Wilson was still struggling to understand. “How did you get involved in this?”
Weed’s familiar smile returned.
“After I left the Ravens, I was ‘approached.’”
“Approached? I wasn’t ‘approached.’” Wilson regretted his words, and Weed didn’t disappoint.
“Yes, you, the hero of Yaz Kernoum! Navy Cross, two air-to-air kills — never mind that one of them was mine, you dick. Then, boy-skipper. I guess the CNO aide job took you out of the pool, and they had to approach little-old-me with my measly Silver Star.”
Wilson knew he deserved it and knew Weed had to get this off his chest.
“You know, that Silver Star… people notice it. You are King Kong, instant credibility, but when your freakin’ roommate has a Navy Cross….” Smiling at the incredulity of it, Weed shook his head and exhaled. “I mean, you’re the guy the CNO wants. Everybody wants you on their team. You get command of the Firebirds early; you’re on your way. Me? I’m the perennial second-banana to Flip Wilson, Tonto to Kemosabe. I’m out of the limelight — and that’s why I was approached.”
“Are you still in the Navy?” Wilson asked.
Weed chuckled. “Yes, currently hanging out with Mongo and other fun personalities in a dark cyber-locked dungeon on the Fleet Forces staff. We’re the Atlantic Fleet operational test guys. The land of the misfit toys, I like to call us. We are everyday fleet knuckleheads involved in some programs — so we have cover stories — and we just read you in to one of them.”
“One of them?”
“One of them.”
Wilson pressed him. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yes, several times. Mostly go-fasts and submersibles like today. Months ago I bagged a King Air near the Yucatan Peninsula; low-slow flyer on the deck, non-squawking, lights out, heading north… that guy isn’t a tourist. I flew close aboard to ID him, then chipped away at his right engine with guns before finishing him off. The guy was a fucking plastic surgeon from Alabama carrying a load of poison for our kids. Yeah, I sleep soundly.”
Wilson sat absorbing it, stunned.
Weed broke the tension that followed with his familiar grin. “Skipper, you better get back to the squadron. We’ve been alone here for some time, and people are going to talk.”
Wilson, still in his flight gear, gathered his helmet bag and stood. “We will talk again?”
“Sure, Kemosabe! But not about Century Ratchet. That is discussed here only, and I cannot emphasize enough, my friend, the importance of operational security. You have some experience in this area, and, if I were you, I wouldn’t sneak up on me and hide behind clouds again.” Weed’s face went from jovial to serious as he spoke the words.