them some kind of support.”
“That MEF is still on the way, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. II MEF is passing between Scotland and the Faeroes now, still
out of range of Soviet naval air. But they won’t be for much longer with this
new Russian force coming out of the Baltic. We have to make a decision, and
it’s got to be now. Either we keep Jefferson where she is, send in the
Marines, and back them up with at least one more carrier group. I’d suggest
the Eisenhower. She could be in the area in another couple of days. Or we
say the hell with it and pull out. But damn it, we’ve got to do it now. If
we don’t, we’re going to lose the Jefferson, her escorts, and ten or twelve
thousand of our boys. They won’t last long against the combined weight of two
Russian fleets!”
Vane ran his hand through thinning hair. “As I understand it, CBG-14 is
already badly weakened. The loss of the Hopkins … and the destroyer they
dispatched to escort her to Scotland.”
“The Kearny,” Scott said.
“Yes. That leaves only, what? The carrier and three surface vessels,
plus an attack sub. And they’ve been hiding in some damned fjord for the past
four days. The situation is clearly impossible.”
“If we pull out,” Duvall said thoughtfully, “what kind of message does
that send to the Germans? Or the British?”
“That they’re alone,” Vane pointed out.
“Yes,” Heideman added. “But you know, it’s really too late for heroics
over there. Maybe the best we can hope for is a cease-fire, one that leaves
the Russians in control of Scandinavia but preserves our forces intact. I
think we should pull the Jefferson out.”
“How about it, Admiral?” Waring said. “Create a mobile, defensive force,
Ike and Jeff and the Marines. Let the bastards have Norway, but draw the line
at Scotland and the Faeroes. Could they do it?”
“Yes.” Scott exchanged glances with Magruder. “Though the Marines won’t
do much good aboard ship, except maybe as a threat that they’re going to land
somewhere. My suggestion would be to stand where we are and fight.”
They continued to argue the problem back and forth, and Magruder
despaired. Most of the men in the room seemed to favor withdrawing from
Norway, possibly setting up some kind of barrier along the GIUK gap, from
Greenland to Iceland to the United Kingdom. Just as the Soviets had tried to
establish an exclusion zone within the Norwegian Sea, perhaps they could be
kept from passing through into the Atlantic.
The Marines of II MEF were a sticky problem. Secretary of Defense Vane
suggested landing the Marines of II MEF in the Faeroes, which were owned by
Denmark, both as a warning to the Soviets and to prevent them from doing it
first. Heideman seemed to favor keeping the Marines at sea until Britain
could be persuaded to take them in with an eye to keeping the Soviets nervous
and bottled up, while West suggested returning them to the United States as a
conciliatory gesture to Moscow.
Only Admiral Scott and Vincent Duvall seemed to favor standing and
fighting it out in the Norwegian Sea, and even they conceded that it would
take massive reinforcements for the lone Jefferson battle group to have even a
ghost of a chance.
The conversation in the soundproofed room was becoming steadily louder,
steadily more chaotic. One of Scott’s aides was shouting at one of Heideman’s
aides, while George Vane looked as though he was about to throw a punch at
Gordon West. Tempers were flaring, the shouting so loud that it was
impossible to follow any one conversation in the room.
“Gentlemen, please!” Waring shouted from the head of the table, trying to
restore order once again. “One at a time!”
Magruder was forcibly reminded of a scene in the old black-and-white
Kubrick movie Dr. Strangelove. “You can’t fight in here, gentlemen!” one of
the characters had shouted. “This is the war room!”
“Mr. Waring,” Admiral Scott said in the abrupt silence that followed.
“May I say something?”
“Please do,” Waring said, resuming his seat. “But quietly …”
“Gentlemen,” Scott said, “we can argue this thing until the cows come