Cauldron

of Ursula’s Stonefish mines. Gutted by the resulting blast, she also sank. Unlike Sachsenwald, though, some of her crewmen survived.

MINISTRY OF DEFENSE, PARIS

Some years ago, the Defense Ministry’s old basement storage areas had been gutted and replaced by a state-of-the-art situation room. Although not a true command center, the room did allow ministry officials, as well as the rest of the French national leadership, to see the big picture while still being close to their offices and the comforts of the capital.

The gleaming facility, filled with floor-to-ceiling color map displays and computer terminals, was the pride of French industry. High-ranking foreign visitors were often taken on tours, to showcase the technology that France might provide to them, for a price.

With most of the Confederation’s Defense Committee there, the room was crowded to capacity. French and German officers of all services filled the space, tensely discussing the unfolding events. Nicolas Desaix, flanked by Admiral Gibierge, sat in one of the elevated seats near the center.

They were watching a battle. Gibierge had alerted his superiors the evening before that the Combined Forces were moving.

An increased number of enemy surveillance flights, a sharp rise in the amount of coded radio traffic, and unusual activity at British airfields had convinced him that the offensive he had predicted was about to begin. He was right.

Some officials, notably the Defense Minister and his closest military subordinates, arrived before dawn. They were in time to see the Tomahawk strikes raining down all over France and Germany, to hear the reports of Sachsenwald’s and Bayern’s loss, and to receive news of a commando attack on the naval base at Brest. All were bad in themselves, but the men in the situation room knew they were just the opening moves. Like the first drops of rain, these pinprick raids around the periphery would continue throughout the storm. Everyone waited for the lightning.

The center screen had been set up to show the Channel coast, the Low Countries, Germany’s north coast, and the southern half of the North Sea. Data from many sources, including an American-built E-3 radar plane, was fused into a single integrated picture. As Desaix watched, a second E-3 took off from its base at Avord, reinforcing the one already aloft.

Colored symbols flowed across the display, showing aircraft and ship positions, courses, and speeds. Even an amateur could see patterns in the movement: fighters and antisubmarine planes on their patrols, ships entering and leaving port, and, in the center, two massive groups of red symbols.

Tracking the American carrier battle groups had been easy. In the crowded North Sea, information was more important than concealment, so almost every American radar was on. EurCon surveillance units had located each radiating ship and classified them based on the types of radars they carried. Other ships, not radiating, could be seen by airborne radar.

One symbol was labeled George Washington, another Theodore Roosevelt.

Each was surrounded by a cluster of red ship symbols — their escorts, tankers, and replenishment ships. Circles, centered on the carriers, showed the range of their aircraft and their escorts’ land attack cruise missiles. Other circles, centered on French and German air bases, showed the range of the aircraft based there. The range circle for George Washington almost touched the German coast near Wilhelmshaven.

Gibierge checked the clock, then leaned over and whispered to Desaix. “Our strike is launching now, Foreign Minister. With luck, we can catch the Americans right in the act of launching their own attacks.”

“Won’t they see it coming?” asked Desaix.

The admiral shook his head confidently. “We have jammer aircraft screening the attack formation, both standing off and providing direct escort for our strike planes. By the time the Americans can get a clear picture, our strike will be in the air and well on its way.” He smiled wolfishly. “These Combined Forces are moving exactly as we expected them to. We will make them pay for their predictability.”

MUSTANG LEAD, COUNTERWEIGHT STRIKE, OVER USS GEORGE WASHINGTON

Nearly one hundred navy warplanes orbited high over the North Sea, a moving cloud of sophisticated aircraft growing steadily as more planes thundered off George Washington in clouds of catapult steam.

Thirty thousand feet above the wavetops, Commander Rudy Mann, USN, watched his squadron form up. So far, the launch had gone like clockwork, but that was expected. His pilots had better be able to take off and assume formation competently. A lot more would be demanded of them before lunch.

Mann’s youthful face was almost completely masked by his helmet, oxygen mask, and visor. His thinning hair, close-cropped like many pilots, gave a better idea of his age than his features. In his early thirties, he was at the typical age for a squadron commander, with years of experience “in type,” flying the Hornet.

Mann’s F/A-18 Hornets, the shortest-range of the strike’s aircraft, were the last to launch, but they wouldn’t have any trouble catching up with the rest of the raid.

“Hatchet” Mann swept his eyes over the instrument panel one last time, then ordered, “Mustangs, turn to zero eight five now.”

Looking over each shoulder, he watched the rest of the squadron, twelve planes in all, follow his movements. The new course would intercept the main air formation quickly. Proceeding at a stately 370 knots, his Hornets had almost a hundred-knot overtake on them.

In the clear early morning air, he could see dozens of planes from both George Washington and Theodore Roosevelt spread out below him in Alpha Strike formation. An attack against a land target was called an Alpha Strike. One against a naval target was a Sierra Strike. The size of the strike was determined by the target’s value — and by how badly you wanted it to die.

This was a big one. Admiral Ward had spent half the previous day juggling the two carriers’ planes so that only those actually going on the strike were on George Washington.

Fighters from Roosevelt, still outside enemy strike range itself, would cover her. In turn, land-based British Tornado and American F-15 and F-16 fighters covered Rosie.

If everything went according to plan, the air groups would unscramble automatically after the raid, each landing on its own carrier.

Mann’s squadron, one of the four Hornet squadrons involved, flew ahead and to port of the main formation. Six jammer aircraft, already radiating an invisible electronic fog, flew among the F/A-18s. Lower still and even further out were two flights of A-6 Intruders, armed with Harpoon antiship missiles. They would take out any enemy vessels that lay in the raid’s path.

George Washington’s air group commander, or CAG, rode in an E-2 Hawkeye, one of the two accompanying the raid. Their high-powered radars would allow the CAG to see the raid as it progressed, and make what adjustments he could.

Other aircraft orbited in the vicinity, watching. Mann could not see them, but they did not have to be close. An air force RC-135 and a navy ES-3, different aircraft with the same role, flew lazy circles at high altitude. Equipped with webs of antennas and other electronic sensors, they would listen to the signals made by both sides and learn what they could.

Radar on, Mann scanned the sky with his eyes as well. They were headed into trouble, and he wanted to see it coming.

MINISTRY OF DEFENSE

A junior officer reported, “New airborne activity near George Washington.”

More aircraft symbols appeared around the closer of the two U.S. carrier groups. Desaix looked over at Gibierge and raised a single eyebrow in silent speculation.

The admiral nodded. “This could be their opening strike, Foreign Minister. I don’t think these new planes are interceptors. Our raid is still forming out of their radar observation. In any case, the Americans would not launch their fighters for some time — certainly not until they had a good idea of our numbers and destination.” He studied the display. “Those planes are forming at high altitude, in easy view of our radars. They certainly aren’t trying to