In TFCC, an atmosphere of controlled chaos was developing. Admiral Edward Everett “Batman” Wayne, commander of Carrier Battle Group 14, strode into TFCC. The admiral’s cabin was located on the same deck, just thirty feet away.
“Good morning, Admiral,” Gator said crisply. He followed his greeting with a concise summary of the contact’s track history. “I’m having them spin up the Alert 30 aircraft?just to be on the safe side. If it is trouble, though, we’re going to be too late to do any good.”
Admiral Wayne nodded. “Good thinking. Better safe than sorry. We’re too near our old hot zones to take anything for granted at this point.”
Batman stifled a yawn as he slipped into his elevated brown command chair. “What does Sixth Fleet think it is?”
“They’re not talking yet, Admiral,” Gator answered. “Based on the traffic and Link data, they’re treating this as a threat.”
Batman shook his head. “They’ve got the Aegis with them. An aggressive little bastard, from the looks of his contact designations. I like that in a cruiser. If this contact makes trouble, the Aegis ought to be able to deal with it.”
“Shiloh has a sharp crew,” Gator agreed. “I suppose I could have let them handle it alone, but-“
Batman waved off his suggestion. “Always better to have more firepower than not enough. It’s probably just a civilian aircraft off track with a misassociation of the electromagnetic signal. Still, you did the right thing.”
Gator nodded, slightly relieved in spite of himself to find out that the admiral agreed.
Batman turned to the Intelligence Officer lurking in one corner of TFCC. “Anything to add?”
“No, sir.” Commander “Lab Rat” Busby looked slightly chagrined. “Nothing. But the absence of data doesn’t mean there’s nothing to worry about?just that we don’t know about it if there is.”
Batman studied Busby for a moment. A strong officer, a superb intelligence specialist. But if ever an officer had an appropriate call sign, it was Commander Busby. Large blue eyes behind steel-rimmed frames, close-clipped blond hair so light as to be invisible, pink complexion?whoever had hung that name on him in his first assignment had nailed him cold appearance-wise. But the aggressive, scalpel-sharp mind housed beneath his unprepossessing exterior belied the meek nickname.
“Better safe than sorry,” Batman said. He turned back to Gator. “Tell the Air Boss to get those Tomcats up now.
The fog enveloped him again, closing around the canopy like a welcoming blanket. Stealth technology might hide him from radars, but the enveloping low clouds made him feel safe, as well as preventing visual contact.
As soon as he’d started executing his hard turn toward Turkey, Yuri had slammed the throttles full forward on the Foxhound, kicking the light aircraft up to Mach 2.3. They’d factored it in, this mad dash for home, during the initial mission calculations. He should have enough fuel?just barely.
Thirty miles behind him, the missile he’d just launched was still heading for the La Salle. He watched the digital time counter on his console, counting down until detonation. His mission planner had been specific about run time and distance at launch. Moreover, he’d harped incessantly on the necessity for executing as much of the mission as possible at a bare five hundred feet above the hungry sea below him. Yuri had wondered about it at the time, wondered even more now, but was not about to disobey his orders.
One more hour and he’d be back over the Crimean Peninsula, having made a circuitous route again over Turkey cloaked in his stealth technology.
One hour, if nothing went wrong.
“Oh, Jesus, we’ve got separation. Missile separation.”
The operations specialist’s voice went high and wavering, then dropped immediately back down into a more controlled register. “TAO, incoming Vampire.”
The young lieutenant on watch felt the blood draining out of his face.
How had the situation gone to shit so quickly?
Sure, he’d designated the contact unknown and possibly hostile, but that was standard target-identification protocol. You don’t know what it is, something looks odd about it, you call it a possible hostile. It was the Aegis way. The captain had sounded drowsily satisfied when he’d reported it to him, evidently rousing from a sound sleep.
What in the hell??
The symbology for target-fire-control designation popped into being on his screen, and he slewed his chair around to stare at the weapons technician manning the fire-control console. It was happening fast, too fast. There wasn’t time to-“Sir, sir! Request weapons-free authorization.”
The voice of the chief manning the weapons fire-control console was firm. “Lieutenant, I need permission now to make certain we have enough range to catch it.”
A cold calm settled over the young lieutenant. This was it, the moment he’d trained for, the moment they’d memorized and anticipated and dreaded in equal proportions. This was why he was the Tactical Action Officer?the captain trusted his judgment enough to give him complete control of the awesome weapons inventory that his ship carried. If he froze now, it would be more than a black mark on his fitness report.
“Weapons free.”
One small part of his mind was pleased to note that his voice sounded steady and professional.
Seconds later, the cruiser shuddered as an SM2 surface-to-air missile exploded out of the vertical-launch- system tube and arced away from the cruiser. The noise was overwhelming, almost drowning out the insistent bonging of the General Quarters alarm. The TAO could hear people moving around CDC, the General Quarters crew pounding down the passageways and into the compartment located on the third deck of the ship, taking in the tactical situation at a glance and starting turnover with their on-watch counterparts.
He heard the cacophony, but it didn’t register. His eyes, his mind, his entire being was fixed on the blue symbol arcing away from his ship and toward the incoming missile. “Fire two,” he ordered.
Aside from a few whispered oaths, TFCC was silent. Batman stared at the SM2 missile symbology with its long blue speed leader pointing out in front of it. The incoming missile carried the same symbol with the same long speed leader, but was colored in red. The tips of the two speed leaders were already intersecting, as though they were some obscene beginning to a game of tic-tac-toe.
“Flight line manned and ready,” Gator said quietly. “Estimate five minutes until Tomcat launch.”
“Make it three minutes,” Batman answered. “I think we’re going to need them.”
The Sunburn missile inbound on the USS La Salle was a one-of-a-kind variant. Its internal mechanisms and warhead were adapted from a sea-launched version of one of the United States Navy’s most dangerous threats?a tactical nuclear warhead. While American technology was more than adequate to supply such a weapon to U.S. forces, American doctrine forbade its use, even though Ukrainian combat doctrine specifically dictated the use of tactical nuclear weapons at the earliest possible point in any decisive battle.
Traveling at just under Mach 3, the missile tracked along a line of bearing dictated by its maneuvering circuits. After one minute of flight, its final-approach radar activated, illuminated the water below it, and spotted its target off on the horizon. It made two minor course corrections at its current altitude before descending to two thousand feet and continuing on its trajectory.
Had Yuri Kursk known what tactics were embedded in the pathways of the warhead’s electronic-control mechanism, he would have had even more reason to be concerned about his mission. Not for the strike on the American battle group, but for his own odds of escaping unscathed.
