how weak his own argument sounded. The chief listened politely, although his face turned a little red.
“Well, Lieutenant, I can see your point,” the chief said after Bird Dog’d petered out. “You tell a sailor to be somewhere, that’s where she ought to be.”
“I’m glad you agree with me, Chief,” Bird Dog said. “Nothing seems to be getting her attention. Quite frankly, I don’t think we’re going to be able to nip this problem in the bud. If her blatant disrespect and disobedience continue, we’re going to have to consider Captain’s Mast.”
The chief was silent for a few moments, intently examining the worn linoleum on the ready room floor. Finally, he looked back up at the young lieutenant. “You’ve got it wrong, Lieutenant. I don’t agree with you — haven’t about this whole thing. I made that real clear to you in the beginning. You want me to push this, I will. You’re the boss. But let me tell you — you’re making a big mistake here, sir. That young airman was up there checking out our aircraft, taking some initiative and responsibility. Okay, maybe she was late for this bullshit extra duty you’ve got her on. But I can tell you, I’d a hell of a lot rather have a safe airplane than a shiny clean deck in the ready room, or an extra coat of paint in the division spaces. You start punishing people for taking the initiative, you’re going to end up with more problems than you started with. Sir.”
The chief stood up, towering over the young lieutenant. Bird Dog stood hastily, not willing to be intimidated by the older man.
“Lieutenant, you concentrate on flying. Leave the troops to me. It works out better that way — trust me.”
“It is time to give them something else to think about,” Mein Low declared. He pulled the delicately annotated chart toward him. “I want the American forces confused and uncertain — but not provoked to action.”
“What do you recommend, sir?” his operations planner asked.
Mein Low studied the chart, mentally measuring distances and converting that to reaction time, aircraft range scales, and weapons envelopes. He tapped on the edge of the chart, then picked up a pencil. He paused, studying the other marks on the chart, and nodded with approval. Not only was the chart precisely marked out, complete with current American positions and resupply points, but it was done with a certain style, the script of the drafter in harmony with the printing on the charts. A mark of refinement, he thought, and wondered exactly who’d done it. Not his operations planner. The man had the penmanship of a peasant.
“Here,” he said finally, making a light mark on the chart. The planner craned his head across the table to see the point his superior indicated.
“A wise choice,” the planner said appreciatively.
“You think so, do you? Explain to me in detail the merits of this point.” Mein Low’s eyes glinted dangerously.
“It is — the distances are, of course, obvious,” the planner began. Mein Low let him flounder for a few more minutes, giving him time to fully appreciate the dangers of appearing to know more than one did. Better if his planner had admitted ignorance — always the beginning of wisdom — and simply asked.
“A small airborne strike force, of course,” Mein Low said. “Not too many, certainly nothing that would ever begin to challenge the capabilities of the Aegis cruiser. Four fighters, perhaps. Armed, yes, but flying a highly visible flight profile. Slow and high, no suspicious maneuvering. Now do you begin to see the significance of this one point?”
The planner started to nod, and then thought better of it. He studied the point again, measuring the distance to the American aircraft carrier. Finally, he looked up.
“This point — if our fighters fly to it, then turn around and return to base, they are never within weapons range of the carrier.”
“Be more specific!” Mein Low demanded. “It is in the details of planning that wars are won and lost.”
“The carrier is never within our weapons range, while we are undoubtedly within theirs,” the planner said hastily. “I see the degrees of relative vulnerability, but I must confess I do not completely follow your plan.”
Mein Low nodded. That the young staffer had admitted his ignorance showed progress. Now that the student was willing, the teacher would appear.
“Think of the impression we wish to convey. The South China Sea is ours, and we need no justification for patrolling any part of it. Particularly the area we have declared as an exclusion zone — the Americans are there at our sufferance, and have assumed the risk. I wish to accustom them to seeing fighters patrolling with impunity in the area. You will instill in each pilot the concept of cool confidence, that they have the right to be in the vicinity without any further explanation to the Americans. They will not respond to any challenges or inquiries from the Americans, nor will they ever venture within range to launch weapons on the American forces. You now see the beauty of this plan?”
“I believe so. If the Americans attack our airplanes, that simply confirms to the world our position — that the Americans are hostile belligerents in a peaceful area of the world, stirring up trouble and attacking all other countries at will. If they kill our pilots and burn our aircraft, they will have done more to unify opinion against them than anything we could do.”
“And the alternative result?” Mein Low demanded.
“If they fail to act, then they simply reaffirm our rights to patrol our area at will. But, sir, what if they launch escorts to intercept and escort our small group?”
“Even better. Let me show you what I intend.”
Fifteen minutes later, the young operations planner began to understand just how much he had to learn about the art of operational planning.
“All quiet back there?” Rabbit asked. It wasn’t really necessary to ask — had anything interesting crossed their screens, the scope dopes would have been screaming bloody murder.
“Why? You got somewhere else to be?” Fingers asked. The ICS evened out her hard, clipped Maine accent, catching every additional consonant without emphasizing the missing ones.
“Nope. Just logging the flight pay up here.” The pilot grinned at the copilot. It was sheerly one of the joys of being an aviator. Getting to fly, and getting paid extra to do it.
“Looks like you spoke too soon,” Fingers said. “Looky who’s coming out to play! Four unidentified bogeys off the commercial routes. Inbound, angels fifteen, 420 knots. I call it Chinese fighters.”
“You copy, Homeplate?” Rabbit said over tactical. “I’m going to start feeling a little lonely up here real soon.” It was one thing, he thought, to fly missions alone off the coast of southern California. An entirely different level of pucker factor to do it in the South China Sea. The quietly reassuring if occasionally obnoxious presence of a few Tomcats or Hornets would have sounded mighty fine right then.
“Roger, copy,” the OS said. “Hang tight, Snoopy. We’re going to send some playmates up with you. Spook One and Two are launching as we speak.”
Fingers shook her head. Spook was the call sign assigned to the two new JAST birds. She’d gotten a good look at them on the deck, both at the impressive avionics and at the stealth coating. Still, when you got right down to it, neither one had been fully op tested under real-time conditions. What looked like a workable system at Pax River didn’t necessarily work as advertised after multiple catapult launches, slamming tailhook recoveries, and the gentle ministrations of flight deck technicians. Had she been given a choice, she’d have opted for one of the regular Hornets or Tomcats — preferably the long-endurance Tomcat.
She clicked her mike in acknowledgment and listened to the tactical chatter from the back of his aircraft over the ICS.
Within minutes, the OSs on the carrier were complaining about the radar picture.
“I know they’re off the deck. We’re picking up IFF responses to interrogation. But I’m not getting skin — just mode four squawk. What the hell are these birds, anyway?” the OS on the Vincennes asked the air tracker on the carrier over the private LINK coordination circuit.
“Both Spooks are inbound your position,” the OS on the carrier advised. “Don’t worry — I can’t see them either. Aegis is picking up skin off them, and we’re tracking them over LINK. Let me know when they get close
