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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 Danny leave; courtesy demanded someone keep
the admiral company, and he didn’t feel like hanging 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.”
                 “Yes,”
said Dog. In a brief but brutal encounter between America and China known to
some as the “Fatal Terrain” affair, Elliott had given his life. He’d died
successfully preventing an all-out nuclear war between the U.S. and China. He
was a bonafide war hero—at least to some people who
criticized the maverick general. They didn’t realize how close the communists
had come to running over Taiwan—and starting World War III.
                 “Things
are still hot there. Touchy. We’ve got a lot of assets along the coast.”
                 “You’re
probably stretched thin,” said Dog.
                 “Absolutely,”
said Allen. “And contrary to all the talking heads, there’s still no guarantee
war won’t break out. I don’t trust the Chinese as far as I can spit, even with
our carriers along their coast. And, hell, even the Indians seem to be spoiling
for a fight.”
                 “India?”
                 “Oh,
yes,” said Allen. “Minor incidents so far. Saber-rattling. Frankly, I don’t
take them too seriously. But all South Asia’s boiling.”
                 Dog
nodded.
                 “Admiral
Woods is an excellent man,” said Allen. “A little competitive sometimes.
Especially if he thinks the Air Force is trying to get ahead of him. Very
competitive.”
                 “How
about yourself?” ask Dog.
                 “Never
play tennis with me.”
                 “I
meant, do you think the Air Force is trying to get ahead of you?”
                 “Piranha
is a Navy project, Colonel.”
                 The
accent on Colonel was sharp enough to fillet a salmon. Having to negotiate with
someone so far down in rank obviously pricked at the admiral. The fact that Dog
essentially answered to no one in the military undoubtedly irked him as well.
                 Their
lunch arrived. The conversation once more tacked toward more friendly