will fit together neatly.”
One bombing run — yes, that could do it. Tombstone studied the satellite photographs again, now that he knew what they represented, and saw it was entirely possible. Two antiship rounds, maybe three — the rest Rockeyes or some other antipersonnel weapon. He called up a picture of the region in his mind, and verified that there was one serious problem with the plan. “How am I supposed to get there?”
“The Aleutians. Your last stop will be Adak. You’ll refuel there, and then make one hell of a long-assed haul down to the Russian position. You’ll be met enroute by KC-135 tanking support.”
“Tanking from the Air Force? That’s going to compromise our mission, isn’t it?”
His uncle shook his head. “Son, there’s a hell of a lot you don’t know about the way the world works. The Air Force has been providing this sort of service for ages. They don’t ask, we don’t tell. After all, they get paid the same whether they’re refueling satellites or aircraft.”
Tombstone looked stunned. “Satellites? You’re kidding; they
His uncle’s face was dead serious. “Yes. Of course I’m kidding.” Then his face cracked into a broad smile and he laughed aloud again. “Don’t be silly, Tombstone. Refueling a satellite… come on, it was a
“I knew that.”
“Right. So. You up for this? Remember, I told you that you could refuse any mission you didn’t want to carry out.”
“Are you kidding?” Tombstone said. “Of course I’m up for it.”
“Remember, there are going to be risks,” his uncle said somberly. “For most of the transit, you’ll be a long way from land. You’re going to get the best aircraft that money can buy, but there’s always the unexpected. And it’s possible the Russians will move air defenses in place between now and then.”
“When is then?” Tombstone asked.
“Tomorrow. Unless you need more time.”
“Tomorrow! You’re not kidding when you say things move fast.” Tombstone shook his head admiringly, thinking of the things he could’ve done while on active duty if the Navy establishment had been so flexible. So much trouble could’ve been prevented, nipped in the bud, by a force capable of doing just what his uncle was proposing.
But then, did he really know for sure that there hadn’t been a predecessor to Advance Solutions?
He started to ask, and saw his uncle shake his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even ask. I can’t tell you, even if I knew.”
“Well. I just wish…” Tombstone’s voice broke off.
His uncle laid a reassuring hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “I miss her, too. She was good for you.”
His last, shattering memories of Tomboy came flooding back. Her face, the feel of her skin next to his, the way she had of continually challenging him, making him better than he’d ever thought he could be. God, but he missed her. And to be denied even the cold comfort of burying her — well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Nothing could change what had happened.
“So tomorrow,” Tombstone said at last. “I better get some sleep, then.” Another question occurred him. “Who’s my backseater?”
“Some good news, there,” his uncle said. “The aircraft you’re taking was originally configured as a trainer, so you’ll have dual flight controls. You can have a pilot instead of an RIO, if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll take Jason,” Tombstone said promptly.
Jason Greene was the newest addition to their team, a hotshot young F-14 pilot who had leaped at the opportunity to join up. He had already foreseen the way his career would go, that eventually responsibilities and duties would take him further and further away from the cockpit. All Jason wanted to do was fly — he didn’t care about additional responsibility, about command, or any of the other things that a good naval officer should care about. That made him perfect for Advance Solutions.
“Jason’s a good choice,” his uncle said approvingly. “I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty convincing him.”
“Difficulty? Hell, I’d have to shoot him to take off without him.”
FOURTEEN
Captain Chang gazed out over the relatively placid Yellow Sea. He knew this body of water like he knew his own house, its moods, the peculiarities of its sound velocity profile, and had developed an almost instinctive feel for how sonar propagation curves would look. He glanced up at the sky and took a careful look at the horizon. Everything he saw agreed with his gut feeling. There would be no storms today, none of the sudden squalls that could lash the sea into unbelievable chaos. And a good thing, too. While a storm might not bother the massive aircraft carrier off its port now, the crew of the small frigate would definitely feel the effects. Even worse, increased sea state would definitely degrade their USW capabilities.
But even a body of water he knew well could hold surprises. Somewhere over the horizon, the Chinese surface task force was supposedly conducting a training exercise. Their intentions worried Chang, but not as much now as they had earlier. Within a few hours, the aircraft carrier would be within range to deliver antisurface missiles, should the need arise, and Chang found the prospect of a snowstorm of Harpoon missiles immensely reassuring.
What bothered him more than the surface ships was what might be below the surface. The latest intelligence reports showed that one Chinese diesel submarine was missing from its berth in port. Yes, Chang had held them, tracked them, even simulated killing them. But who was to know just how much of that was realistic? It would not be beyond a Chinese to feign incompetence in order to induce a false sense of confidence in the Taiwanese.
Oh, he knew them too well. They had ancestors in common stretching back over time on a scale that these Americans could not even contemplate. These Americans — the new toys, their advanced electronics, the brash, abrasive way they had of dealing with each other. Such a young nation, with officers like children — it could be, at its very best, simply annoying. At worst, the differences in their culture led to serious misunderstandings that took much patience and tolerance to work through.
Chang walked back onto his bridge, noted that all was going well, and then proceeded aft to Combat. The quiet murmurs inside there fell silent as he walked in, a mark of respect. His watch officer, a young man from a good family, stood and bowed politely.
“All is well?” Chang asked.
“Yes, Captain. We maintain our station, and have been transmitting reports regularly on our contacts.” The lieutenant hesitated, as though deciding whether to speak further.
For just a moment, Chang felt nostalgic for the days when it had been just the
Oh, Chang understood the reason behind the sudden rudder orders and the polite requests that
There was an American sub somewhere around, there had to be. There was a sub in his water, and no one wanted to tell him about it. Nor did they want him accidentally stumbling across their sub and prosecuting her.
Chang conducted a few careful maneuvering evolutions to determine exactly when and where the Americans got nervous. By careful observation, he had a pretty good idea what the boundaries of their sub’s operating area was, and he confirmed his suspicion by noting that no American ships ventured into that particular square of
