Stramaglia. “CAG … can you give Batman some backup?”
There was a moment’s pause. “On my way,” Stramaglia said at last,
sounding more animated than before. On the radar monitor the blip that
represented the double-nuts bird was already angling to the left.
Coyote let out a sigh and hoped he’d done the right thing. But he
couldn’t waste time on the might-have-beens. For good or ill the choice was
made, and he had a battle to fight.
0943 hours Zulu (0943 hours Zone)
Fulcrum Lead
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
Terekhov heard exultant shouts over his radio and smiled. It was
strictly against regulations for pilots to clutter up the communications
channels with useless noise, but he wasn’t about to reprimand anyone. The
sight of the American fighter engulfed by his missile’s fireball had given him
the same feeling of elation. The plan was working. The Americans had fallen
into the trap and this time they would be defeated.
“Svirepyy Leader, this is Cossack,” Captain First Rank Glushko’s voice
grated over the radio. “The An-74 now reports ten more American planes in the
air. We cannot afford to continue to leave Soyuz uncovered. Cancel Operation
Kutuzov and return to base. Repeat, return to base!”
“Nyet!” Terekhov muttered under his breath. They were so close to making
this work. One enemy plane destroyed … six to go. And not all of them were
flying aggressively enough to press in close and use the short-range firepower
that was all any of them had left. To turn back now when they had the
opportunity to defeat these Americans in detail was worse than foolish. It
was suicide. The best way to guarantee that the Americans would keep their
distance from the fighting in Norway was to cripple their combat power here
and now. With the bombers taking out Keflavik and a large chunk of their
carrier air wing crippled, they would be stymied for the critical weeks it
would take to finish off the Norwegian resistance. Then the Rodina could
consolidate her gains with little hope of a Western counterattack.
Didn’t Glushko realize that the Americans couldn’t possibly be planning
an attack on the carrier? It took time to plan a strike mission, arm attack
aircraft, brief pilots … such an effort couldn’t be mounted in the short
time since the first strike on Keflavik. Even if the Americans had been
foolish enough to keep fully armed strike aircraft ready on the flight line
just in case they might be needed–an there was no way anyone would do
something that dangerous except in the direst emergency–the reaction time was
just too short. These were fighters, kept on a high state of alert, being
dispatched to shore up the weak squadron facing Terekhov now. That was the
only possible explanation.
He reached for the radio mike. “Cossack, Cossack, this is Svirepyy
Leader. We cannot break off now! The enemy is running low on ammunition. We
can sweep the sky if you just give us a few more minutes!”
There was a long pause on the other end. Terekhov could imagine
Glushko’s dilemma. It was easy enough to say that those couldn’t be attack
planes on their way to hit Soyuz … but suppose they were? If Glushko
abandoned the operation entirely he would be throwing away the best hope of
victory. But if he gambled with the survival of the carrier and lost it would
be a disaster. Would the air wing’s commander pass the decision to higher
authority, or would he make the choice himself in hopes of restoring his
sagging credit with the admiral?
At last Glushko replied. “Detach the Sukhoi squadron,” he ordered.
“They will return to cover the carrier. Your MiGs may remain, and do what
further damage you can.”
It was a compromise … and like most compromises it was a poor one.
Even without the Sukhois Terekhov could probably defeat these Americans easily
enough, but if those planes really were reinforcements they would catch his
squadron in the same relative state as he had caught the Tomcats–low on ammo,
perhaps on fuel, and unable to risk a prolonged engagement.
But he knew it was the best Glushko was likely to offer. Best to