those cloaked in the rags of so-called United Nations mandates. The United States should bear in mind the fact that we have many ballistic-missile submarines, and that a suitable demonstration of our will could as easily be directed against the American aggressors as against the traitors in illegal rebellion against the present Russian government.'
'Mr. President,' Waring said. 'It may be that the thing to do at this point would be to pull back, take a deep breath, and think this whole thing through. We are looking at the possibility of thermonuclear war. I don't think we've been this close to a full-scale nuclear exchange since the Cuban Missile Crisis.'
The President shifted his gaze to others in the Oval Office. In one corner was a small coterie of military officers, among them the Pentagon liaison, Admiral Magruder.
'What do you say, Admiral?' the President asked.
'Actually, Mr. President, we've been eyeball to eyeball with the Russians several times since 1962. They had nuclear missiles ready to go during the Six-Day War, for instance-'
'That's not what I was asking, Admiral. How shall we respond to Krasilnikov's, ah, accusations?'
'Hardly my place to say, Mr. President, I'm a military man, not a leader of government.'
'Damn it, Admiral-'
'Sir, I can point out that all of our intelligence to date Suggests that the only nuclear weapons he has access to are those in the Northern Fleet.
The rest are either in rebel hands or contested, controlled by loyalist Strategic Rocket Forces but cut off behind the lines in rebel territory. If he were to order a nuclear strike against the United States, it would be a sharply limited one.'
'Even a single nuclear detonation in the continental United States would be devastating, Mr. President,' West pointed out. 'A catastrophe.'
'A nuclear detonation anywhere in the world could be a catastrophe, Gordy,' the President replied. 'Especially if one followed another, and another, and another…'
'I can also point out, Mr. President,' Magruder continued, 'that if we pull back now, we achieve nothing. We've gained no ground. We haven't stopped the Krasilnikov faction from carrying out their threats. The American men and women who have died already will have died for nothing but some rather thin symbolism. 'Delivering a message,' as some of your political friends like to put it. We might even lose our whole battle force, probably will, in fact, if the shooting match goes nuclear over there. All for nothing.'
'Well, good God,' Waring said, angry now. 'If it's a choice between losing a couple of damned aircraft carriers and losing New York City-'
'Admiral Magruder,' the President said, cutting off Waring in mid-sentence. 'Do you think our military forces over there have a chance, any chance at all, of carrying out their mission?'
'Yes, Sir. If our intelligence estimates of the situation are correct.
If they're not micromanaged into a pocket. If their mission isn't changed on them in mid-course by people back here who think they know better.'
'What do you mean?'
Magruder shrugged. 'Sir, right now our carrier battle force and the II MEF have clearly defined goals, a mission, a purpose, and the support they need to carry it out. If you or the UN decide to change or muddy their mission goals, well, there aren't any guarantees. That was a large part of the problem in Vietnam, the lack of a clear, well-defined objective.'
'Point taken, Admiral. The men can do the job, so long as the guy giving the orders tells them what to do, then gets out of the way.'
'Mr. President-' Waring began.
'Herb, we're too far into this to change now. We've got to go ahead.'
'God help us if you're wrong, Mr. President.'
'Amen,' the President replied. 'Because no one else will.'
Despite the continuing, usually good-natured rivalry between Navy and Air Force over who had the better flyers, Tombstone had been damned glad to see the new arrivals plotted on the Ops displays. While Intruders were all-weather, day-or-night-capable attack aircraft, handing off the bombing to the Air Force had let VA-84 and VA-89 stand down for a decent night's sleep, in anticipation of what would be happening in the morning.
Tombstone had been up late the night before again, going over the final planning for Operation White Storm, but he'd been able to pull down five uninterrupted hours of sleep, and when an aide had rousted him awake at 0530 hours he was feeling better rested ? and more confident ? than he'd felt in several long days.
At least part of his change in heart was the result of a decision he'd made the night before, a decision he implemented that morning with a change to the air wing duty roster. Tombstone had decided to put himself on the active flight list.
Years before, the CAG of a carrier air wing had been expected to fly combat missions. Hell, that was a tradition that went back to World War II, when CAGs really were commanders of air groups and were expected to lead their men against the enemy. Modern warfare, however, had become more and more a war of machines and technicians, of computers and radar-guided weapons and of unit commanders who gave their orders over secure data links. With the superCAG concept, the commander of a carrier air wing, while he still logged his hours of flight time, was expected to lead a mission from Air Ops, where he could use his training and his judgment to direct an entire battle, rather than the small part he'd be able to see from the front seat of an F-14.
By and large, Tombstone agreed with the common sense of doing things that way. It cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to train a man to be a leader; it simply no longer made sense to have an army's generals out front with the flag, the first to die as they inspired their men.
But at this point, the actual development of the battle was largely out of Tombstone's hands. He'd assembled flight lists and schedules, orders of battle and logistical needs, all based on the Pentagon's preliminary work on Operation White Storm. The targets were set, and all he could do was sit in his chair in Air Ops, watching the radars and listening to the voices of his people as they engaged the enemy.
So he'd put himself down to lead a TACCAP, a tactical combat air patrol covering a bombing raid going in over the Kola Inlet later that morning.
'Admiral on deck!'
The men at the Air Ops consoles did not stand, but Tombstone and the other officers watching the operation stood as Admiral Tarrant, flanked by his chief of staff and Captain Brandt, strode in.
'Good morning, CAG,' Tarrant said. 'They told me I could find you down here.'
'You didn't need to come hunting for me, Admiral. I could've come up to the fresh air and sunshine.'
Tarrant grinned as he glanced around the Ops compartment, red-lit and claustrophobic. 'It is something like a cave down here. I can understand you wanting to get out for a change.'
Tombstone suspected he was driving at something. 'Sir?'
'I'm disallowing your request, CAG. I need you here, directing your wing. Things are going to get damn complicated this morning when the Marines hit the beaches, and I don't want you off over Russia somewhere. Clear?'
Tombstone's hands flexed briefly at his sides. He knew better than to argue this one. 'Clear, sir.'
'What kind of casualties have you been running?'
'Remarkably light so far, Admiral. We lost one Tomcat and four Intruders yesterday. We lost another A-6 during recovery.'
'What, a crash on the deck?'
'Not quite, sir. Lieutenant Commander Payne had a hydraulics failure after completing his run. He took a hit from triple-A over Vladimir, and his gear failed when he hit the deck. We ditched the aircraft to keep the deck clear, but Payne and his B/N got out okay.'
Tarrant nodded. 'Eisenhower reported similar losses. Light.
Suspiciously SO.'
'Maybe the Russians are too far extended in the south,' Captain Brandt suggested.
'That's what everybody back in Washington keeps telling me,' Tarrant said, 'but I don't quite dare believe it.
