his voice, Connally wasn’t eager to pursue this confrontation. But that
decision wasn’t his to make anymore. The Russian attack on Keflavik made
continued hesitation impossible.
Magruder was going ahead with plans for an Alpha Strike, and after his
talk with the President Tarrant had dispatched orders committing the battle
group’s two attack subs, Galveston and Bangor, to action. There would be no
turning back, not this time.
“We will carry out this policy,” he continued out loud. “It will call
for maximum effort from every man in this battle group. The Air Wing staff is
even now putting together a detailed plan of operations which we will put into
effect against the Soviets as soon as conditions are ripe. This could come
tomorrow, or it might not happen for weeks. We have no way of being certain
when the best time for a counter strike against them will present itself.
Therefore we must be prepared to act on short notice, and that will require
intensive preparations on the part of all of us. I want to emphasize that
each of you, no matter what your rating or your job, has a vital role to play
in this operation, in the very life of this ship and this battle group. There
are no unimportant jobs, and I need each and every one of you to give me a
hundred and ten percent in the days ahead. Together we can show the Russians
that they cannot drive America from the world’s oceans. Together we will show
them once and for all that no power on Earth can suffice to ruin the proud
name of Jefferson.” He paused and looked straight into the camera. “Thank
you all … and God keep you.”
1215 hours Zulu (1215 hours Zone)
Vulture’s Row, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Norwegian Sea
Willis E. Grant leaned against the rail and looked out across Jefferson’s
flight deck, shivering a little despite the warm afternoon sun.
He had been discharged from Sick Bay two hours earlier, along with
John-Boy. Doctor Chapman had been reluctant to release them at first, but
with the Air Wing needing every man they could muster he had eventually given
in. Coyote was glad to be out of the ward, but in a way he wished Chapman had
been less inclined to give in to pressure from the admiral to certify his
patients as ready for a full return to duty.
If the Medical Department had kept him out of the coming fight, Coyote
would have loudly protested … but something inside him would have welcomed
the excuse not to go back up there again. Now he had to make a choice on his
own, and it wasn’t a choice he relished.
Down on the flight deck a Tomcat was roaring off the number-two catapult.
He recognized the markings identifying it as one of the War Eagles, VF-97, the
carrier’s second F-14 squadron. The tail number was 101, but he knew that
Commander Alex Caton, the squadron’s CO, was in the squadron’s offices hard at
work on his contribution to the plan of battle for the Alpha Strike Magruder
was organizing.
The activity on the deck showed just how intense the preparations for
action had become. From his vantage point above Pri-Fly Coyote could see work
crews in their colored jerseys swarming over a line of parked aircraft,
Hornets and Intruders for the most part. Further down the flight deck more
handlers were servicing all ten of the S-3B Vikings from the King Fishers. It
was odd to see the whole sub-hunting squadron on deck at the same time. The
carrier’s helos would be doing extra duty looking for Soviet submarines until
the Vikings returned to duty again.
The thought of helicopters made Coyote glance off the port side of the
carrier, where the Ready SAR helo was keeping station. It sparked unpleasant
memories.
He turned away and watched the dance on the deck again. An EA-6B Prowler
was coming in on final approach. Built on the Intruder’s versatile frame, the
Prowler was an Electronic Warfare aircraft designed to jam Russian radar and
communications signals. The scuttlebutt Coyote had heard below decks
maintained that the five Prowlers from the VAQ-143 Sharks had been doing