vulnerable that we can’t hold out. We can’t count on hitting them with surface-launched missiles, because Red Banner Northern Fleet’s got enough missile defenses to handle whatever we throw their way. Our only real hope of getting to either target is to get in close with manned aircraft that have a shot at evading their ship-mounted SAMs. But if we keep a squadron to cover the battle group I just don’t see enough planes left to cover two strike forces and carry enough Harpoons and bombs to do any damage.”
Magruder was nodding slowly. “That’s what I was afraid of, Admiral. If we just had a few more planes … Tomcats to cover the Jeff, one squadron of Hornets to bomb the troopships, one to ride cover …”
“And you end up sending the Intruders in on Soyuz without an escort. It’s suicide.” Tarrant shook his head. “No, unless you can come up with another squadron by magic, we’re stumped. I think our only choice now is to steer toward Iceland, make it look like we’re trying to skirt their fleet and get in behind them or something. Maybe that’ll draw off Soyuz and enough of Red Banner Northern Fleet to give the Norwegians a shot at doing something themselves.” He sighed. “It was a good effort, Commander. Don’t blame yourself over circumstances beyond your control.”
“Yes, sir,” Magruder said dully.
“If we’re going to head any further north I’ll want the ASW patrols increased. We’ll be moving out of the SOSUS net soon and I want the sub threat covered. That means more work for your Vikings, but-“
“Vikings?” There was a gleam in Magruder’s eyes. “Hold on a minute, Admiral. There’s one idea we didn’t explore …”
CHAPTER 21
The folding chairs in CVIC had been taken down this morning, replaced instead by television cameras and a team of technicians from the OE Division. Admiral Tarrant watched them checking over their equipment one last time as he waited to one side of the lectern for the closed-circuit broadcast to begin.
The director, a first class petty officer, stepped forward and started the countdown. “Ten seconds, people,” he said, pausing and glancing at his stopwatch. “And five … and four … and three …” Then he stepped back and pointed at Master Chief Petty Officer Mike Weston, Jefferson’s grizzled Command Master Chief. As Chief of the Boat Weston was a crucial link between officers and enlisted men. He hosted a daily program of announcements and general information … but today he was giving it up so that Tarrant could make his own announcement.
“It’s 0800 hours,” Weston began. “And time for this morning’s edition of Attention on Deck. Today, instead of the usual announcements, we’ll be hearing from The Man himself, Admiral Tarrant.” He paused, stepping back from the podium. “The admiral.”
Tarrant stepped forward and looked toward the camera. His prepared speech began to scroll across the teleprompter.
“Most of you know by now that the situation here in the Norwegian Sea has turned serious in the last few days,” he said without preamble. “Two days ago the Soviet Union launched a major attack on the U.S. airbase at Keflavik, Iceland, and when Jefferson fighters attempted to intercept the attackers they were ambushed by Russian planes. The fighting on Thursday was a major escalation in hostilities, and proves beyond a doubt that the Soviets are willing to go to any lengths, even outright war with the United States, to pursue their Scandinavian invasion.”
He paused. Words were hardly adequate in this situation. American lives had been lost, and it was a dead certainty that more would die in the days ahead. A discussion of global strategy and politics couldn’t convey the realities of war, the danger that each new incident would lead inevitably to the ultimate horror of a nuclear exchange. He felt he had to give these men some idea of what they faced, but listening to the bald words he wondered if anything he could say would prepare them for what was to come.
“Our orders, confirmed overnight by the President himself, are to support the Free Norwegian forces around Bergen until other U.S. forces can be deployed there. I can’t pretend this task will be an easy one. This battle group is up against the full strength of the Soviet Union’s Red Banner Northern Fleet, a powerful force of ships and planes backed by ground-based air and lurking attack subs. The odds against us are steep, and before my discussion with the President I was forced to consider the possibility of withdrawing from these waters on my own discretion in order to protect the lives entrusted to my command.
“But retreating in the face of Soviet aggression now would expose our allies in Norway to certain defeat, and the successful consolidation of Russian control over Scandinavia would destabilize all of Europe. As long as there is any chance that we can make a difference in this conflict I intend for Carrier Battle Group 14 to remain in the Norwegian Sea and make every effort to hamper the enemy advance. It is absolutely essential that we do everything we can in support of the President’s policy of defending Norway from aggression.”
If the President had only reacted faster, Tarrant thought bitterly, things might not be so bad now. The President’s so-called policy had been forced on him by events, and even now, judging by what Tarrant had heard in his voice, Connally wasn’t eager to pursue this confrontation. But that decision wasn’t his to make anymore. The Russian attack on Keflavik made continued hesitation impossible.
Magruder was going ahead with plans for an Alpha Strike, and after his talk with the President Tarrant had dispatched orders committing the battle group’s two attack subs, Galveston and Bangor, to action. There would be no turning back, not this time.
“We will carry out this policy,” he continued out loud. “It will call for maximum effort from every man in this battle group. The Air Wing staff is even now putting together a detailed plan of operations which we will put into effect against the Soviets as soon as conditions are ripe. This could come tomorrow, or it might not happen for weeks. We have no way of being certain when the best time for a counter strike against them will present itself. Therefore we must be prepared to act on short notice, and that will require intensive preparations on the part of all of us. I want to emphasize that each of you, no matter what your rating or your job, has a vital role to play in this operation, in the very life of this ship and this battle group. There are no unimportant jobs, and I need each and every one of you to give me a hundred and ten percent in the days ahead. Together we can show the Russians that they cannot drive America from the world’s oceans. Together we will show them once and for all that no power on Earth can suffice to ruin the proud name of Jefferson.” He paused and looked straight into the camera. “Thank you all … and God keep you.”
Willis E. Grant leaned against the rail and looked out across Jefferson’s flight deck, shivering a little despite the warm afternoon sun.
He had been discharged from Sick Bay two hours earlier, along with John-Boy. Doctor Chapman had been reluctant to release them at first, but with the Air Wing needing every man they could muster he had eventually given in. Coyote was glad to be out of the ward, but in a way he wished Chapman had been less inclined to give in to pressure from the admiral to certify his patients as ready for a full return to duty.
If the Medical Department had kept him out of the coming fight, Coyote would have loudly protested … but something inside him would have welcomed the excuse not to go back up there again. Now he had to make a choice on his own, and it wasn’t a choice he relished.
Down on the flight deck a Tomcat was roaring off the number-two catapult. He recognized the markings identifying it as one of the War Eagles, VF-97, the carrier’s second F-14 squadron. The tail number was 101, but he knew that Commander Alex Caton, the squadron’s CO, was in the squadron’s offices hard at work on his contribution to the plan of battle for the Alpha Strike Magruder was organizing.
The activity on the deck showed just how intense the preparations for action had become. From his vantage point above Pri-Fly Coyote could see work crews in their colored jerseys swarming over a line of parked aircraft, Hornets and Intruders for the most part. Further down the flight deck more handlers were servicing all ten of the
