“Where the hell is he?” Batman slammed his hand down on the TAO’s desk. “Damn it, what was he doing inside the no-fly zone? And why didn’t you give him a vector back to Tanker Alley?”
The TAO was pale and shaken. “Sir, they didn’t look that far out-of-bounds.” He gestured at the large-screen display covering the wall before him. An ominous stick figure marked the spot where Thor’s Hornet had last been detected. The estimated location was being transmitted to every ship in the battle group, along with the air assets overhead.
“He’s not too far out of area. Admiral.” The TAO tried to sound confident. “We should have him back on deck in ten minutes.”
Batman stared at the TAO, cold anger lighting his eyes.
“You better, mister. You damned well better.”
Maybe the tanker crew had gotten out? Thor felt a moment of irrational hope. Maybe they were just over the next wave, drifting in closer. He tried to believe that they’d ejected in time, but the memory of the massive fireball he’d seen just as he ejected kept intruding.
Just at that moment, he would have given virtually anything not to be alone in that warm, churning water.
He tried the PRC-70 one more time, speaking slowly and loudly into the small handheld radio tuned to military air distress frequency. “Home Plate, this is Hornet Three-zeroone. Do you copy?” He held the radio to his ear, desperately concentrating on the hissing static.
Had that been a small, extra crackle, an indication that someone was keying a mike on the other end? He felt a surge of hope, followed immediately by despair. No, it hadn’t been. Whether the problem was the notoriously unreliable batteries or some malfunction in the radio from the force of ejection was impossible to tell. The only thing that mattered was the end result no communications. And without that, trying to vector Jefferson’s SAR assets to his location was an impossibility.
He turned the radio over and studied the back. The tough casing was partially shattered, and he figured he must have hit it against the canopy during ejection. The radio might have even saved him from breaking a leg. But just now, it seemed like a bad tradeoff.
The life raft looked farther away than when he’d started swimming toward it. He set out for it again, alternating between keeping it in view and searching the sky for the SAR helo.
“As of two minutes ago, there was still no contact on Major Hammersmith.” The Marine Corps colonel’s voice was grave, but professionally detached. “All six helos are engaged in a standard expanding square search pattern around the last data. Additionally, S-3 Vikings and E2C Hawkeyes are quartering the area, searching for any visual or electronic traces of him.”
“How the hell could they miss him?” Batman burst out.
“Jesus, it’s not like we don’t know where we lost contact on him.”
The Marine Corps colonel stiffened. “I don’t know, Admiral. That’s a question Major Hammersmith will have to answer for us, when we find him. When, not if.” The Marine’s tone of voice brooked no disagreement. “The admiral will recall that there are seven MiG-29s in the immediate vicinity. The Cubans are in targeting mode, so my fighters are having to cover the SAR assets and keep the MiGs off the slow-flyers. The seas aren’t helping any, either.”
“Just find him. Colonel,” Batman said wearily. “We’ll sort out what happened later. Right now, all that matters is we have a man in the water and we don’t know where he is.”
The admiral took a deep breath and turned to his chief of staff.
“What’s next on the agenda?”
The chief of staff pointed at Bird Dog. “Preliminary CONOPS-contact of operations for integrating the Arsenal ship into battle group operations against Cuba under the current scenario. Arsenal is too new to be covered in the standard scenario. Until we have Major Hammersmith back on board and air superiority established, we need to consider a full range of options.”
Batman nodded. As distasteful as it was, the tactical situation demanded that he and his staff put aside their worry over one pilot in the water to focus on the big picture.
If the MiGs kept swarming, odds were that Washington would feel obliged to execute one of the contingency plans developed for this area. It was up to him to make sure the carrier battle group used every asset as effectively as possible, and that included the USS Arsenal. “Go ahead.”
Bird Dog stood and moved to the podium, gesturing at the enlisted technician manning the computer at the back of the room as he did. His entire presentation was integrated with intricate graphs and charts, a briefing skill he’d been especially adept at at the War College. Not that anyone in this crowd would notice, not with their attention riveted on Thor’s fate. Bird Dog felt a ripple of anger, then pushed it away, ashamed to be considering the impact of Thor’s mishap on his staff work.
After the standard greeting to the admiral and senior officers. Bird Dog said, “All war, of course, is political in nature. All operations here are merely the extension of politics by other means.” He paused, surveying the room, assessing the impact of quoting Clausewitz to officers so senior to him. “With that in mind, our targets against Cuba must be carefully chosen in order to maximize American national security objectives.” He clicked the mouse in his hand, flashing a detailed topographical map of Cuba onto the screen. “Indeed, given the delicate issues at stake, I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a precise list of target locations and the estimated impact on Cuban national strategy for Joint Chiefs of Staff approval. I’ve also detailed areas that we must avoid, where the danger of collateral damage is too great.
Here, for instance.” He flashed his laser pointer up on the slide, privately pleased at the professional look it gave his presentation.
“This is the central medical complex on the base. Three buildings to the west is the Cuban command post. We must insure that” “Didn’t they teach you anything at War College?” Batman said coldly.
“Sir?” Bird Dog’s confidence fled.
“We’ve had plenty of experience with detailed input on targeting objectives with political purposes in mind. In fact, as a War College graduate, you ought to know that. The individual targeteering and weaponeering management of that conflict significantly prolonged the entire war. Additionally, it led to tragic results.” Batman’s voice took on a somber note as he remembered how many classmates and friends he’d lost in bombing runs supposedly targeting truck farms. “Targeting must be a military function, first and foremost. Yes,” he continued, waving aside Bird Dog’s attempt to comment, “whether or not we enter into conflict is a political decision, I’ll grant you that. But micromanagement of targets will lose this conflict faster than anything we can dream up on this ship.”
“Admiral, if I could just,” Bird Dog began desperately, seeing his newfound career as a staff officer slip away.
“No, I don’t think so.” Batman shoved his chair away from the table and stood. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but you have to take the War College with a grain of salt. Out here, mister, your job is to keep pilots from going into the water for no reason and to no military advantage.
Try again and make sure you understand the difference between using assets to achieve a desired result and muddling about in decisions way above your pay grade.”
Batman looked around the room slowly, catching each officer’s eyes.
“All of you keep that in mind. This briefing is over.” Batman strode quickly to the door of his private cabin as the other officers scrambled to their feet in belated courtesy.
As the admiral’s cabin door slammed shut, the chief of staff turned to Bird Dog and regarded him gravely. “In my office in five minutes.”
Senator Williams, the junior senator from Virginia, shook his head gravely. “Keith, you can’t live in a vacuum. What happens down to the south has a big impact on operations.”
He glanced across the table to see if the admiral was paying attention, then he turned his attention to his
