remote corner of Asia, but a major naval war, a war against the Soviet Union.
He would still have preferred to be with Coyote on BARCAP between the
endless blues of sea and sky … but the events of the past few days had
proven to Tombstone once and for all that his training and experience were put
to their best use here. He still didn’t like the new situation, but he was
learning to live with it.
Where … where were those bogies?
“Do you think this is part of that shuttle we’ve been watching up here?”
Lieutenant Commander Arthur Lee was Tombstone’s CAG staff intelligence
officer. He reached forward, almost touching the outline of the Norwegian
coast on the screen with his forefinger. He pointed to a spot on the coast to
the north, beyond Trondheim. “The shuttle” had been glimpsed earlier that
morning and had reappeared intermittently throughout the day … fast-moving
blips that were almost certainly Soviet fighter planes, weaving through the
mountains beyond Trondheim toward the west. The Hawkeye had been deployed
farther north than usual in an attempt to track the bogies, but without much
success. “Doubt it,” Tombstone replied, his voice curt. “More likely that
shuttle of yours is fresh birds for the Russian carrier.”
Somewhere far to the north of Jefferson lay the scattered elements of a
Soviet carrier task force. Intelligence reports were still sketchy, but it
was at least possible that the Russian carrier had been hit at least once
during the far-flung surface action two days before. Certainly it had lost a
large fraction of its air wing, and the shuttle might be an attempt to make up
those losses.
If so, Jefferson was not in a strong position. The American carrier had
lost aircraft during the past week, too many of them, and replacements were
hard to come by at the far end of a supply line that stretched clear back
across the Atlantic to Norfolk.
“Reinforcements,” Commander Aiken added, echoing Tombstone’s thoughts.
“Pray God we get reinforcements of our own before they get their shit
together.”
Reinforcements were on the way … but the big question was when they
would arrive. Eisenhower’s battle group was already in the Atlantic, and
there was talk that either the Nimitz or the Kennedy was to be redeployed from
the Med. With two or three battle groups in the region, plus a Marine
Expeditionary Unit en route from Virginia, the Russians would have to back
down.
Unless they could kill or cripple the Jefferson first. For the next few
days, the U.S.S. Jefferson was likely to be the only force blocking the
Russians in the Norwegian Sea, and that fact made her a prime target.
Tombstone watched the luminous glow painting the blur of radar clutter to
the east. If the Russians were overflying Sweden in a bid to hit the
Jefferson, they’d be popping into view any Moment now. North on the screen,
two solitary blips raced toward the southeast, toward the jagged indentations
of the Norwegian coast. Data relayed from the Hawkeye tagged them as
friendlies–Coyote and Scorpion heading for their intercept. The seconds
dragged by, agonizingly slow.
“What’s the status on our Alert Five?” he asked. As soon as the bogies
had been spotted, Jefferson’s Alert Five aircraft, F-14 Tomcats already
fueled, armed, and ready to launch on five minutes’ notice, had been given the
word to go.
“Four minutes, CAG,” one of his assistants announced behind him.
“Damn! Pass the word to step on it up there. Our people need some
backup!” Tombstone felt frustrated, mad, and not a little scared. Jefferson
was sitting blind, and God knew what the Russians were sending at them. Right
now, there was nothing between the enemy and Jefferson’s battle group but two
F-14s and four vulnerable men.
My friends.
Damn! Where were those bogies?
1422 hours Zulu (1522 hours Zone)
Tomcat 201
Off the Norwegian coast
Commander Willis Grant–Coyote to his friends and fellow Vipers aboard
the Jefferson–eased back gently on the stick of his F-14D Tomcat, feeling the
thundering power of the combat aircraft’s twin F110 GE-400 engines as he edged
into a gentle climb. Below, half a mile beneath the Tomcat’s belly, sunlight