this point had few options left.
“The Norwegians are dug in tight and ready for damn near anything that comes in on the ground,” Lee had said at one point. “They’re fighting the kind of war they were always supposed to fight, holding a few key passes against Russian columns that can’t push them back without unacceptable casualties. If they keep following the same basic strategy they’ve been using the Russians’ll try an end run starting near the coast. Drop a major desantniki force near a usable port, then funnel in all the amphibious troops they can manage. All of a sudden the RNA’s got a whole corps inside their lines and driving on Bergen, and that’s all she wrote.”
“If it’s that predictable, will they really try it this time?” Magruder had asked, still not entirely comfortable with the ins and outs of ground strategy and tactics.
“No guarantees, of course,” Lee had replied. “They could make maybe two other moves. One would be a major drop right behind the lines somewhere near the center of the Bergen defensive perimeter, with the idea of creating a large hole in the line that the armor could exploit. Problem with that is that Norway’s still an easy place for a defender. They run the risk of achieving nothing more than a short advance before getting bogged down all over again.”
“And the other option?” Magruder had pressed.
“Use the naval force as a decoy, then drop the paratroops behind the end of the line opposite Oslo. They’ve built up a pretty fair contingent around the capital, and a determined drive on that side supported by desant troops could lead to a nice little penetration.”
“But you don’t think that’s what they’ll try?”
“Not really. First off, that’s the longest overland route to Bergen they’ve got, and again they’re up against the defensive advantage. Number two, all their logistical support down there would have to come in by air. They’ve got air superiority now and they could have air supremacy in a few more days, but a determined offensive by the RNAF or even a spell of nasty weather could cut those troops off with virtually no supplies. They’re already at risk keeping Oslo fully supplied. I really don’t think they’d want to risk the whole offensive on something like that.” He had grinned. “Don’t forget, the Soviets’ve had experience seeing what kind of havoc a determined partisan with a hand-held Stinger can play with a well-planned op. Afghanistan’s going to haunt them the way Vietnam did our boys until the Gulf War came along.”
It all made good sense, and Magruder was willing to rely on Lee’s expert opinion. In addition to his Intelligence experience, the man had a genuine flair for strategy. He seemed able to pick out the advantages and disadvantages of just about anything the Russians chose to do. But in the end, Tombstone didn’t see that any of it would be much help.
He stopped rubbing his throbbing forehead and looked at the map again. “All right, we can spot their airdrops as they happen. The satellite coverage gives us that much. If they do what you expect, then this amphibious force will start moving in to support the parachute troops within a few hours. Assuming we can sort through whatever diversions they mount, we’ll be able to predict where they’re heading and probably their ETA. Right?”
Lee nodded. “Almost certainly. They’ll stay bunched up so the escorts can cover them from subs and missile attacks. Don’t forget, the Norwegians still have some of their navy left. But they wouldn’t be much good in a head- on fight with the Soviets.”
“Okay. That’s the good news then. The bad news is their air power. They already have a damned strong contingent of fighters and bombers from Frontal Aviation out there, and you say they’re about to reactivate Orland with more squadrons of MiGs and Sukhois.”
“It’s already in service on a limited scale, Commander,” Lee corrected. “By tomorrow they’ll be flying six or eight squadrons out of there.”
Magruder rubbed his chin. “And, of course, we’ve got their naval air to contend with. Not just as extra cover for their operations ashore, but as a direct threat to us as well. I don’t like these odds, Art.”
Lee shrugged. “I can’t do much about that, sir. I deal in facts. This is what we’ve got to work with.”
“How reliable is our coordination with the Norwegians? Can we get any help from them at all?”
“They’re pretty hard-pressed, Commander,” Lee said slowly. “You know they’ll be doing everything they can, but I expect their resources will be stretched to the limit by what they’re already up against.” He paused, studying the map with a thoughtful expression. “One thing we might do is encourage them to mount a strong raid toward Oslo, though.”
“How would that help?”
“Well, it would probably take every extra plane they’ve got, and it might not cause a whole lot of damage, but as sensitive as the air supply pipeline has to be right now, I’d say we’d draw a lot of their Frontal Aviation units away from the navy. That would also probably block them if they’d planned on an end run out of Oslo.”
“Hmph.” Magruder was still frowning. “Narrows the odds some, but not enough. I’ve got one and a half interceptor squadrons, two Hornet squadrons I can use as fighters or bombers but not both at the same time, and one squadron of Intruders that are bombers only. With that we have to make a dent in their attack force and still cover the Jeff.” Suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue, he looked away. “Hell, I don’t know the answer. I don’t think CAG could’ve covered all these bases.”
The damnable thing was that it was almost possible. If he was willing to take some risks, he could probably put together an attack that would have a shot at crippling the enemy amphib forces, but if he made one wrong step the results would make the loss of the Gridley look like a minor lapse in judgment. There were just too many variables … and Magruder wasn’t sure he could face the tough decisions that would have to be made.
If he attacked and failed, a lot of good pilots could follow Stramaglia and the others … and the Jeff herself could come under attack again. Thousands of American lives were potentially at risk.
And if he did nothing, it would be thousands of Norwegians who might die, and at the end of that road lay the ultimate victory of the Russian war in Scandinavia, with all the potential for future trouble that carried with it.
As a squadron commander, back in North Korea, Magruder had first been forced to face up to his responsibility for the life-and-death decisions that went with command. He could still remember the torment of losing Coyote when his plane went down in that first dogfight off of Wonsan. It was a lesson every leader of men learned sooner or later.
But time and rank didn’t make that lesson any less painful. As a squadron commander he’d been directly responsible for twenty or thirty lives at best, though often his own personal actions had reached far beyond that immediate circle. Now he was responsible for hundreds of lives directly, and the fate of many more could also be affected by his decisions.
“Look, Art,” he said at last. “We can’t do anything else for now. Why don’t you pack it in and get some sleep. We’ll get together and go over whatever OZ gets in later on. Okay?”
Lee looked at him with a worried expression. “You going to be all right, Commander?” he asked. “Seems like all this is hitting you pretty hard.”
“I know what I’m supposed to do, Art,” Magruder said slowly. “I just have to find out if I’ve still got the guts to do it or not. And it’s something I can only work out on my own.”
As Lee left, Magruder’s thoughts went back to North Korea. Back then issues of right and wrong, action or inaction, had all seemed so clear-cut. Now they didn’t seem so easy to resolve.
Yet that was exactly what he had to do.
Fatigue and numbing cold … gray skies and an angry gray sea … those were Coyote’s world. A part of him thought he was trapped in a dream, in the old familiar nightmare, but another part insisted that it was all too real.
The water had been icy, sucking the warmth right out of him as he struggled into the life raft and fought to control his panic. He needed a cool head to stay alive, a cool head and his survival training.
Coyote remembered cradling his RIO to him, seeing the striped helmet hanging at an impossible angle, knowing that the man was dead yet unwilling to accept it. But no … John-Boy had helped him into the raft out there in the rolling waters of the Atlantic, had helped him later when he couldn’t get his hands to work to attach the harness so that the SAR copter could hoist him aboard.
Two dreams, then … that was it. His RIO had died in the waters off North Korea, but John-Boy had lived through it to help him when he needed it. Through the fog of a half-dream other memories played against one
