Like what might be happening to Lobo.
“Missing?” Batman said. “You mean, completely? But I understood her chute was sighted.”
Coyote looked haggard. “Here’s the situation, Admiral. Her plane was struck by a PLA heat-seeker and downed. Her chute was seen, fully deployed; so was her backseater’s. But it was getting dark at the time. The backseater was located and picked up by the SAR helo from Shiloh… but he was dead. And… the sharks had been at him.”
“Oh, Christ. Lobo — ”
“Her situation is a different matter, Batman. SAR hasn’t found any sign of her at all. No sign, you understand? Not even a shred of cloth.”
Batman looked up. “You’re saying she might have been picked up by somebody.”
“It’s a possibility, sir. SAR reports there was a lot of surface traffic in the area: Commercial boats, cabin cruisers, fishing boats… Could easily be one of those grabbed her.”
“Until we know for sure, keep SAR going out there.” Batman clenched his jaw so hard he felt two molars grind. “Lobo got shot down before… and it went very badly for her.”
“I’m aware of her story,” COS said softly.
“Of course.” Batman sighed. “All right. So now I suppose we just wait until we get some kind of word.”
“On the positive side,” Coyote said, “our pilots shot down three Flankers, and ran the rest off. And we also picked up a civilian survivor.”
Batman made a shamed grimace. The survivor. Somehow, in the last few hours the object of this entire disastrous episode had been relegated to the status of “Oh, yes, by the way…”
“His condition?” Batman asked.
“Strained back, cuts and bruises, dehydration. Shock. He was out there for hours, and I guess he spent some time fending off sharks himself. We know his name’s Alonzo George, and he’s with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. He’s out of it for now; Doc says we can visit him in medical tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Batman wondered if tomorrow would be soon enough, then pushed the thought out of his mind and turned toward the hatch. “I’m going to watch Bird Dog’s landing.”
Major General Wei Ao, supreme commander of the Hong Kong PLA, had obviously expected this phone call. It was equally obvious to Political Commissar Yeh that Wei had called him into the room specifically so he would be involved in the conversation.
As soon as Yeh was seated, Wei flicked on the speakerphone. “Yes, Comrade General Ming,” he said. “We did consider your orders, of course. But the situation was unique. We not only needed to provide aid and assistance, but to try to find and identify the attacking aircraft.”
Ming’s voice crackled slightly over the speakerphone. “And who authorized an air battle with U.S. Navy aircraft not a hundred miles from Hong Kong? Do you realize that this was seen live on television all over the world?”
Yeh watched the garrison commander’s throat pulse with his swallow. What had Ming said about this man’s vices? He collected imperial Chinese antiquities…. “I’m aware of it, yes,” Wei said.
“The American jet’s last transmission has been played on the media as well, over and over: ‘It’s Chinese; it’s got a red star.’ This is your interpretation of my orders not to provoke the United States?”
Wei drew himself up defiantly, something Yeh suspected he’d never dare do if the general were physically in the room. “The media broadcasts should work to our advantage, General. As you know, the attacker was described as a stealth-type aircraft, a flying wing. Obviously it could not have been a PLA fighter. The American pilot was obviously mistaken. That’s why I considered it in the interests of national security to send aircraft out to investigate what actually — ”
“And once again,” Ming said, “the only direct witness of the event ended up in the hands of the Americans. How is that possible? I consider this a very poor job on your part, Major General. Very disappointing.”
Wei slumped back in his chair. “But — ”
“Gather your co-commanders at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” Ming said. “I’m flying down to talk with all of you and get this straightened out once and for all.”
As Bird Dog turned on final, he was annoyed to see that the crash barricade, that giant badminton net designed to catch wounded aircraft that missed the cables, had been raised across the deck. Well, of course they would raise it, under these circumstances, but he still found it infuriating. What, they didn’t think he could hit a three wire with half an airplane?
“You hang in there, Catwoman,” he said over ICS. “You just hang in there, okay?”
There was no answer. She was resting, he told himself.
Watching the meatball, listening to the patter from the LSO, he brought the Tomcat in toward her home. Many pilots referred to carrier landings as “controlled crashes,” but Bird Dog had a higher standard than that. And he was going to live up to it now, too — not because of his pride, but because he didn’t want to jar the precious cargo in his back seat any more than he had to.
And he was not going to need that damned net.
As Hot Rock entered the dirty-shirt mess, he was greeted with subdued applause and slaps on the back. With pilots dead and missing, the usual after-battle banter was subdued, but Hot Rock was still congratulated for making his first kill — even if it was only a helicopter, at least it was probably the same helicopter that blew up the Lady of Leisure, right? He was congratulated for his flying skills, outmaneuvering multiple bogeys even if he didn’t have the chance to take any of them out.
Only his RIO, Two Tone, stayed out of the group, Beaman said. “She’s a sorry sight, isn’t she?”
Franklin couldn’t look at him. Tomcat 304 was now a hangar queen. Fist-sized holes punched all over it, the metal blackened and splintered around the edges. The back half of the canopy just gone. How Bird Dog had managed to bring the plane in, Franklin had no idea.
Franklin felt sick and angry. He wasn’t sure who he was angry with, but it was a strong feeling.
“The RIO,” he said. “Is she…”
“In sick bay. Alive. Bad. And you know what? She’s lucky at that. I just had a little talk with Lieutenant Commander Robinson. He says that about the time things got hot, he lost hydraulic pressure in the left wing control surfaces. That was before he took any hits. Now, how do we explain a loss of hydraulic fluid?”
Franklin felt a frightful chill clatter down his spine. “I tightened that fitting,” he said. “I tightened it right down. I know I did.”
Beaman nodded gravely at the plane. “We’ll see.”
As always when they were going to the car to drive somewhere together, Tombstone and Tomboy both strode straight for the left front door. “I’m more current than you are,” Tomboy joked.
Tombstone handed her his duffel bag. “Exactly why I need some stick time. Besides, this is my car.”