Wink grabbed it and checked the location of the rotating radar. Thirty seconds. He worked the game frantically, passing, carrying the ball and scoring, again and again. He was much better at it than Woods. He could see the radar approaching. He worked faster. The radar beam passed through them and wiped out the game. “Seventeen points!” he announced.
He reached forward with his right hand and passed the portable game back to Woods. “You cheated,” Woods accused. “No way you could score that much in one pass of the radar.”
“You just can’t stand losing.”
Woods was so intent on the game he didn’t see their relief approaching the plane. The two officers began their own preflight. Each new alert crew took the opportunity to check the airplane themselves. Not that they didn’t trust their squadron mates. They wouldn’t have trusted themselves. When they were done, they called up to Woods and Wink. “Okay,” they said. “You can come down.”
Woods and Wink unstrapped, gathered their navigation information and flight bags, and climbed down to the flight deck. “All yours,” Woods said. “I wish we could stay and sit in this plane longer, but I guess we can’t have all the fun.”
Lieutenant Commander Paulson looked at Woods with a smile. “You may not be winning this deal. There’s another officers’ meeting in five minutes. That’s why we decided to relieve you just a little early. Now you’ve got to go.”
“Ohhh, not another one. What about?”
Paulson shrugged. “CAG’s on the warpath. He’s running around all over the ship with his hair on fire. Something’s up.”
Woods looked at Wink, who was trying not to throw up. “You guys want the football game?” he asked finally.
“No thanks. I brought a book.”
“You’re not supposed to read,” Woods said.
“I know. I’d better be careful, or they’ll give me a time out and strap me into a seat in a small confined place for two hours.” He shrugged. “What are they gonna do? Send me home? Hurt me,” he said as he climbed into the front cockpit.
“See you guys,” Wink said. He glanced at Woods and saw the concern on his face. They walked across the flight deck to the starboard side by the arresting wires and stepped onto the short ladder leading below to the O3 level. As they stepped off the ladder, Wink asked Woods, “You worried?”
Woods took longer to answer than he usually did. “I feel like a criminal hoping the police don’t find the evidence I know is there.”
“I still can’t believe we did it,” Wink said, pursing his lips as he moved through the hatch to the passageway. “But I’d do it again.”
“Do what again?” asked Bark, standing in the passageway waiting to go into the ready room.
“Kick his butt in the portable football game,” Wink replied quickly.
“That all you guys do on alert is play that stupid football game? You don’t ask each other NATOPS and safety questions? You don’t review airplane systems?” All the systems were explained in Naval Air Training and Operational Procedures Standardization manuals on which they were tested regularly. Failure meant you were grounded.
“Guilty, Skipper,” Woods added. “Paulson says there’s yet another meeting. What’s the deal?”
“I don’t know. It’s CAG’s show. I’m just an attendee, like you. I guess we’ll soon find out. But this one’s just for our squadron. In five minutes — actually, right now,” he added, checking at his watch.
Woods and Wink followed Bark into the ready room. The Jolly Rogers were sitting in their assigned ready room chairs. Woods made his way to his seat in the second row. Wink took a chair farther back.
Officers were talking quietly to each other, but their attention rarely diverted from CAG, who was standing in front of them waiting for something. Nervousness was universal. No one knew why they should be nervous, but they all knew they should be.
CAG looked at Bark, sitting directly in front of him in the front row chair. “Everyone here?” CAG asked him.
“Yes, sir, except for the alert.”
CAG started without any preliminaries. “You heard what I said on the television this morning. There was a large battle between Israel and Syria, and we didn’t want to be anywhere near it. It was bad enough for us to have been in Israel the day before. They should have told us not to come knowing what they were going to do the day we left — but we can’t change that now. The reason I wanted to talk to you, our one and only F-14 squadron, is because it has turned ugly. Israel has been sending continuous raids all day. They’re not letting up this time.”
The officers glanced at one another, relieved to hear it wasn’t about them.
“But there has been a new development that has really got me frosted,” he said, scanning the faces in front of him. “This is really about VF-103. I just hope there has been some… mistake.”
Woods involuntarily gripped the armrests of his chair. He tried to continue to breathe through his nose. He could feel Wink’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
“I was just called on the carpet by Admiral Sweat. Syria has lodged a formal protest against the United States. Actually, against us. Their Ambassador called on the Secretary of State this morning, in Washington, to accuse us of assisting the Israeli attack on the Syrian Air Force, and of actually participating in the attack.”
The officers, murmured about how ridiculous that accusation was.
“According to Syria, their pilots reported seeing U.S. Navy Tomcats during the air battle.”
The aircrew laughed nervously. Woods tried to join in with sufficient sincerity so he wouldn’t stand out. He glanced at Pritch, who was standing in the corner behind the SDO desk. She looked as if she was going to faint.
“Not only do they say they saw F-14s in the battle, but they say the F-14s had the skull and crossbones on their tails,” CAG said. “And there’s more. Syria said they aren’t basing this accusation only on visual sightings. Several of their pilots claim their wingmen were shot down by F-14s. They claim that Sparrow and Sidewinder missiles were used. A couple of pilots themselves claim to have been shot down by Tomcats.”
The officers dismissed the accusation as so much nonsense. “That’s not all,” CAG said, frowning. “The Syrian Ambassador said that they were sure.” He lowered his voice and took a step forward. “Their electronic warfare people identified the F-14 radar.”
Woods tried not to hyperventilate. The pilots and RIOs were silent, wondering suddenly if it was somehow true, but unable to imagine how it could be.
“If anyone has anything to say, I would like to hear it,” CAG said softly. He stood in front of the group and waited for someone to speak.
Woods tried not to draw attention to himself. He began to sweat, and told his body to stop sweating. He knew he couldn’t look at Big, or Wink, or Sedge. Any knowing look would be intercepted by the CAG, or someone else, and all would be lost. They had never discussed what to do if found out. Lie? Lie boldly? Say nothing? Lie to protect others but not yourself?
Woods admitted to himself that he hadn’t thought it through in the infinite detail he should have. They never should have turned on their radar. Just because he wanted the kill. No, he thought, because he wanted to live. Because the Flogger was coming after them and was going to kill them if they hadn’t turned on the radar. He had to.
But he thought he had all possibilities covered. He had told himself that if they closed in on him, if they discovered what had happened, he would stand up courageously and announce what had happened, and tell the world that he was proud of it.