turned toward the oncoming American interceptors. Thirteen other MiGs and
eight Su-27D fighters followed the plane in a tight formation, skimming less
than two hundred meters above the wave tops.
Escort Mission Svirepyy–Ferocious–consisted of attack aircraft from the
carrier Soyuz. They had shadowed the bombers for nearly an hour now, flying
right down on the deck. The mission planners believed that they might escape
detection by the Americans, who would naturally tend to focus on the bombers.
If so, the MiG-29s and Su-27s might just take the enemy by surprise.
He hoped so. The plan he had submitted for North Star had involved a
considerable risk in this mission, dispatching three of the four available
fighter squadrons to escort the Backfires and, with luck, to ambush the
Americans. That left only one squadron of Su-27s to provide CAP over Soyuz.
With both Royal Norwegian Air Force fighters and planes from the American
carrier battle group in range of Soyuz, it must have taken iron nerves for
Admiral Khenkin to order the air wing to leave his flagship exposed.
But of course the Norwegians were having enough trouble contesting air
superiority against land-based Soviet fighters, and as for the Americans …
well, if everything had gone according to plan the Americans would only now be
realizing that there were Soviet fighters over the Norwegian Sea. By the time
they could hope to organize a strike mission the opportunity would be gone.
That had been his reasoning in writing up the operation, but he had never
expected Khenkin or Glushko to go along with it.
“Cossack, Cossack, this is Svirepyy Leader,” Terekhov said, switching to
the carrier control frequency. “Beginning Operation Kutuzov. Request
situation update and instructions.”
“Svirepyy Leader, wait one,” came the reply. The voice belonged to
Captain First Rank Glushko. If anything pointed up the critical nature of
this operation, it was the air wing commander’s close personal supervision.
Normally Glushko didn’t dirty his hands with ordinary day-to-day operations.
Terekhov remembered the angry words he had heard in Glushko’s office before
the mission briefing. The air wing commander had a lot riding on today’s
operation.
“Svirepyy Leader, Cossack,” Glushko’s voice said at last. “Reports from
the An-74 indicate additional launches under way from American aircraft
carrier. Intentions not yet clear. Be prepared to withdraw on my orders if
the enemy is launching a strike on Soyuz. Otherwise proceed with attack as
planned.”
“Message understood, Cossack,” Terekhov replied, trying not to betray the
uncertainties Glushko’s message had unleashed. If Glushko really was looking
for a scapegoat of his own … “Proceeding with attack according to mission
profile.”
The possibility of a threat to the carrier could ruin the entire plan.
If Terekhov was too deeply involved in the air battle he might not disengage
in time to support Soyuz. But if he held back from the fighting here he could
be accused of disobedience or even cowardice. It was the kind of dilemma that
had scuttled any number of careers before his.
But he couldn’t let doubts about the future keep him from doing his duty
now. He pulled back on his stick as he rammed the throttles forward. The
MiG-29D streaked skyward, the G-force slamming Terekhov back into his seat.
The need for secrecy was past. It was time to let the Americans see what they
were up against.
All he could do now was hit hard and hope for the best. The Soviets
would have the advantage of striking from ambush and, at least for the moment,
superior numbers. He could imagine the surprise the Americans would feel as
the sleek fighters appeared on their radar.
That would have to be enough.
0932 hours Zulu (0932 hours Zone)
Tomcat 200
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
“Lancelot, Lancelot, this is Tango Two-fiver. Tracking additional
targets. New aircraft on same bearing as Red Raid One, range from your
position four-zero November Mikes, angels one point five and climbing. Course
is one-five-zero degrees. Designating new targets as Red Raid Two.
“Shit!” Stramaglia cursed. “You see anything, Paddles?”
The RIO was slow replying. “I don’t … Good God! There they are!
They just popped onto my screen!”
“That’s a hell of a reception committee,” Batman Wayne commented on the