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reveal a cross-cropped surfer dude haircut. He also had a pair of Walkman-type earphones wrapped around his neck. The wire led into his left-side breast pocket, where a mini–CD player was located.
    Ryder introduced himself and they shook hands. Phelan was a lieutenant, Ryder was a colonel, but there was no need to salute here.
    It sounded like a line from a movie, but Ryder just had to ask him. “How did you learn how to fly like that?”
    Phelan smiled—it was a Pepsodent smile. “Well, the Navy paid for it, but the Marines were the ones who taught me, sir….”
    There was that word again.
    Ryder pointed to the earphones. “And you listen to music in the cockpit, Lieutenant?”
    Phelan was looking around, taking in his new surroundings. “Had to do the jump in radio silence, sir,” he said plainly. “So why not?”
    Ryder started to say something—but stopped. What was there to say, really? The kid came across not so much cocky as supremely self-confident, in that rookie sort of way. Typical of the Top Gun, Navy jock, Tailhook crowd.
    He reminded him of someone, though. His mannerisms, the attitude.
    But try as he might, Ryder just couldn’t remember who.

Chapter 6
    That night
    There was one drawback to the Air-Land Assault Ship/Special concept.
    It had to do with the aviation gas. A Harrier could go through tons of it, literally, in just a few flights. A bulked-up stealthy one burned that much more. The helicopters were also gas guzzlers, but nothing compared to the jump jet. The problem was, the ship could only keep so much JP-8 av fuel onboard. Space on Ocean Voyager was at a premium despite its size, and there were safety concerns as well. There had been no good place to set up a fuel reservoir big enough to meet just the fixed-wing asset’s needs, so the copters and the jet had to draw from the same tank, an uneven feeding. (The ship could carry just about enough gas to keep the three of them flying off and on for 14 days.) The rest of the available tank space was taken up by fuel needed to run the ship’s turbine propulsion engines.
    Keeping the gas supply up then was an ongoing concern. It wasn’t like they could get a hose boost from a passing Navy fuel ship anytime they needed some extra fuel. Nothing would blow their cover quicker. So Murphy had devised an alternative system. On prearranged nights, Ryder would take the jump jet up to meet an in-flight refueling plane. These aerial gas pumps were almost always USAF KC-10 Extenders, usually flying out of bases in Europe or the Middle East. Their crews knew only that an American Harrier needed a drink, nothing more. If Ryder wasn’t going on a mission, he would fill his internal tanks and some spares on his wing. He’d float back down to the ship and the Marine Aviation guys would drain the extra fuel off into auxiliary buddy tanks for use later on. To have a four-day supply of gas dedicated just to the jump jet was considered optimum. Now that Phelan was onboard, though, that requirement would have to double.
    Ryder had run the nocturnal refueling drills several dozen times since the Ocean Voyager started operations. They weren’t growing on him. The flying part wasn’t bad. It was finding the tanker. The Extenders were usually on time and at the right altitude. But locating them on the vertical plane took both skill and luck, especially in bad weather.
    And it all had to be done without any lights and, of course, no radio.
     
    It was 2350 hours when Ryder and Phelan took off. They were going out on a mission, their first together, even though they hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other since the junior pilot came aboard. Ryder had barely introduced himself to the young pilot when the typical workday aboard ship kicked into gear. They were both summoned to the CAC by Martinez to be briefed on what would prove to be a long night of multiple assignments. A lengthy airplane prep came next, then a few hours to nap, another to suit up, and