case they were still able to lash out against the American battle group.
And there would be the butcher’s bill to deal with too. Some good men
had died out there, including Bannon and the unfortunate Lieutenant Powers.
Commander Henderson of the Fighting Hornets had been lost while keeping a pair
of Sukhois from breaking through to the Intruders during their final attack
run, and there were sure to be others Magruder hadn’t heard about yet. They
would have to rebuild the CVW-20 with reinforcements from the States before
they could put up a fight again.
Yes, there was a lot to be done before he could rest. In some ways
victory was harder to deal with than defeat. So much to do, so many details.
“CAG?”
For a moment Tombstone didn’t realize that the question was directed at
him. He turned slowly to face Lieutenant Commander Owens. “CAG, the Hopkins
is reporting a sonar contact about fifty kilometers west of us. They’ve got
one helo down for repairs, and they’re asking if we can loan them some support
so they can prosecute the contact. What do you want me to tell them?”
As he straightened up to check the plotting board and see what assets he
had available to support the frigate, Magruder allowed himself a smile. Once
they had their planes on deck and the Maintenance boys had worked their arcane
magic, maybe he could put together an Alpha Strike to help the Norwegians
clean up the pocket around Brekke. Even with its reduced numbers, CVW-20
could still make a difference.
Tombstone was in the middle of giving Owens his orders when a sudden
realization hit him, and he broke off and started to laugh. The Deputy CAG
looked at Magruder like he was crazy, and Tombstone didn’t know if Owens would
understand the joke.
The fact was, he was actually looking forward to settling in to his new
job. Hard as these past days had been, he’d carried it off. Maybe someday,
he thought with another smile, he would be a real CAG, not just a substitute.
And perhaps somewhere, in the Valhalla where Tomcat pilots gathered after the
last shoot-down, Stinger Stramaglia would look down at Tombstone Magruder and
be proud.
1435 hours Zulu (1635 hours Zone)
The Kremlin
Moscow, RSFSR
General Vladimir Nikolaivich Vorobyev watched as the jackals gathered,
and under a stony visage he had to fight hard to keep from smiling. They were
so predictable, these politicians. Doctorov, the KGB plotter, was licking his
figurative lips as he contemplated the chance of eliminating Vorobyev from the
inner circle, while Comrade President Ubarov vacillated between relief over
the military’s failure and fear for what the future might bring. So very
predictable … and so foolish to think that the wounded lion could not hold
off such a band of jackals.
“Obviously we must rethink our entire strategy,” Foreign Minister Boltin
was saying. “The West may yet be inclined to let the whole question of war
slide if we move quickly to evacuate Norway and Finland. They did not
interfere in Iraqi affairs once they had achieved their stated goal of
liberating Kuwait, and the peace movement is still strong. But delay would
give them time to rally against us.”
“We must not be stampeded in this,” Doctorov countered. “Our esteemed
colleague here has allowed his vaunted military to set back our plans, but
with a redirection of leadership resources we may yet be able to salvage
something from this debacle.” He favored Vorobyev with an oily smile. “Don’t
you agree, Comrade General?”
Vorobyev matched his smile, enjoying the uncertainty that spread across
his face as the KGB man realized that the crisis in Scandinavia hadn’t shaken
Vorobyev’s composure. “Yes, Comrade Doctorov, new leadership may well be
needed, and at the very highest levels. To retrieve our position and carry
through Rurik’s Hammer successfully, all elements of the national leadership
must be working smoothly together, and not wasting time pursuing shortsighted
political goals.”
He looked toward the double doors where Korotich was standing, the
patient aide. Vorobyev gave a curt nod. Then Korotich threw open the doors.
The soldiers who filed into the room were elite Guardsmen, handpicked by