Flash Point by James W. Huston Read Free Book Online Page A

think about it. Right now I must go.”
    “Get back to me.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “You have no idea? Really?”
    “A few.”
    “Who?”
    “It’s too soon.”
    “Don’t wait too long,” Kinkaid warned. “If we’re going to help, we need to know who we’re dealing with.”
    “I’ll see what I can do,” he said again.
     
     
    Woods walked into the ready room fifteen minutes before the scheduled brief. The Commanding Officer of VF-103, Fighter Squadron 103, Commander Mark Barnett, also known as Bark, was sitting in the first row reading through the message board in the front of the room. He glanced down at his watch. Woods knew what every other aviator in VF-103 knew — you were late to a brief only once in this squadron. Then you got to be Squadron Duty Officer for a week. No flying, just watching.
    “Morning, Skipper,” Woods said casually.
    “Trey,” Barnett replied, looking closely at Woods. “You ready to go?”
    “I was born ready,” Woods said.
    “Right. I forgot,” Bark said. “What kind of hop you on?”
    “Strafing the spar.”
    “Don’t hit it.”
    “Don’t worry, Skipper.”
    “Did you see we got our new Intel Officer?”
    “You’re kidding me. Where is he?”
    “It’s a she. She’s in the back, in the briefing area. Watching a brief from the receiving end first.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Charlene Pritchard.”
    “She got any experience?”
    “Yeah. She graduated from intel school at Dam Neck.
And
she has a gold bar on her collar.” An Ensign, the lowest officer rank in the Navy.
    “Damn good thing they send these Ensigns to tell us what’s going on. Too bad Bruno had to go. He was just getting productive.”
    “Come on, Trey. You know you can’t stick around here once you know what the hell is going on. That’s what triggers getting
replaced
.”
    Sean smiled as he looked toward the back. “She got a call sign yet?”
    “Nope.”
    “I’ll give it some thought,” he said. He was one of the few officers in the squadron who could give someone a call sign and make it stick. He looked at the television. “Is she good-looking?”
    “Trey,” Bark said without looking up.
    “Just making conversation. I’d better go brief. See you later, Skipper.”
    Commander Barnett didn’t even acknowledge his departure, having already buried himself back in the message traffic on the metal board. He flipped one after another, initialing each message in the red ink only he used.
    Woods wandered to the back of the ready room to the briefing area. It had charts of the Mediterranean on sliding boards next to the greenie board — where the landing grades of all pilots were kept in full view. There was an additional television for the closed circuit briefs from the carrier’s intelligence center. Wink and Vialli were already there, as was the RIO with whom Vialli flew, Lieutenant Jack Sedgwick, known simply as Sedge. Wink’s eyes began their characteristic exaggerated blinking, which had given him his name. No one in the squadron even noticed anymore. No one ever called him by his name, Kyle Martin. As a senior lieutenant, on his second squadron tour like Woods, he commanded a lot of respect, especially because he was regarded as the best RIO in the squadron. As the mission commander, Wink had arrived at the brief early and was prepared. The spare crew was there too in case Woods’s or Vialli’s plane broke and there was time to launch a replacement. They didn’t want a scheduled sortie to go unfilled. Bark would rather die.
    The television jumped to life at exactly 0815. The
Washington
had gotten underway at first light and was now well out of sight of Italy. The Ensign on the screen, the Intelligence Officer from VFA-81, one of the F/A-18 squadrons, showed the ship’s position on the chart.
    Woods resisted sitting down to listen to the brief. He saw the new Ensign standing behind the briefing area looking lost. Woods walked past the enormous steel and leather