Heather paced uneasily back and forth on the bridge, staring out over
the horizon at the barely visible land. Immediately following the
launch the USS Arsenal had been ordered to assist other battle group
assets in searching for survivors of the Jefferson’s collision with the
small refugee boat.
Almost an hour after the attack, he still had no idea of how effective
the attack had been. That was one of the problems of using cruise
missiles alone, he reflected. At least when the battle group struck
with aircraft and air-launched missiles, they had immediate feedback on
the effectiveness of the attack. Not so with his ship.
He turned back to the OOD. “Any word yet?” It was unnecessary to ask,
he knew even as the words left his mouth. The bda bomb damage
assessment would be conducted by the USS Jefferson. Two F-14s
specially equipped with TARPS camera units were orbiting in a starboard
marshal even as he spoke. Accompanying them would be two EA6 Prowlers
armed with HARM missiles, capable of attacking any radar installations
or any antiaircraft sites that were foolish enough to radiate their
radars.
Without knowing exactly how effective the attack had been, the
aircrafts’ mission was only slightly less dangerous than an actual
bombing run.
“No, Captain.” The OOD’s voice was impassive.
“I guess we’ll both hear at the same time, won’t we?” the captain
said. The battle group’s circuit was wired into both the bridge and
Combat. As soon as they knew anything, the carrier would let him
know.
Or would they? He mulled the thought over for a moment. The political
battle going on in Washington was making itself felt even down here.
Admiral Wayne, commander of the carrier battle group, and Admiral
Magruder, force commander, were both naval aviators. Would it be to
their advantage to delay the BDA information’s getting to the Arsenal
ship? More important, even if it was, would they do such a thing?
From the few meetings he’d had with the two men, he suspected not.
They were made of stronger stuff than their counterparts that he’d met,
both fleet-seasoned aviators with a clear, sharp understanding of how a
battle group worked, what it could and couldn’t do.
“I’ll be in Combat,” Captain Heather said abruptly. He strode off the
bridge, hoping that the dim light in Combat would mask his growing
uneasiness.
1645 Local (+5 GMT) Fuentes Naval Base “A very effective report. Miss
Drake,” Santana said. His uniform was streaked and spattered with mud
and dirt, and there was a haggard look to his face that hadn’t been
there an hour ago. “I hope they believed you.”
Pamela flung out one hand and gestured toward the area of devastation
to her left. “Why the hell wouldn’t they? I sent them pictures, after
all.” Her voice was cold and bitter.
This was the man who’d exposed her to grave danger, who had made her a
pawn albeit a willing one in this entire political struggle. In all
the conflicts she’d covered, she’d never been used like this against
her own country. Not intentionally, at least. Her mind wandered back
over the other conflicts, to theaters around the world where she’d
watched nations struggle for domination over soil. There’d been
allegations, sure. The military never liked the press intruding, and
was continually speculating that their very presence and reports
influenced the course of the battle. The criticism had become markedly
more raucous after Desert Storm and Desert Shield and Grenada.
Especially Grenada, where a team of reporters had illuminated an
incoming SEAL mission just as she had done earlier on the beach.
But the country had the right to know, didn’t it? And how would it get
information if the media didn’t report it? Rely on the military
officials?
She snorted. Not likely. The military’s main concern was funding and
power. Not so different from their civilian counterparts, but with
even more at stake, what with the security of the nation entrusted to
them.
All of them? An image of Tombstone Magruder flashed through her
mind.
She’d seen him agonize through tactical and operational decisions too
often, felt the pain that tormented him over a mission gone wrong, and