Cauldron

mock attacks on his ships had stopped, probably so the French and Germans could rest their forces and prepare their own plans. Instead, shore-based radars and patrol aircraft tracked his convoys. He wasn’t helpless, but he was in EurCon’s front yard, and they were holding all the high cards.

His biggest problem was the lack of support. Warships operating alone could rarely handle every threat imaginable — one lucky hit by an enemy attacker, or an unlucky malfunction, could cripple even the most powerful ship. Two or three ships can cover each other, combining strengths and canceling out weaknesses. But they’re still limited to whatever ammunition they have on board, to their own sensors, and to their own helicopters. Add replenishment ships and you gained a more powerful group that could fight a battle, rearm, and fight again. Tossing in an aircraft carrier created a powerful formation that could detect its enemies hundreds of miles further out — and fight under a protective umbrella of fighters and attack jets.

His nearest carrier, though, was George Washington, far away in the North Sea. A “bird farm” needed sea room, both for launching and recovering aircraft and to hide from enemy attack. Carriers were too valuable to risk in confined waters. Georgie’s aircraft wouldn’t be able to help him here — not at first anyway. As part of their declared neutrality, the Danes had closed their airspace to all armed planes. If and when the shooting started, that wouldn’t mean much. He doubted that the small Danish Air Force would do much to stop either side from overflying its territory. Nobody expected the armed forces of the tiny neutral country to commit suicide for the sake of a principle. So his carrier’s interceptors and attack aircraft should have a free hand. But that could very easily be too late to save his isolated ships and tired men.

And they were tired.

Once the President announced his ultimatum, the admiral had set Condition II in all units under his control. Condition I was general quarters — full battle readiness. In Condition II, half the crew manned their general- quarters stations, while the rest tried to eat, catch up on sleep, and perform the most vital maintenance tasks. You could keep it up for a lot longer than general quarters, but “port and starboard” was still hard on sailors.

Fighting a yawn himself, Ward turned to look aft at the two merchants, trailing in Leyte Gulf’s wake. He groaned inside.

Dallas Star was a tanker, loaded with jet fuel. Tartu was a container ship, carrying Patriot missiles, radar parts, and tank ammunition, all desperately needed in Poland and to the south. It still galled him to fail — to turn tail and run. But the percentages were against any other course, and the cargoes aboard two merchant ships would never reach port if they were lying on the bottom of the Baltic.

When he looked away from the ships he was supposed to protect, the sun had vanished — its passage marked only by a fading red glow in the west. The Kattegat’s choppy waters were slowly blending with the darkening sky and darkened land to either side. Stars were already visible, pale against the eastern horizon. There would be a quarter-moon tonight and clear weather.

Blacked out, his ships would soon be invisible, but only to the naked eye. Shore-based and airborne radars tracked him, and his own ships’ radars were all lit off, searching for the first signs of impending trouble.

A tall, angular officer leaned out through the open portside bridge door. Even with night falling, Ward could recognize the worried face of Captain Jerry Shapiro, his chief of staff. “Sir, we’re getting a message from the Poles.” His tone made it clear the news was serious.

Stepping into the cruiser’s enclosed bridge, Ward heard an accented voice crackling over the radio speaker. “… listing badly. Tugs are coming, but I don’t think we can save her.”

Shapiro nodded toward the speaker. “There’s been an explosion on board Canyon. Probably a mine. No known submarines in the area.”

Ward’s chest tightened.

Canyon was a container ship loaded with air-to-air missiles, computers, and spare parts. A battery of self-propelled artillery was strapped to her deck as well. Part of the southernmost convoy, she had been under Polish naval escort, and only a few hours from safety. Her two American protectors had broken off earlier. Free of the slower merchant ships, the Kidd-class destroyer Scott and the Ferry-class frigate Aubrey Fitch were racing north at thirty-plus knots.

The voice continued. “… continuing sonar search. No contacts yet. We think this is a mine attack. Recommend you take extra precautions as well.”

As Leyte Gulf’s radio talker acknowledged and signed off, Ward thought it was past time for simple precautions. He turned to the cruiser’s commanding officer. “Put the ship at general quarters, Captain.” He had instructions for Shapiro as well. “Relay that order to the rest of the force, and pass the information on to CINCLANTFLT. Flash priority, Jerry.”

The sharp, blaring sound of Leyte’s klaxon followed Ward down to the CIC.

The electronics-packed space was filled with quiet, purposeful activity. With half the crew already at their general-quarters stations, much of the bustle associated with going to battle stations was missing. Men wearing headsets hunched over glowing screens and consoles, speaking quietly over radio and intercom circuits.

Ward slipped into his chair, followed moments later by Leyte Gulf’s skipper, sitting on his right.

The command display directly in front of him showed a map of the Kattegat and every known air, sea, and submarine unit in the immediate area. One to the left covered the entire Baltic. The electronic displays gave the impression of omniscience, of having a godlike “eye in the sky.” It was a false impression, the admiral often reminded himself. Small circles and boxes and triangles marked friendly, unknown, and known EurCon contacts.

As he studied the screen, Shapiro approached. “CINCLANTFLT has the word, Admiral. They wanted to know if we were going to change our plans. I said no.”

“Good work, Jerry.” A good chief of staff knew the commander’s intentions and could often speak for him, especially when their course of action was this clear. No, Ward thought, if he had any Last Best Moves, he would have already used them.

One thing, though. “Call Scott and Fitch.

Have them run for the Polish coast. There’s no way they’ll get out of the Baltic in time.” He paused, then explained. “I think the balloon’s going to go up real soon now.”

“Sir, it’ll be at least an hour before they’re in range of Polish air cover.”

Ward sighed. “I know that, Jerry, but Gdansk is the closest friendly territory. Tell them to run like hell. Tell them to burn out their engines.”

Shapiro left in a hurry. Ward pondered all the information laid out in front of him. There was one vital fact missing. How long did he have before EurCon tried to hammer his convoy? He couldn’t attack on his own — not without orders from above. Besides, he really didn’t want to. Every minute of peace brought his ships half a mile closer to safety.

By now word of the attack on Canyon would have flashed up the chain from commander in chief, Atlantic Fleet, to commander in chief, Atlantic, to the National Command Authority — a fancy name for the President. Modem communications would put his message in the President’s lap in minutes. But how long would it take to get a decision back down the chain of command?

“Don’t just sit here, Jack,” he muttered to himself. Although the American ultimatum hadn’t yet expired, somebody somewhere had started shooting. For all practical purposes, he was already in a battle. “Don’t let the enemy make the first move.”

All right, think. So far EurCon had hit one container ship. Where were the planes, missiles, and submarines that should be barreling in on this convoy?

Leyte Gulf was too valuable a target to be ignored or bypassed, even if its firepower made it a tough target. Just the political value of taking out one of the U.S. Navy’s Aegis cruisers early in a war would make the attempt worthwhile.

Making piecemeal attacks, though, was worse than foolish. If the French and Germans really were going to war right now, they’d already given him precious time to alert his forces, to warn Washington, and to do all the things you really don’t want an enemy to do.

Ward frowned. No matter what the Poles said, he didn’t believe Canyon had struck a mine. Mines were very precise creatures. Any mines laid by EurCon forces would be equipped with timers ready to activate them in concert with a set-piece surprise attack. Instead, he was willing to bet that some German or