rest of the explanation. Finally, the voice said, “Wait. Out”
Groshenko waited, again irritated at Bolshovich’s predilection for the dramatic. If the navy captain had been working for him, this nonsense would have been put to a stop immediately. But he wasn’t, was he? At least not completely.
Finally, Bolshovich broke the silence with “Well done!” He turned to his executive officer, grinning broadly. “Exceptionally well done.”
The executive officer visibly relaxed, tendering his own small, tight smile. “It seemed to go well,” he said self-consciously.
Gorshenko kept his face carefully impassive. How could they tell it went well? There had been little to see on the screen, and not much more from outside on the weatherdecks. One brief flash of blinding light, gone before you could be entirely certain it was there. That was all. Had he blinked at the wrong moment, he would have missed it entirely.
“We will, of course, have to wait for final confirmation of the success of a shot.” The captain glanced at the general, checking to see if he understood the difficulty. “We have no capability for evaluating whether or not there was a hard or even soft kill on the satellite. She is old, of course. Our intelligence people who monitor such things may be able to tell when she does not transmit her downlink at the usual time. Then again, the opportunities for detecting her downlink are relatively narrow.” The captain shrugged, dismissing the matter. “I suspect we will know more quickly from the American reaction and the press.”
“Unless they decide not to say anything,” Gorshenko said.
“Always the possibility. But even if they do, their defense establishment is full of leaks. Sooner or later, we will know.” Bolshovich was ebullient now, triumphant, and the crew was picking up his mood.
“We will know even more quickly if the American carrier opens fire on us,” Gorshenko observed.
“Exactly. That is the reason we’re still on alert, General.” Bolshovich managed to be simultaneously condescending and nominally respectful. “I imagine they will have seen the flash of the laser, even if they’re not exactly certain what it is. They will report it, of course. How much they are told by their superiors in response is anyone’s guess.”
Coyote had just dozed off when he heard a gentle tap on his door. He blinked hard twice, sat up in bed, and switched on the light. The admiral’s cabin was a large one and was between TFCC and the flag mess. His duty officers had had instructions to wake him under certain specified conditions or if anything unusual happened, and he had always emphasized that he would rather be woken up in error than surprised later. Thus, though he silently swore as he heard the door open, he kept his thoughts to himself.
Commander Brian Hanson stood there, a worried look on his face. Hanson was an experienced officer, and one whose judgment Coyote trusted. If he thought it was worth waking the admiral up, it probably was.
Coyote swung his feet to the deck and reached for the shirt hung neatly over the back of a chair. “Talk to me.”
“The lookout and officer at the deck reported seeing a blue laser over the horizon,” Hanson said. “All reports are consistent with a laser. I sent the messenger to wake up Commander Busby.”
“Good move.” Coyote started to button the shirt as he slipped on his shoes. He stopped, kicked the shoes back off, and pulled on his pants. “And?”
“And the position is consistent with the position of the Russian carrier,” Hanson finished.
“And why am I not surprised?” Coyote muttered. “Some sort of show of force, it has to be. It’s not like they’d sit quietly while we test ours. They just had to show us, didn’t they?” He shot Hanson a sharp look. “The Russian carrier, though…” He let Hanson finish the sentence.
“The Russian amphibious transport,” Hanson said, correcting his earlier terminology.
In terms of warfare capabilities, it was largely a distinction without a difference. The
“Okay, get Lab Rat on it. You already got the message drafted?”
Hanson nodded. “The watch officer has started on it. We made an initial voice report to Third Fleet and CINCPAC before I came to wake you up.”
“No, Admiral. Then again, I suspect if they have anything, it needs to be on the intelligence circuits.”
“You’re right about that.” Now completely dressed, Coyote headed for the door. Hanson held it open and stepped back to let the admiral precede him.
Inside TFCC, there was no panic. The watch officer, Lieutenant Bailey Kates, appeared calm and in control. He maintained control of the flow of information, juggling ten or fifteen actions at once, all the while keeping his gaze glued to the tactical screen. He said, “Good evening, Admiral,” almost without taking a breath as he monitored the lookout reports and checked the message that awaited the admiral’s signature.
Lab Rat burst into TFCC, still buttoning his shirt. “Evening, Admiral. Anything else?” he asked, already edging back for the hatch, heading for the compartment next to TFCC. The SCIF, or specially compartmented information, was staffed by sailors with stratospheric security clearances. It was the equivalent of TFCC in the top secret intelligence world.
“Nothing new, sir,” Kates said. There was a lull in the action, and he swung his chair around to face Hanson. He handed him a clipboard. “Rough on the message, sir.”
Coyote resisted the impulse to read over Hanson’s shoulder, and instead followed Lab Rat to SCIF. Any explanation might never make it out of that black hole. Frustrating sometimes, but officers were used to not always getting the full story.
Inside SCIF, the air of frustration was immediately evident. Sailors spoke softly over four radio circuits, murmuring into their headsets. Another two ran queries through databases, searching for anything similar. In a few words, the watch officer briefed Lab Rat. “Nothing yet, sir, Admiral. CINCPAC is looking into it as is Seventh Fleet. It’s already gone up to JCS — the JCS watch officer just notified the JCS TAO.”
“Wonderful,” Coyote muttered yet again. There was nothing like having DC and JCS maintain an electronic presence on board the ship. They’d been pinging on
Well, no matter. Even if the Russian system worked, Coyote had no doubt that the American system would be far more accurate and deadly. And on balance, it wasn’t a bad idea if the Russians had one as well, was it?
