Gibierge shook his head doggedly, knowing that Desaix despised servile cowardice even more than he disliked being contradicted. “No, Foreign Minister. But the bad weather moving through Poland over the past forty- eight hours has reduced the tempo of all military operations, reducing consumption of critical supplies.”
Several of the uniformed men seated at the table nodded sagely.
Gibierge had many supporters in the ministry. He was a professional, heir to centuries of French military tradition. Rumor had it that he was an arrogant bastard, sure of his abilities, but a competent one nevertheless. The admiral shared Desaix’s vision for France, but he was only one of thousands that did so.
“In addition, we believe the Poles have been stripping supplies and spare parts from their divisions still stationed along the border with Belarus. Naturally those expedients can only be taken so far. Poland’s armed forces will soon reach the end of their logistical rope.”
He left carefully unmentioned the fact that the German and French divisions already deep inside Poland were experiencing their own supply problems. The admiral would let the generals take the heat for their own errors.
Impatiently Desaix nodded and waved the admiral on.
Gibierge returned to his notes. “Present enemy strength includes the entire U.K.-based Royal Navy and Air Force, minus a few planes and small ships that we have already accounted for in action. In addition, the United States has now moved four combat wings and at least two carrier battle groups into the area.” He looked up. “Human intelligence also indicates that advance elements of the American 101st Airborne Division have arrived in England. Other, heavier American divisions are said to be mobilizing or heading for ports of embarkation.”
The admiral frowned. “In short, gentlemen, if the enemy succeeds in opening the surface line of communication through the Baltic to Gdansk, we can expect American ground troops and supplies to pour in. Details are on page four of your briefing books.”
Several men glanced down at the books lying open in front of them. Each of the principals at this meeting had been provided with a bound notebook, labeled “Top Secret” — full of maps, statistics, and other supporting information. No video or computer screens would intrude on the antique splendor of this room. The printed page was much more tasteful.
The rest looked at the admiral expectantly, waiting for him to go on.
“I believe that the Americans and the British, these so-called Combined Forces, have been husbanding their strength — hoarding their ships and planes until they can mount a strong challenge to our control of the Baltic.” He paused. “That time has arrived.
“We have already seen the opening phases of their developing attack. British antisubmarine patrols have been strengthened in the North Sea. We know that American submarines have probed along our coasts. We have also seen a marked upsurge in enemy surveillance flights.” Gibierge was into the rhythm of the briefing now. Even Desaix seemed less impatient.
“When they do attack, we don’t expect anything subtle. They don’t need it. Their strike aircraft outrange ours. They have a greater variety of assets, including cruise missiles and stealth aircraft, which we will find very hard to stop. In some areas, such as submarines, they outclass us in both numbers and individual unit quality.” The admiral hammered each of his points home with a forceful, certain tone. It was essential that he make these men understand the difficulties facing the Confederation’s naval and air forces. Only then could they be persuaded to make the difficult and dangerous decision needed for victory.
“There is little point in further Confederation naval operations in the North Sea. With enemy bases lining both its western and eastern shores, it has become a hostile body of water. We have already lost two of our conventional submarines there, for no appreciable return.
“Our real strength, though, is in the Baltic. Our own bases in Germany and our minefields have made the narrow waters impassable to Combined Forces shipping. Their transport aircraft must use long routes to avoid our fighters. The Americans and the British know that as long as we hold both the Baltic and the North Sea approaches, they cannot effectively resupply the Poles or their other Eastern European allies.”
Gibierge paused again and looked about the room. Fixing his gaze on each man in turn, he said with certainty, “Trying to clear the Baltic by destroying our air and sea bases there and along the North Sea coast is more than the obvious move. It is their only move.”
He shook his head grimly. He had chosen the next words carefully, but there was no way to make it sound good. “And they will succeed.”
The admiral raised his voice a little, cutting off the anticipated questions and protests. “The outcome is almost as certain as the answer to a simple mathematical equation. We have good intelligence about the enemy’s capabilities, and we know the limits of our own resources. The Americans and British have the firepower, both in numbers and technology. The battle will take time, but when it is over we will have lost control of the Baltic. And with it, we will have lost any hope of bringing this war to a swift and victorious conclusion.”
Gibierge focused on Desaix. Of all the formidable men in this room, the Foreign Minister was the most formidable. The others would follow his lead. “Working within those parameters, the naval staff can only see a single option: a massive, concentrated air attack on a single enemy carrier, just as it comes within striking range of our coastline. Destroying one of the two American carriers would significantly weaken their offensive. More important, it would deal a severe political blow to the United States.”
Desaix and the others nodded. With five or six thousand sailors and airmen aboard each carrier, the losses suffered in any sinking would certainly shake American public opinion. They might even turn it against continued intervention in Europe.
All right, Gibierge thought, he’d given them hope. Now to dash those hopes. “Unfortunately this plan will not work, either — not as it stands.”
He could see them sitting up, puzzled, ready to object. “Without long-range missiles with large warheads, any attack on an American carrier battle group would only result in serious aircraft losses for us — with very little chance of success. Soviet anticarrier tactics were based around missiles with ranges of five or six hundred kilometers, equipped with one-ton explosive warheads. Our air-launched weapons are shorter-range and carry warheads only a fraction of that size. So any strike we mount using conventional missiles would require too many planes operating too far from home with too few fighter escorts. America’s Tomcat and Hornet interceptors would chop our attack force to ribbons before it could even fire.”
The admiral straightened to his full height and delivered his own bombshell. “There is one way and
The room erupted in a chorus of agitated exclamations all mixed together. Words like “impossible” and “madness” emerged from the confused babble.
Gibierge waited patiently for Defense Committee members to settle down. As he had expected, so did Desaix.
The Foreign Minister fixed Gibierge in a steady gaze, then said, “I would like to hear your reasoning, Admiral.” His tone made it clear that what he really meant was, “This had better be good.”
Gibierge nodded his head. “Of course, Minister.” He’d practically lived with the relevant numbers for the last week. “Our longest-range conventional antiship missile is the ANL, with a range of one hundred eighty kilometers. It is a stealthy, supersonic seaskimmer, and a fearsome antiship weapon. One or two hits will sink a frigate or destroyer. Unfortunately we would need dozens of hits by those same missiles to cripple something as large as a carrier. Penetrating an American battle group’s defenses and achieving that many hits would require at least fifty successful launches. Factoring in likely losses from the enemy’s fighter interceptors, that means we would have to commit four full squadrons of aircraft just as missile carriers. That is too much of our air strength, leaving nothing for the vital supporting roles.
“Our supersonic, nuclear-tipped ASMP nuclear missile has a longer range and mounts a three-hundred-kiloton warhead. And one hit from one missile will obliterate an American aircraft carrier.” He stopped, letting the assembled commanders and politicians savor that.
“The military implications are clear, Admiral, but what about the risk of escalation? After all, the United States has its own nuclear forces — forces that far outmatch ours.” Desaix’s measured tone held no criticism or approval. Gibierge guessed that the jury was still out.
He had expected the Foreign Minister’s question. “If we limit our attacks to naval targets in the open ocean, I do not believe that America will dare use its nuclear weapons against us. The risks are too high and the rewards are too few. Our air and sea bases are largely surrounded by civilian population centers. Striking them would mean killing tens of thousands of innocents. No American or British political leader could authorize such an attack —
