a large Soviet amphibious group moving down the Norwegian Coast. Our
intelligence believes that this flotilla was deploying to land Soviet naval
infantry forces here, near Bergen. Such an operation would have served to
isolate remaining Norwegian forces, cut them off from supply by sea, and quite
possibly force their surrender.
“Our combat operations were executed skillfully and to good effect. Our
aircraft caught the Soviet amphibious forces about one hundred fifty miles
north of Bergen, near the island of Bremanger. In the battle, a number of
Russian navel vessels were sunk, heavily damaged, or run aground and captured
by Norwegian forces.
“At the same time a Soviet aircraft carrier providing air cover to the
amphibious operation, the Soyuz, was struck by Harpoon missiles launched by
our A-6 Intruders, and damaged. At last report, Soyuz was out of the fight
and limping toward the north. This operation was, by any definition you would
care to use, a major victory for our forces, and for the military forces of
free Norway.”
A victory. Well …
The Battle of Cape Bremanger, as it was already coming to be called,
would go down in the history books as a splendid victory of American arms, but
in political terms, that battle had been as bleak a defeat as Pearl Harbor.
Obviously, the Soviets had counted on American isolationism to give them a
free hand; the Jefferson had been deployed to make them think twice about
their plans for Norway.
At least, it should have worked that way. There should never have been a
battle in the first place. Somehow, someone in the game of bluff and
counter-bluff had miscalculated, and now the Soviet Union and the United
States were engaged in what every strategist in both countries had dreaded and
anticipated ever since the end of World War II–all-out conventional war
between the world’s two greatest superpowers.
It was ironic. Most scenarios for such a conflict had envisioned the
Russians pouring through the Fulda Gap and onto the plains of West Germany,
the nightmare of the Cold War, when Eastern Europe had still been in the
Kremlin’s iron grasp. Others had imagined a Soviet thrust into the Mideast.
No one had expected Armageddon to begin in Scandinavia.
Admiral Thomas Magruder felt a sour stab of pain at that thought. His
nephew Matt was aboard the Jefferson, had been since Iceland. The Pentagon
still hoped that CBG-14’s presence could force the Soviets to back down. But
if things turned hot …
The war was only thirteen days old. It could still easily spread … to
Europe, the North Atlantic, the Mideast. Washington was determined that that
would not happen.
“Since the Battle of Cape Bremanger,” Magruder continued, “Russian and
American forces have been keeping a watchful eye on one another but have
remained out of contact. At approximately 1230 this afternoon our time,
however, the situation changed as the crisis in Norway entered a new and
possibly very dangerous phase.
“At that time, two of our F-14 Tomcats, on routine patrol off the
aircraft carrier Thomas Jefferson, were attacked by Soviet aircraft over
Norway. One of our aircraft was shot down. An unconfirmed number of Soviet
aircraft were downed in the same engagement.
“At the same time, other Russian aircraft launched several antiship
missiles at our naval forces off the Norwegian coast. One of our vessels, the
guided-missile frigate Esek Hopkins, was hit. We are still assessing the
damage reports, but we can assure you that damage is relatively light and will
in no way impair the effectiveness of our battle group.”
A small lie, that, but one necessary to avoid alarm … or unwanted
questions.
Like what good can a lone carrier do against the massed force of the
Soviet fleet?
Magruder looked up, squinting into the batteries of lights. “That
concludes my official statement at this time. I’m afraid I can’t take
questions now, but I can tell you that there’ll be a special press briefing at
0900 tomorrow, and we will be able to take your questions then. Thank you.”
He turned away from the podium abruptly as a storm of protest erupted
from the floor. “Admiral!” a dozen voices called, clamoring as reporters