tried to crowd closer to the stage. “Admiral Magruder!”
“Does this mean a declaration of war between the U.S. and the USSR?”
“How badly was the Hopkins hurt?”
“What’s our next move in the Norwegian Sea, Admiral?”
Ignoring the shouts and questions, Magruder walked backstage, handed his
notes to an aide, and was preparing to leave the wings when a woman, a
civilian, approached him from the side.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning. “You’ll have to–Pamela!”
“Hello, Admiral. Sorry to barge in on you, but you’re a hard man to run
down.”
The sight of her, tall and blond and sharply dressed, had caught him
completely off guard. He’d first met Pamela Drake in Southeast Asia when he’d
been commander of CBG-14. Afterward, he’d come to the Pentagon and she’d
returned to her news desk in Washington; he’d seen her several times over the
past few years and each encounter had been uncomfortable for him. He knew
that Pamela and his nephew had broken off their engagement, and he thought he
knew why.
Magruder wondered if she knew that Matt was aboard the Jefferson. He
sighed. “Really, Ms. Drake, you must know better than to-”
“I’m not trying to wangle an exclusive, Admiral. I just wanted to say
good-bye.”
“Good-bye?”
She smiled. “I’m on my way to Norway. I thought you’d like to know.”
“Good God! Norway! Why?”
“Really, Admiral!” The smile broadened. “This time it’s you who should
know better. Norway is where the news is. I assume you’ve heard about the
Soviet invasion? I’m going to join the pool in Bergen. Anyway, I was hoping,
well, could you tell Matt for me? I haven’t been able to find him.”
“Tell Matt?” His brow wrinkled. “Damn, you don’t know.”
Her eyes widened. “Know what?”
“That Matt’s already there. He transferred to the Jefferson two weeks
ago.”
“Oh, God.” Her shoulders sagged a little, but she tried to retrieve the
smile. “I guess I can tell him myself then, huh?”
“Well, maybe. I doubt that they’ll be giving out press passes for the
Jeff while she’s in a combat zone. But you should be able to get a message to
him.”
She reached up, brushing an errant wisp of blond hair from her face.
“Maybe. I’m not so sure I should. That SOB went off to a damned war and
didn’t even tell me!” She turned and stalked away, obviously distressed.
Magruder watched her go with misgivings of his own. He had a feeling
that he’d just opened an old and bitter wound in that young lady, and wondered
if there was anything he could say or do to fix it.
No, better to stay out of it. All the same, he wished that Pamela was
not going to Norway. If Matt still had any feelings for her, if he found out
about her assignment …
Magruder stifled the cold thought and continued on his way toward his
office.
2135 hours Zulu (2035 hours Zone)
Soviet Aircraft Carrier Soyuz
The Norwegian See
White smoke continued to boil from beneath the overhang of the wounded
carrier’s flight deck, falling across the sea astern like a thick blanket of
fog. At last report, the damage-control parties had the fires under control
and the ship was out of danger, but hard-working crews were still moving about
the deck, cleaning up the debris left in the aftermath of the attack.
Admiral Vasili Ivanovich Khenkin leaned against the port-side railing of
his bridge promenade and studied the purposeful, orderly movements of the men
below the carrier’s island. They were tired; that was obvious from their
sluggishness, and by the way the petty officers had to bully and prod their
men along.
Small wonder, Khenkin thought. The officers and crew of the Soviet
aircraft carrier Soyuz had been working without pause for two days. Khenkin
himself felt exhaustion dragging at his legs and back and eyes like lead
weights.
Below the admiral’s perch, a deck party was gathered around the
burned-out carcass of a MiG-29. The fighter had been caught in the blast when
the last American Harpoon missile had slammed into the carrier’s island,
scattering flaming debris and chunks of metal across the flight deck. Khenkin