of the room, hands on hips. 'Washington, obviously, is concerned. At zero-two-fifty this morning, Jefferson's battle group received orders through CINCPAC and Seventh Fleet to move to a new operational area, centered one hundred fifty miles east of the North Korean port of Kosong. Our orders as of this time are to hold our position, to take no action which will further inflame the situation until Washington can develop a viable strategy.'
Someone muttered something near the front of the room, and Neil turned sharply to face him. 'You said something, Mr. Greene?'
'Yes, sir,' the skipper of VA-89 said loudly. Lieutenant Commander Greene was CO of the Death Dealers, one of Jefferson's two A-6F Intruder squadrons. Marusko knew the man had a reputation as a bigmouth. Loud he might be, and opinionated, but he was a good pilot… and a good skipper. 'I just said, sir, that we could give Washington one hell of a viable strategy. An A-6 strike on Wonsan would be just about perfect!'
'Right on, Jolly,' someone else said. 'Bomb the SOBs back to the Stone Age!'
'Which is just what we can't do, gentlemen,' Neil said, asserting control once more. 'Washington wants to keep a lid on the situation here. The intelligence community just isn't sure yet what the Korean Communist intentions are ? why they've provoked this crisis.'
'Intelligence, right,' muttered Steve Murcheson, commander of the carrier's other Intruder squadron, VA-84. Marusko knew what he was thinking. Neil's reference to 'the intelligence community' meant the CIA, the NSA, and military intelligence all working together, organizations that had been wrong at least as often as they'd been right in recent years. They'd been great at collecting information, but analysis was weak. Marusko had known cases where field commanders had actually been hampered by too much raw data, with no way to tell what was important and what was not.
And when it came to guessing what was going through the minds of the enemy, well…
The younger Magruder leaned back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. 'What I want to know is why we weren't allowed to go in and help the Chimera yesterday? If Washington wanted to keep things bottled up, they should have done something to keep the gomers from taking her into port!'
'You got that right,' VF-97's skipper said. John 'Made it' Bayerly gave Tombstone a cocky thumbs-up. 'If we could've gone in across the line, a strafing run or two would've driven off the Korean ships, and-'
'It's a bit late for recriminations now,' Neil interrupted. 'We just have to play with the hand we've got.'
'Some hand,' Tombstone said. 'Two hundred hostages held in Wonsan. What are we supposed to do, sit here and make faces at the North Koreans?'
'The State Department has initiated action, Commander,' Neil said. 'While we have no diplomatic relations with the PDRK, we have access through the Military Armistice Commission at Panmunjom. A formal deputation will meet with-'
'A formal deputation?' the younger Magruder exploded. 'Those SOBs pirated one of our ships and shot down one of our aircraft! Don't you-'
'Just a moment,' Admiral Magruder said, stepping up behind the podium. 'May I remind you… may I remind all of you that it is not the Navy's place to tell Washington what to do. We carry out foreign policy. We don't make it. For now, and until further notice, this carrier group is on hold, to be used if and when the National Command Authority deems it necessary.'
Marusko sighed. The magic name of the National Command Authority had been invoked. It would be the President of the United States, working through the Joint Chiefs and State, who would handle the responsibility now.
'Any questions?' Neil asked. His manner made it clear he did not expect any.
Paul Larson raised his hand. The lanky commander was CO of VS-42, Jefferson's squadron of antisubmarine Vikings.
'Commander Larson?'
'Just what are we up against? I've never thought much about the North Koreans as Naval opponents!'
Several members of the audience chuckled.
'We shouldn't face too much in the way of direct threat to our carrier group,' Neil agreed. 'They have four Najin-class frigates, one of which was probably involved yesterday with Chimera's capture. Osa missile boats, patrol craft.' He glanced at the admiral. 'Their primary offensive arm is their submarine fleet, Whiskey-class boats, and a few Romeos. But they're all diesel jobs, out-of-date and noisy as hell. They won't be a problem.'
'What about third parties?' Commander Drexler asked. The skipper of VAQ-143 sounded worried. 'Just how big a problem are the Chinese or Russkies going to be?'
Neil gave a small shrug. 'Wish we knew. Intelligence doesn't think either Beijing or Moscow is going to come out in support of the PDRK, but at this point, their intentions are anybody's guess.'
'There's intelligence again,' Murcheson muttered.
'Thank you, Commander Neil,' Admiral Magruder said, stepping up to the podium. The look in his gray eyes as he took Neil's place made Marusko think he wanted to head off further comment. None of the aviators in CVIC looked happy, and several wore expressions that were downright belligerent. He remembered an acronym which had made its way through military circles for years, one which had been invented by the raiders who went into Son Tay to rescue American POWs in 1972. Their unofficial symbol had been a mushroom with the letters KITD/FOHS.
Kept in the dark, fed on horse shit. This looked to Marusko like a similar situation, one where American lives were going to be put on the line with inadequate intelligence… and possibly inadequate backing as well.
And the skippers of Jefferson's air wing were beginning to feel the same way.
'Gentlemen,' the admiral said. 'As of now, this carrier group is on full alert. Within two hours this command can expect the arrival of a Marine Expeditionary Unit. The Chosin and her escorts put to sea from Okinawa last night. They should rendezvous with us by eleven hundred hours this morning, and their presence will give us full amphibious capability, if it becomes necessary to go ashore.
'Our orders are to be prepared to implement whatever policy the National Command Authority deems necessary for resolving this crisis.' The admiral's eyes shifted, seeking out Lieutenant Commander Greene. 'Obviously, air strikes against North Korean targets are one possible option. I would like to steal a march on Washington and get the planning for such a strike under way at once. Each of you will coordinate with CAG in preparing operational orders for sorties against the North Koreans.' A low, chorused groan rose from the seated men. Writing op orders meant hours of paperwork… all in addition to their other duties.
Admiral Magruder held up his hand. 'We will assume three levels of response: aggressive patrolling, strikes against selected ground targets, and full amphibious operations. CAG will pass out folders with what we know about KorCom radars, SAM sites, and other installations along the east coast.
'It is my intent, gentlemen, to be fully ready to carry out whatever is asked of us.' He paused, giving the room one last sweep with those icy eyes. 'Dismissed!'
The officers came to attention as the admiral strode past them and out the door.
CHAPTER 7
They pulled him out of the hole in the ground with shouts and curses. His hands were still lashed behind his back, and Coyote could no longer feel his fingers.
It had been a long night, and a cold one. His flight suit was still wet from his inadvertent swim the day before, and crouching in the mud at the bottom of the pit had left him chilled to the very core of his being.
'You come, imperialist damn sonabichi!' A rifle butt planted hard against his spine sent him sprawling facedown on the ground. A booted foot caught him in the side, sending a blast of pain through his chest and shoulder. 'Up, sonabichi! You up!'
'With a kick like that, you oughta try out for the Cowboys,' Coyote muttered through clenched teeth. Rough hands grabbed his arms and hoisted him to his feet. Prodded and jabbed by the muzzles of his guards' AK-47s, Coyote was herded toward the low, concrete block building in the center of the compound.
They'd brought him to that building for the first time the previous afternoon. He'd been hauled dripping from
