heavy list to starboard, and her guns and missile launchers were motionless. Her active sonar had fallen silent as well. Probably she was without power.
For the briefest of seconds, he considered throwing the mission out the window and ordering his boats to the surface to mount a rescue operation.
His country would try him for treason, of course, but that wasn’t such a high price to pay for averting a war.
But his men would pay the price with him, wouldn’t they? The economy of his country would still collapse into ruins. And, even then, it might not be possible to prevent war.
Groeler flipped up the handles of the attack scope and stood back as the burnished metal cylinder lowered itself into its recess beneath the deck.
He kept his face carefully neutral. It would not pay to allow his crew to see the doubt that he was feeling.
He turned to his Officer of the Deck. “Make your depth one hundred meters.”
“Sir, make my depth one hundred meters, aye!” the Officer of the Deck said. He pivoted on his heal. “Diving Officer, make your depth one hundred meters.”
The Diving Officer acknowledged the order and repeated it back.
Almost without pause, he issued his own order to the Planesman. “Ten degree down bubble. Make your new depth one hundred meters.”
Groeler watched his men only long enough to verify that they were carrying out his order with their usual efficiency; then he turned his mind back to the British ships. He almost couldn’t believe it. With the flick of a switch, some fool had dragged the British into this — a development Groeler was certain the all-seeing strategists of the Bundeswehr had not foreseen. One stupid, reflexive squeeze of a trigger and the plan had gone to hell. And, who knew? Maybe the world would go to hell with it …
Like nearly all senior naval officers, Groeler was a student of history.
Twice in the last century, his country had traded fire with the British. And both times, the entire world had stumbled blindly after them into war. He suppressed a shudder.
CHAPTER 13
It appeared on the video screen without warning: a brilliant wedge of jittering green static that dominated the lower left quadrant of the SPY radar display. Operations Specialist Third Class Angela Hartford stared at the flickering green triangle with disbelief. She had been tracking three air contacts in that sector, and now she couldn’t see any of them. They were totally eclipsed by the pulsing wedge of static. It was an equipment malfunction or maybe a software error. It
Hartford glanced across Combat Information Center to the Radar Control Officer’s console, to the left of the Tactical Action Officer’s station. She punched the channel selector on her communications panel, patching her headset into the Radar Control Officer’s circuit. “RCO — Air. I’m getting some kind of weird system artifact on my air tracking display. It’s gobbling up about a sixty-degree sector of my radar coverage. Can you run a quick diagnostic on SPY and check it out?”
The AN/SPY-1D(V)2 phased-array radar formed the heart of the ship’s Aegis integrated sensor and weapons suite. With a power output of over four million watts and a high — data-rate multi-function computer control system, the most recent generation of SPY radar was capable of detecting and tracking nearly two hundred simultaneous air and surface contacts. In Aegis ready-auto mode, SPY could detect a contact, classify it as friendly or hostile (based on its radar signature, movement characteristics, and approach profile), prioritize it in relation to other threat ships or aircraft, and — if necessary — assign and launch missiles to attack it. Following a missile launch, SPY could even assess the target for damage and decide whether to launch additional missiles to finish it off.
But with such technological power came complexity, and the need for continuous human attention and frequent adjustment. That was the job of the Radar Control Officer: monitoring the condition of the SPY radar and keeping it tuned for optimum performance based upon atmospheric conditions and the types of ships and aircraft operating in and around its detection envelope.
The Radar Control Officer answered Hartford’s call almost immediately. “Air — RCO. Copy your suspected system artifact. Running SPY diagnostics now. Stand by for updated system status.”
Hartford was about to key her mike to acknowledge when another voice broke in on the circuit. “RCO — Surface. I’m getting it too. A big section of my scope is getting creamed. I can’t see squat off the port side of the stern. Somebody’s jamming us.”
The RCO’s reply was sharp. “Surface — RCO. Watch your professionalism on the comm net! Didn’t they teach you anything in school? SPY frequency-hops about a hundred times a second. You
Hartford nodded. The RCO was right. Everybody knew it was impossible to jam SPY, and not just because of the frequency-hopping. At four megawatts, SPY was powerful enough to burn through any jamming signal known to man.
Hartford watched the brilliant triangle of static on her screen. It couldn’t be a jammer, but it sure
She punched her channel selector, patching her headset into the Electronics Warfare circuit. “EW — Air. Are you showing any sort of electromagnetic interference off the port quarter?” She shied away from the word
The Electronics Warfare Technician was obviously trying to stifle a yawn as his voice came over the comm circuit. “Air — EW. That’s a negative. I’m tracking a couple of APG-79s and a WXR-2100 down in that sector. Slick- 32 shows no interference in any sector. The EM spectrum looks nice and clean.”
“EW — Air. I copy no interference and a clean electromagnetic spectrum. Thanks.” Hartford released her mike button. The APG-79s would belong to the two F-18s she’d been tracking prior to the appearance of the artifact, and the WXR-2100 must be weather radar for the Saudi airliner she’d been tracking. Whatever the strange interference
Hartford frowned. If it wasn’t a jammer, then it
CHAPTER 14
President Chandler laid both palms flat on the polished mahogany tabletop and let his eyes travel down one
