to follow us too closely.”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Tarrant said. “Sinking the Russkie
carrier. We’ve tried twice now and missed both times.”
“With respect, sir, we haven’t tried hard enough. Their ECM has been
pretty good throughout the battle so far. I think we’re going to have to get
in a hell of a lot closer to make sure our Harpoons hit the right target. And
I have an idea on that too-”
A telephone buzzed on one of the CVIC bulkheads, and an aide picked it
up. “Captain Brandt?” he said after a moment. “CIC. Urgent.”
Jefferson’s Captain went to the phone, spoke in low tones, then listened.
“What?” His shout startled the officers gathered in CVIC. “Okay. Sound GQ.”
He handed the receiver back to the aide and turned to address the
listening officers. The clangor of general quarters began sounding from the
1-MC, and Tombstone could hear the metallic pounding of running feet in the
corridors outside.
“Admiral, you and your staff had better hustle back to Shiloh. Our
Hawkeye has picked up a large target, many contacts, approaching from the
north. They appear to be vectoring on Romsdalfjord.”
The admiral went pale. “God, no …”
“Looks like the question of heading north is academic, CAG,” Brandt said.
“They’ve found us and they’re launching an alpha strike. We’re going to be
damned lucky if we survive.”
The officers began filing out of CVIC, heading for their combat stations.
And Tombstone realized with a sinking feeling that they might well have
just lost their one chance to save the battle group, to save Norway …
… to save Pamela. He followed the others into the passageway outside
and headed for his duty station in CIC.
CHAPTER 17
Monday, 23 June
0351 hours Zulu (0451 hours Zone)
Officers’ Quarters, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Romsdalfjord
The rasp of the klaxon brought Coyote wide awake out of the hardest,
deepest sleep he’d enjoyed in a long time.
“Now hear this, now hear this!” sounded over the 1-MC as his bare feet
hit the deck. “General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands man your battle
stations. Set condition Red Two throughout the ship. This is no drill!”
He reached the door leading to the passageway, which was filled now with
running men. Standing there, wearing nothing but his shorts, he realized that
Tombstone’s orders to get a full night’s sleep could not possibly apply to
this. “All hands,” the announcement had said … and it could only mean an
attack on the Jefferson was imminent.
Coyote saw a familiar face. Batman was trotting down the passageway,
still pulling on his shirt. “Batman! What is it?”
“Hey, Skipper! Put your pants on. We’ve got a Russkie air wing coming
at us.”
He didn’t question how Batman had gotten the information. News traveled
faster than light aboard a Navy warship, purely by word of mouth. Coyote
ducked back inside his cabin and snatched a shirt and trousers from his
closet. There was no time even to think about being afraid.
0353 hours Zulu (0453 hours Zone)
CIC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Tombstone clutched a mug of hot coffee someone had handed him and leaned
over a map on the plot table in CIC. He was bone-tired, but adrenaline,
rather than caffeine, was keeping him going now. The Soviets were making
their move, striking at Jefferson and striking hard.
The life of the ship throbbed and pounded around him. He could feel the
gentle throb of engines through the deck as Jefferson got under way. It would
take some time to maneuver the great carrier down the fjord and into the open
sea, but at least they were now presenting the Russians with a moving target,
however slow.
His initial fear that the Soviet attack might have ended their chances of
saving Norway was ebbing as he studied the cryptic markings penciled onto the
map. The nearest Russian planes were eighty miles out–less than ten minutes
away at their present speed. Jefferson’s CAP was deploying to meet them now
at the fifty-mile point, and more Tomcats and Hornets would be airborne in
minutes to back them up. There was also a flight of Norwegian F-16s,
designated White King, launching from VAIderby, but it was clear already that