taking their cue perhaps from Bobby Lee Benton of the Javelins. His opposite
number in VFA-173, the Fighting Hornets, was a craggy-faced lump of a man,
Commander Henry “Bigfoot” Henderson, and while Henderson wasn’t as flashy and
charismatic as Benton he had a reputation for steady reliability. He’d need
it, given the part of the mission Magruder had assigned him to.
Magruder cleared his throat before continuing. “Now for some updates we
didn’t have time to include in the formal briefing material,” he said.
“Starting just before midnight Zulu time last night, the Russians launched the
paradrop we’ve been expecting. Actually it was a series of drops, but
satellite recon has discounted most of their operations as decoy deployments
to distract the defense. The main enemy landing area is around the port town
of Brekke, about halfway up the Sognefjord and maybe eighty kilometers as the
MiG flies from Bergen. That conforms with the best estimates Intelligence
made originally when we were mapping out our strategy. The location doesn’t
change the basic mission profile at all.”
Magruder looked down at the lectern, checking the hastily scrawled notes
he’d made of Lee’s latest findings. “The Russians have also launched a
general offensive all along the line to pin the Royal Norwegian Army while
they bring in their amphibious troops to support the Brekke paradrop. Our
last contact with General Lindstrom brought word that he had only enough
reserves to contain what was on the ground already. He doesn’t think they
have much hope of holding against a larger force with the resources he’s got
on hand. So if those transports get through Bergen will fall. That’s all
there is to it.”
Commander Harrison held up a hand. “What about the Norwegian air force?
Where are they while we’re sticking our necks into the noose?” Harrison
hadn’t liked any aspect of Magruder’s plan, and he wasn’t making any effort to
hide his feelings.
“Every bird Lindstrom can spare is starting on cyclic ops on the
southeastern end of the front,” Magruder told him. “This was at our
suggestion. By mounting a serious threat to the Russians in Oslo, we’re
hoping to draw off a large chunk of their air force until our strike is
finished. We’re also hoping this will encourage the Russians to believe that
we’ve fallen for some of their decoy operations down in that neighborhood. We
want those transports to keep moving toward Brekke. It’s the one chance we
have to nail them.”
Harrison looked unhappy. “You won’t sucker all of them that way,
Commander,” he said.
“No, we won’t. But in conjunction with the other phases of Ragnarok we
should be able to neutralize most of them.” He glanced at his watch.
“Galveston and Bangor should be starting their end of the process pretty soon
now. It’s going to take a lot of little pieces fitting together.”
“I’ve got a question, Stoney,” Batman said. He and Coyote were sitting
side by side near the back of the room. “Looks to me like you’re counting
pretty heavy on getting some of our planes in using nothing but low altitude,
jamming, and a couple of Hail Marys. I thought those new AEW planes of theirs
were supposed to be almost as good as the Hawkeyes.”
“Yeah.” Magruder frowned. It was probably the weakest part of Ragnarok,
but with his resources already stretched to the limit he didn’t see any way to
deal with the Russian An-74 that was sure to be monitoring the battlefield
from a secure location far from the front lines. “Yeah, that about sums it
up. If anybody has any ideas, toss them in.”
Coyote looked up, his eyes meeting Magruder’s across the long room.
“There’s something we could do. But it means thinning down the carrier
defenses a little bit.”
That made Magruder frown again. Then he shrugged. “Like I said, let’s
hear it.” He didn’t like any suggestion of leaving Jefferson exposed to the
enemy … but on the other hand, in a gambler’s last throw like this one, it
might just be worth the risk if they could increase the chances of the rest of
the plan falling into place.
2108 hours Zulu (2108 hours Zone)