CARRIER 3: ARMAGEDDON MODE

“Copy that,” Batman replied. He sounded furious. “What in God’s name are they playing at back diere?”

“If I knew that, I’d be an admiral,” Tombstone studied the bogies, repeated to his screen from Dixie’s console. Four of them, fading in and out as they arrowed toward the BARCAP aircraft. They were pressing die very limits of the Tomcat’s radar. “Tell you what, Batman. Break high and right. Let’s see if we can clear up the picture some.”

“Roger that. We’re outta here.”

Batman’s aircraft stood on its wing for an instant, and then it was gone, vanished into the darkness. By separating the two aircraft they could get a clearer radar picture of the oncoming bogies.

Minutes passed. The four unidentified radar targets continued to close, a diamond-shaped cluster of four . . .

No, eight points of light. Four more aircraft had been trailing the first four, masked by their radar shadow!

“Victor Tango One-niner, this is Blue Viper Leader,” he called. “Victor Tango One-niner, come in, please. Over.”

After a static-filled moment, the voice of the distant Hawkeye’s tactical officer came on the line. “This is Victor Tango One-niner. Go ahead, Viper Leader.”

“Victor Tango, we have eight, repeat, eight bogies inbound, bearing zero-six-niner. Range nine-two, speed seven-nine-oh knots.”

“Affirmative, Blue Viper. We copy two groups, designation Alpha and Bravo.”

“Roger, Victor Tango. Request weapons free. Repeat, request weapons free.”

“Blue Viper, Victor Tango One-niner. Wait one.”

Tombstone lightly fingered the firing trigger on his stick. The combat load for each Tomcat on tonight’s CAP consisted of two AIM-9M Sidewinders, two AIM-7M Sparrows, and four of the deadly, long-ranged AIM-54-C Phoenix air-to-air mis-

ARMAGEDOON MODE

77

siles. With the Phoenix they could hit a target up to one hundred twenty miles away.

His heart pounded in his chest. The current rules of engagement called for shooting back only if American planes or ships were fired upon, and only after confirmation from Jefferson’s CIC. But eight high-performance aircraft were on a beeline toward the fleet. No way could they ignore such a threat.

The gloved fingers of his left hand drummed against his thigh. What was the delay? More indecision? Surely the enemy’s intentions were more than clear!

‘ ‘Victor Tango, Blue Viper. How about that release, over?”

And still the wait dragged on.

2017 hours, 24 ttarcti

CIC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

Admiral Vaughn had hurried down to the carrier’s Combat Information Center, the better to stay on top of events that were unfolding with bewildering speed.

“From our Hawkeye, Admiral,” Commander Barnes, the CIC officer, said. He stood behind one of die radar consoles, the padded cup of a radio headset pressed over his right ear. “BARCAP requests weapons free.”

“We don’t know tiiey’re going to attack,” Vaughn said. He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Barnes’s mouth twisted in an unpleasant quirk, and several of the other officers in the room, including his own aides, exchanged dark glances.

“Begging the admiral’s pardon,” Captain Bersticer said. “But we sure as hell don’t have any reason to think they’re friendly!”

“Comm!” Vaughn snapped. “Can you contact diose aircraft?”

“We can try, sir,” an enlisted rating sitting at one of the consoles said.

“Damn it, Admiral,” Barnes said. “There’s no time . . . !”

“Warn them off.” It was all happening too fast The best guess was that the incoming bogies were reconnaissance aircraft. How would this be interpreted by Washington?

Maybe it would be better to close with the bogies. Eight of

them sounded like something more than a reconnaissance flight.

“Okay,” he said, deciding. “Order the CAP to close for a visual ID. Do you have Washington on the satellite yet?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Well, get on it! Give them an update on our situation and request instructions.”

“Aye, sir.” Vaughn didn’t like the edge in the enlisted man’s voice.

CIC was air-conditioned, often to the point where it was too cool for the admiral’s comfort. He was sweating now, though. He reached up to loosen the collar of his khaki shirt. What they needed most now was time, but it didn’t look as though they would have that luxury.

Not with the bogies closing at Mach 1.2.

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