don’t have the political will. They don’t ever step out in front — they’re afraid of taking the wrong position.”
Woods laid the letter on the desk and stared at it as if it bore a disease. Then he picked it up and tore it in half, then in half again, and again, until he had ripped the letter to shreds, slamming it into the steel trash can.
Big rolled over and moaned. “Anything else in the mail?”
Woods picked up the rest of the mail and went through it again. “No. Just the usual.” He stopped. “Who would send me a postcard?” He examined it, then recognized the writing.
“What?” Big asked. “What is it?”
Woods whispered, “It’s from Boomer. From Israel.”
“You’re shitting me,” Big said, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. “What does it say?”
Woods read it with an odd feeling, as if he were doing something somehow improper. “He’s in Nahariya. He’s in love. Irit is great… they’re going to Tel Aviv tomorrow where she is going to interview for a job with E1 A1 as a flight attendant. They’re going to take the bus down the coastal highway… should be beautiful… very upbeat.”
“That’s kind of spooky.”
Woods was sad, remembering the last time he had seen Vialli.
Big interrupted his thoughts. “Hey.”
“What?”
“I thought she was a schoolteacher. What’s she doing interviewing for E1 A1?”
“I don’t know. I think the schoolteacher bit was when she told him she was from Italy.”
Big squinted. “So what did she really do?”
Woods and Wink orbited twenty miles out from the Washington, waiting. Finally the Air Boss transmitted, “Victory 200, you’re cleared in.”
“You ready, Wink?”
“Hit it,” he said to Woods, then to the Air Boss: “Roger.”
Woods lowered the nose of the Tomcat and pushed the throttles to the stops.
“Passing through ten.”
“Roger.”
Woods checked his instruments and made sure the TACAN needle was on the nose pointing to the Washington straight ahead, sixteen miles away. He glanced over his shoulder and watched the wings begin sweeping back as the Tomcat passed through.7 Mach, seven-tenths the speed of sound.
“Passing five.”
“Roger,” Woods replied. Ten miles. He pulled the nose over farther toward the water, pushing the throttles into afterburner. He felt the burners kick in and shoved the throttle to the end.
“Passing two.” The needle on the airspeed indicator moved steadily through Mach 9. “Home base, Victory 200, 6 miles out for supersonic pass.”
“Roger, 200. Cleared in supersonic.”
“I can’t believe they pay us for this,” Woods said. “Passing one thousand feet, going hot mike.” Woods remained amazed that Bark had let him do the supersonic pass. They had done air shows for dignitaries often, and the supersonic pass was the most fun of the entire event, but it was always the Commanders or Lieutenant Commanders who got the job. This time for some reason, Bark had let him do it. The ship had offered to perform the show for Israeli dignitaries, and they had eagerly accepted. The COD had made two trips to Haifa, and the dignitaries from Israel now stood on the flight deck, watching the demonstration of the capabilities of an aircraft carrier. One weapon system they wished they had and knew they would never get.
“I’m hot,” Wink said, flicking the switch on his ICS.
The F-14 slipped through the sonic barrier imperceptibly, its wings swept full aft, like a horse with its ears pinned back.
“Radar altimeter set at fifty feet.”
“Cool,” Wink said, leaning forward to look for the carrier so plainly visible on the radar. He saw the big gray hulk on the beautiful blue sea. The sky was lighter blue and equally smooth. They continued to accelerate through Mach 1.1.
“Home base, see you,” Wink transmitted.
“No tally on you, continue… tallyho. You’re awfully low,” the Air Boss transmitted, corrective concern in voice.
“Roger that,” Wink said, smiling.
In an instant they were on the carrier. They flew down the port side of the Washington, like a blurred image in a photograph, with no sound.
Big McMack, standing on the flight deck, was always amazed at the sight of a supersonic airplane. He had done it countless times, but seeing it from the flight deck was another experience entirely. He scanned the faces of the Israeli dignitaries as they watched the passing Tomcat. He knew the look. He knew what they were saying: “It’s so quiet…” Just wait he said to himself, putting his fingers in his ears.
Woods and Wink looked up at the figures standing on the flight deck as the Tomcat flew like an arrow at fifty feet over the water, twenty feet below the flight deck. They passed the entire length of the flight deck in less than a second.
“You ready?” Woods asked Wink.
“Pull it,” he replied, leaning back in his seat.
Woods pulled on the stick as they passed the ramp of the flight deck and pegged the accelerometer on 6.5 Gs. The silent Tomcat pulled up from the horizon and pointed straight up from the earth with no apparent effort.
Big, gritting his teeth, kept his eyes on the watching dignitaries. They were smiling. Then, just when they had forgotten it might ever be coming, BOOM! Their knees buckled and their hands went to their ears. “Too late,” Big said to himself as he removed his hands from his ears and chuckled.