A momentary paralysis gripped Coyote as he watched the other Tomcat vanish into the sea. Experienced pilots could become casualties too. He’d been shot down, over the Sea of Japan . . . and the memory of that experience, of holding his skull-crushed RIO in his arms in an icy sea, would be with him
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forever. Unexpectedly, the image of Coyote’s wife flashed into his mind. She’d not wanted him to go back on active flight duty, and he’d come close to turning in his wings. No one would have blamed him. . . .
Then the MiG pulled its nose up. Julie’s face was banished as training took over, and Coyote rolled onto the Indian fighter’s tail just as he’d planned. He got the tone and triggered a Sidewinder. “Fox two!”
In the end, though, it was Julie who’d told him he had to come back. Not until this moment had he been certain she was right
«52 hours, 26 Harch
Admiral Vaughn stood in the ship’s CIC, watching the flood of information coming across the LSDs and ASTABs.
Once during his tenure at the Pentagon, he’d had a long conversation with the admiral who had commanded a battle group with die first Aegis cruiser, the U.S.S. Ticonderoga, off Beirut in the early 1980s. That man had preferred commanding from the Tico rather than from his carrier and claimed that the Aegis defenses had let him significantly reduce the group’s CAP, despite me hazards of the operation.
Vaughn could understand that admiral’s preference. From me Vicksburg’s CIC, he felt as though the entire battle zone was under his personal observation and control. Through the Aegis system, data from every one of the battle group’s ships and aircraft was constantly relayed through the Vicksburg’s computers and displayed in her CIC. Through the Hawkeyes — if need be through a Navy comsat — he could talk to any of his ship captains, any aircraft … or to the Joint Chiefs themselves back in Washington.
Not that he was particularly eager to exercise that option. The Battle of the Arabian Sea was proving to be quite enough for him to handle. He would face the Battle of Washington later.
“Admiral,” Captain Sharov said, standing stiffly at Vaughn’ s side. “Admiral Dmibiev reports that he has one squadron airborne as CAP. As there appears to be no immediate threat to
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Krend, he wishes to inform you that some of those aircraft can be made available to your command.”
Vaughn turned on the Russian Chief of Staff with a cold stare. “Your commanding officer is so kind,” he said. “We would, of course, appreciate any help he condescends to make available!”
Sharov did not seem to hear the sarcasm … or perhaps he simply ignored it. “Squadron leader is Kurasov. I will inform him of your need.”
Vaughn snorted with disgust as the Russian returned to the bank of communications gear (hat had been reserved for their use. He’d expected no more from the Russians . . . and perhaps he’d expected less.
At this point, he knew he’d be grateful for any help. On the LSD designated as the Primary Battle Board, the computer graphic symbols identifying the American Tomcats were becoming lost in the flood of Indian aircraft pouring south. They were holding their own individually—the reports coming through from both squadrons indicated large numbers of enemy planes already downed—but collectively there just weren’t enough to stop the waves of Canberras, MiGs, and other planes descending on Turban Station. The range on the board had already been shifted from one hundred twenty-eight miles from the Vicksburg to sixty-four.
It was nearly time to bring the battle group’s second line of defenses into play.
“Multiple bogies inbound,” Vicksburg’s Tactical Officer reported formally from a console nearby. “Range now three-five miles, bearing zero-zero-five to zero-four-zero.”
“Point defense on automatic!” Cunningham snapped.
That was just a double check on Cunningham’s part, Vaughn knew. Every Navy captain remembered the tragedy of Stark, and the Phalanx system that had been switched off at the beginning of the attack.
“Defenses activated, Captain. On automatic.”
“Lock on with VLS!”
“Tracking, Captain. Vertical Launch Systems locked.”