CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

“I did my duty, Admiral,” die boy said. “We all only did our duty.”

Admiral Ramesh shook his head. “You’ve done more than your duty. Lieutenant,” he said softly. “You may well have won for us the victory we needed.”

Tahliani’s flight had been me stuff of legends, of the ancient Hindu epic legends. Decoying an American F-14 with one of his Sea Eagles, he’d then shot it down with a Magic AAM. He could have launched the rest of his antiship missiles then and fled, but the boy had known that the alerted American defenses would probably knock down the Sea Eagles long before they reached their targets.

Instead, he’d rounded up a few companions and set out on his long and fuel-costly detour around the American fleet, avoiding several U.S. pickets along the way. In a triumph of long-distance navigation and flying skill, he’d reached a point from which he and his men could launch their remaining missiles. Radio traffic between the Soviet and American vessels monitored from the shore indicated that the Russian carrier was now burning, incapacitated by at least one serious missile hit.

That strike, together with the damage done to an American command cruiser, had spelled victory for the Indian navy. Now

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there remained only one more task. The remaining carrier, the Americans’ Jefferson, was launching aircraft. It seemed likely that they were a strike force, that their targets were the airstrips and military bases that had launched the attack on the combined squadron.

If this last, desperate thrust by the enemy could be blunted, the Americans would have to admit defeat. The old dream of an Indian Ocean free of outside influences and under New Delhi’s firm political control would become reality at last.

A klaxon blared and Admiral Ramesh looked up. “Now hear this, now hear this,” rasped from the loudspeaker. “Prepare for missile attack. Admiral Ramesh to the Flag Bridge, please. Admiral Ramesh . . .”

For Ramesh it was as though the pieces of a complex puzzle had suddenly snapped into place. He’d been expecting some form of retaliation by the Americans and Russians for the damage done to their forces. Still, when Tahliani had returned in triumph from his strike, when the news had come through from Naval Headquarters at Bombay that the land-based attack had overwhelmed the American defenses and hit their command ship, he’d allowed himself to believe that the enemy might cut their losses and retreat.

But that was not to be. This would not be a matter of raid and counterraid, but of two giants, battling to the death.

“Lieutenant,” he snapped. Tahliani drew himself to attention. “Your aircraft are being fueled and rearmed. On my authority, you are to get as many aircraft off the deck as possible. I don’t want the same thing happening to Viraat as happened to the Kremlin?’

“Yes, sir! Are we to fly the Sea Harriers ashore?”

Ramesh shook his head.’ ‘No, Lieutenant. I will have special instructions for you.” He reached out and grasped the young man’s arm. “But for now, go! While you still can!”

Then he turned and raced for Viraat’s island.

1154 hours, 26 March

Blue King Leader, flight deck, INS Mraat

Lieutenant Tahliani adjusted his helmet strap as he performed a cursory run-through of the checklist strapped to his thigh. Fuel okay . . . power on … stick controls okay . . .

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A deck officer was signaling. He saluted, glanced up at Viraat’s island, then adjusted the Sea Harrier’s exhaust ports, vectoring them for a rolling takeoff. One of the Sea Harrier’s many remarkable features was its short start-up time. He released the wheel brakes and was moving down the carrier’s deck toward the ski jump ramp within five minutes of the alert.

The latest reports indicated that two separate groups of antiship missiles were approaching the Indian fleet, one from Ate northwest, one from the southeast. Almost certainly both missile flights had been launched from enemy submarines in the area, though the northwestern group could possibly have come from the surface ships of the enemy fleet. The nearest missile was still twenty kilometers out. There was time yet. . . .

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