vicinity of the Shetlands. From there, we can carry out a purely defensive
operation. We’ll have the Eisenhower’s battle group as backup to prevent a
general Soviet breakout into the Atlantic. Lights.”
As the lights came up, Tarrant faced his audience. He looked, Tombstone
thought, like a beaten man.
And the tactics he’d just outlined reflected that defeat. Every man in
the compartment could see the risks in what Tarrant was proposing–breaking
from cover and fleeing southwest across three hundred miles of open sea. The
Soviet Baltic fleet was already in a position to interdict that line from
Romsdalfjord to Scotland; it would mean a running fight across the North Sea,
one that they would not be able to avoid, one certain to end in the loss of
more American ships.
As he stared at the map, however, Tombstone could see an alternative.
There was tremendous risk involved, but it offered them a chance to keep the
enemy on the defensive, instead of merely reacting to his moves and thrusts.
His scowl must have revealed his thoughts. When he glanced up, he found
himself staring into Tarrant’s eyes. “CAG? You don’t look happy. It was my
intention to open this session to debate and comments, and it seems to me
you’ve got some comments to make. Spill ’em.”
Tombstone was remembering the confrontation with Coyote in his office a
few days before. Sometimes the only thing you can do is wade back in with
both fists swinging. Like they say in the Marines: attack, attack, attack!
It’s not that easy.
No, it never was. Especially when the lives of thousands of men were
riding on it.
What else had he said to Coyote that evening? There’s no way to duck
responsibility in this man’s Navy.
Yeah, right. He took a deep breath. “Sir, I would like to suggest
another possibility. I think we should attack, hit the Soyuz again before
they get organized, and before Kreml gets close enough to hit us. Then we
head, not southwest, but north.”
“North!” Emerson said, shocked. “Damn it, CAG, that’s suicide.”
Tombstone shrugged. “It’s unexpected.”
“You got that right,” Parker, Jefferson’s Exec, muttered. But he was
grinning.
“It’s also the move the Russians are dreading most,” Tombstone continued.
“They still seem to be holding the bulk of their Red Banner Northern Fleet in
reserve, up in the Barents Sea someplace, waiting for us to try a swing that
way to get at their Kola Peninsula bases. If we make that move, they’re going
to bunch up, go on the defensive. And if they do that, we’ve got them!”
“Well, I can’t think of a better way to get the Baltic Fleet to follow
us,” Tarrant said slowly. He was studying the map. “They’d follow us instead
of heading for the Atlantic, or trying to ambush 11 MEF. But as you pointed
out, we’d still have the rest of the Red Banner Northern Fleet in front of us.
And the Kreml and her consorts behind. That’s assuming that we manage to sink
the Soyuz in the first place.”
“The key, Admiral, is to stop playing catch-up with the bastards and put
them on the defensive.”
As he spoke, Tombstone could not help thinking about Pamela. He felt a
soul-wrenching longing for her. He had to assume that she was either still in
Bergen or with Lindstrom’s people in the hills. What would happen to her if
the Russians crushed the last of the Norwegian resistance?
Well, what would happen to all of them if they abandoned Scandinavia?
The problem was far larger than the threat to any single individual. It would
be a long time before U.S. forces would be able to organize for a return, and
the captive nations would suffer in the meantime. With the Soviets’ past
record, there could be no doubt of that.
Tombstone knew that he should not, could not let his worry for Pamela
lead his thinking about battle group strategy. But, he reasoned, if it did
not lead his thinking, at least it could help clarify it. Was it Samuel
Johnson who’d once said that if a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight,
it concentrates his mind wonderfully?