“Got ’em, Tombstone,” Dixie said over the Tomcat’s intercom system. One of the ship’s medical officers had rated the young RIO fit for flight status that morning. “God, they’re on the deck and headed straight for the bird farm!”
Tombstone pictured the unfolding situation, like a complex and deadly game, the playing pieces scattered across a board hundreds of miles across. The bogies were coming out of Bombay, one hundred fifty miles to the northeast. A hundred miles southwest lay the Jefferson. Much closer, to the southeast, was the Biddle, still on ASW patrol at the northern fringes of the fleet.
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And hanging in the night squarely between the approaching threat and the carrier were the two F-14s on BARCAP.
“Batman! You get all that?”
“Sure did, Boss. Lead the way.”
“Okay, let’s goose it,” Tombstone said. “Going to buster.” He pushed the throttle controls forward, letting the engines roar to full military power. His speed indicator climbed, passing five hundred knots . . . then six hundred. The fuselage shivered as the F-14 approached the speed of sound, the vibrations building and building until the Tomcat blasted past the sound barrier and into the smooth, silent sky beyond.
Batman paced him, the thunder of rneir passage trailing behind them.
2014 hours, 24 March
IAF Jaguar 102, southwest of Bombay
Colonel Jarnall Rajiv Singh studied the screen of his Ferranti Corned, a combined map and electronic display on the console before him. The screen was empty, the enemy target still hidden beyond the curve of the horizon.
But it would not be much longer now. The four aircraft of his command were in position to strike. They required only the final order from Bombay.
His plane was arguably the most modem and deadly attack aircraft in the inventory of the Indian air force, a SEPECAT Jaguar International. Originally a joint design by the British RAF and the French Armee de 1’Air, the Jaguar International was license-built by HAL in India as a single-seat, all-weather attack aircraft. Slung beneath his wings were a pair of sleek, ship-killing AM.39 Exocet anti-ship missiles, with a range of almost fifty kilometers.
“Krait, this is Mountain,” a voice in his headset informed him. “Mountain” was the mission HQ in Bombay. “Execute. Execute. Execute.”
“Mountain, Krait,” Singh replied. The excitement rose inside him, making the reply difficult. “Understood.”
He shifted to the tactical channel. The other Jaguar pilots would have been listening in, but he had to make it official.
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“Krait Attack, this is Krait Leader,” he announced. “Come to two-one-zero. The word is execute.”
The command thrilled in his blood, as the other pilots acknowledged. In unison, the four Indian Jaguars screamed toward the American targets at Mach 1.
2015 hours, 24 March
Flag Plot, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Admiral Vaughn looked up from the map. “What is it?”
“This just in from VT Nineteen, sir.” Captain Bersticer handed him a printout. “Our BARCAP is closing on the bogies. CIC has ordered them to close and investigate.”
“What?” Vaughn looked up, surprised. “Why wasn’t I consulted?”
Bersticer’s eyebrows shifted upward. “Standard procedure, Admiral. Those bogies are heading straight for—”
“Damn it, we have explicit orders from Washington not to take any action that could be interpreted as hostile!”
“Those bogies are closing at Mach 1, Admiral,” Bersticer said quietly. “How close do they have to get before—”
“Order the BARCAP to hold their position,” Vaughn snapped. “They are not, repeat, not to make any threatening moves toward those bogies.”
“Yes, sir.” Bersticer looked worried.
Well, damn it, Vaughn thought, he was worried too. He clenched his fists in frustration. What would they say in Washington if an international incident was blamed on him? It was possible, even probable that the Indians were deploying as a direct response to the sinking of their submarine the day before. But was it an attack, or bluff? This was definitely a fuzzy gray area of conflict in the political arena that he wanted no part of.
Politics . . .
He thought again of Tom Magruder and suppressed another shudder.
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2016 hours, 24 March
Tomcat 201, over the Arabian Sea
“The word is, ‘hold position,'” Tombstone radioed over the tactical channel.