Her eyes widened. “Then there was a raid! The rumors have been flying in this town all night—”
“I mink I’d better let you get the details from the President,” Magruder said. “But I wanted you to know that Matt is safe. Captain Fitzgerald called me personally to let me know.”
She let out a pent-up breath. “Is it . , . over then? He won’t be going back?”
Magruder relented somewhat. ‘ ‘India has requested a ceasefire,” he whispered. “Pakistan has agreed to meet with them in Geneva. The battle group did take some heavy damage, so the President has ordered them to return. Ike and Nimitz will be taking Jefferson’s place in the Arabian Sea, just to make certain the cease-fire holds. But yes … it’s over.”
“Thank God.”
“You’d better get back to your seat. We’ll talk more later, if you like.”
“Thank you, Admiral. I would.”
He watched her make her way back across the room. There
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was a lot the President would not be telling her and her peers within the press community. Like how close India and Pakistan had just come to nuclear war.
Or how close Tombstone and his squadron had been to running out of fuel high above the Thar Desert when they’d finally rendezvoused with a KA-6D tanker from the Jefferson. The way the admiral had heard it, Tombstone had waited until the other five aircraft refueled, one after the other, before taking his turn. If he’d missed spearing the fuel probe basket, he wouldn’t have made it. It was that close.
But necessary.
He wondered if India’s Minister of Defense shared the relief he felt now. It had been the President’s idea to call the man directly, knowing that he held a unique liaison position between New Delhi’s government and the military. It was the President who’d convinced him, first, that India could not possibly continue its war against Pakistan with their supply line savaged by the A-6 strike, and second, that a PAF flight was already en route to New Delhi with atomic bombs slung from their undercarriages.
There’d been no time to consult with the government. In another forty minutes, India’s government would have ceased to exist. But he, and he alone, had been in a position to stop the war.
It was Sundarji who had ordered the IAF to stand down, to clear the skies for aircraft the U.S. already had in the skies above the Thar Desert. By shooting down the Pakistani planes, the President had proven America’s determination to stop the conflict from going nuclear. By grounding his aircraft, Sundarji had shown his good faith. At that, it had been a risky gamble. Sundarji might have insisted on scrambling every interceptor he had in the New Delhi area. But one of those Falcons might have gotten through, and the Indian planes had nothing like Phoenix. They would have had to get close to make a kill, “knife-fighting distance” as Navy aviators liked to phrase it.
Sundarji had been convinced. Stay clear, and let the Tomcats shoot the bogies down. They had.
And with India’s defeat in the Arabian Sea, suddenly there was no further reason to continue the war.
Magruder hoped Sundarji would survive the political turmoil that was certain to follow. A career at the Pentagon would seem
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peaceful by comparison. But Sundarji combined political professionalism and savvy with a realistic view of things as they were … an unusual and refreshing combination in government, from what Magruder had seen so far.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.” Magruder turned to watch his Commander in Chief walk onto the stage, as applause burst from the audience in a thunderous roar.
The President was about to announce the end to a war that had never officially begun.
EPILOGUE
0830 hours EST, 16 April
Chesapeake Bay, the approaches to Hampton Roads
Tombstone leaned against the safety railing on Vulture’s Row, high atop Jefferson’s island, unashamedly straining to see like any rubbernecking tourist. He was not alone. Every sailor and officer who could squeeze onto the narrow walkway beneath the carrier’s billboard-sized radar antennae was there, and thousands more were on the flight deck below.