“If it’s just some sightseers escort them off the premises gently. But
eyeball them and keep us appraised.”
“Roger that,” Grant replied crisply.
“Good. I’ve got backups on the way. Dragon’s Lair out.”
Coyote gripped the control stick a little bit tighter. CAG wasn’t the
sort to get spooked by shadows. If Stramaglia was worried, it was with good
reason.
And Willis Grant didn’t like to think about what it might take to worry
the Air Wing commander.
0655 hours Zulu (0755 hours Zone)
CIC Air Ops module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Northeast of the Outer Hebrides
Jefferson’s Combat Information Center, a gloomy, red-lit cavern buried in
the heart of the island on 0-4 level starboard, was alive with activity as
Magruder entered. If the Bridge was the nerve center and brains of a combat
vessel, CIC was the heart, where the military operations of the Jefferson were
monitored and controlled by specialists of the 01 Division of the Operations
Department. In a battle Captain Brandt would fight the ship from CIC, but for
day-to-day operations it was the domain of the Tactical Action Officer and of
CAG, who coordinated combat air operations in progress.
“Picking up some garbage on the screens now, sir,” a radarman was
reporting as Magruder entered the control center. “I think they’re playing
with some ECM just to see how well we can handle it.”
“How bad is it, Adams?” Lieutenant Commander Samuel Clayton, the duty
TAO, leaned over the radar display to get a better look.
“Just intermittent so far, sir,” Radarman Second Class Adams replied.
Clayton straightened up and looked across at Stramaglia. “I don’t like
this much, CAG. How soon ’til you get some planes out there to eyeball the
bastards?”
“It won’t be long now, Commander,” Stramaglia replied gruffly. He jabbed
a finger at Lieutenant Bannon, who had been assigned to the CAG staff for a
few days. “You … get on the batphone to Pri-Fly and find out from the Boss
what the hell’s taking the backup planes so long.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Bannon responded nervously, hastening to carry out the
order. Magruder wondered if putting him here, under CAG’s baleful eye, had
been the right therapy for his problem. Bannon looked drawn, gaunt, like he
hadn’t slept for days.
Stramaglia turned his glare on Magruder. “About time you got down here,
Commander. I’ve got a job for you.”
“The backup mission, sir?” he responded eagerly. Since the first word of
the trio of bogies had started spreading through the ship Magruder had been
fighting the urge to call CAG and ask for a shot at them. Surely CAG wouldn’t
stick to his decision about barring Magruder from fighter missions.
CAG’s laugh was a short, barking sound. “Nonsense. Grant and Wayne can
handle whatever’s out there. No, I’m doubling up on ASW flights for a few
hours. It’d be just like the Russians to wait until everybody was focusing
all their attention on their radar screens and then try to slip a sub or two
into range. You’ll fly copilot on Viking 700. Get down to the King Fishers’
ready room and start suiting. Launch is in fifteen minutes.”
Tombstone tried hard to conceal his disappointment. “Aye, aye, sir,” he
said crisply.
As Magruder turned to leave, CAG added another comment. “Time to let
somebody else share in the glory, Commander. Get your ass in gear!”
0903 hours Zulu (0803 hours Zone)
Tomcat 201 Redwing Flight
“Redwing, Redwing, this is Bravo Six-four,” Coyote heard in his
headphones. “Backups have launched. Call sign is Ajax. I say again, Ajax.”
“Bravo Six-four, Redwing,” Coyote responded. “Roger. Backup call sign
is Ajax.”
“I’m getting something now, Skipper,” Nichols reported from the back
seat. “Yeah … that’s our party, all right. Three targets bearing
zero-two-five, course one-nine-five, range one hundred three.”
“You copy that, Kos?” he asked over the radio.
There was a pause. It was Koslosky’s RIO, Lieutenant Ron “Wild Card”
Kirshner, who finally replied. “Got ’em, Skipper.”
“Change course to intercept,” he ordered. “Talk to me, John-Boy. What
else’ve you got back there?”
“Speed is three-four-five,” Nichols came back. “They’re at angels two
… no, I think they’re dropping. Heading down for the deck, Coyote.”