Piranha

“I don’t want sushi,” said the admiral.

“No, sir, of course not, sir. It can be cooked to your specification.”

“Medium then, but still moist.”

“To drink?” said the airman, with the precise intonation of a waiter in a high-class restaurant.

A true achievement, since the man was a bomb ordie on special assignment. Dog marked him down mentally for a weekend pass.

“Water,” said the admiral.

“Evian, or perhaps Dolmechi?”

“Dolmechi?” said the admiral. “The Italian mineral water?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” said Allen. “I haven’t had that since I visited Naples.”

The waiter—who had obviously been heavily briefed by Ax—turned toward the colonel.

“I’ll have a burger,” said Dog. “And a Coke.”

“Yes, sir. Captain?”

Da

“Very good, Da

“Admiral.” Da

“Just a second.” Allen rose and stuck out his hand. “Some of my Marines made sure I heard about what you did in Iran for them. Good work, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Da

“You ever think of switching commands, remember the Pacific,” said Allen.

Da

“An impressive officer,” said Allen.

“One of the best,” said Dog. “That’s why he’s here.”

“And you’re wondering why I am, aren’t you?” said Allen. He smiled, showing signs that somewhere beneath the weight of command he did have a sense of self-deprecating humor.

Maybe.

“Actually, Admiral, what I’m wondering is why you didn’t give us a heads-up that you were coming,” said Dog.

“That’s not the way I do things,” he said abruptly.

The colonel looked over at the airman approaching with their drinks. He didn’t intend on getting into a pissing match with Allen, who as commander in chief of the Pacific Command (USCINCPAC) was one of the most powerful people in the military. The admiral commanded all forces in the Pacific, including Air Force and Army units as well as Navy. He also had considerable input at the Pentagon and, more important, the White House.

On the other hand, Dog wasn’t going to roll over for anyone. Allen had no more real business here than Dog did on the flight deck of his carriers.

Admiral Allen took a small, almost dainty sip from his mineral water as the waiter retreated. “Colonel. Tecumseh—can I call you that?”

“My friends call me Dog.”

Allen smiled indulgently. “Dog. How’d you earn that?”

“It’s God spelled backwards,” said the colonel, who didn’t mind telling the story on himself. “I was a flight leader with a bit too much of an attitude, and some people thought it fit. They were probably right.”

Allen laughed. “This was before you shot down the MiGs in the Gulf, or after?”

“My kills were unconfirmed,” said Dog, though there was little doubt he had indeed splashed the enemy planes.

Another indulgent smile from Allen. “Let’s cut to the chase,” said the admiral. “The Piranha report—what’s it going to say?”

“I would imagine it will say something along the lines of what Commander Delaford said—the system is ready to be implemented, and it’s ready for the next phase of tests, if that’s approved.”

“Specifically, concerning the test.”

Allen was undoubtedly worried about the details of the test engagement, which would show his Navy commanders—Woods especially—in a somewhat embarrassing light. With the proper emphasis, Admiral Woods—and, by extension, Admiral Allen—could be seen not only as enemies of the program, but as going overboard to scuttle it. In a politically charged atmosphere, such nuances could be deadly.

Or not. It was a game Dog had long ago decided not to play.

“Writing the report itself is not generally regarded as one of my duties,” said the colonel.

“You’ll sign off on it, though.”

“As I see my job, Admiral, it’s to develop weapons, not worry about egos that might be bruised because test results make them look bad. If you have a specific worry, maybe you ought to lay it out.”

“Steady there, Colonel. Steady.”

There were once more interrupted by the waiter, who brought out two dishes of fancy salad. Dog now regretted letting Da

around to be harangued on what he considered a minor matter. He was somewhat surprised that Allen himself changed the conversation, turning to a totally neutral topic—the Megafortress.

Allen claimed to have long admired the big bombers, and was impressed by their showing during the recent showdown with China. Politely, Dog offered to put him in a copilot’s seat on an orientation flight.

“Can’t do it, unfortunately,” said the admiral. “Ever since the flare-up, we’ve been going nonstop. I guess you heard the press is calling it the Fatal Terrain affair. Makes good headlines for them, I guess.” He smiled wryly, but then added, “I was sorry about General Elliott.”