an Oshkosh into position to hose the flames down, as men and mules heaved and
strained at the wreckage, levering it over the side and into the fjord with a
heavy splash.
A stray shell from an aircraft cannon or a piece of shrapnel–it was
never learned which–struck the flight deck amidships with a shrill whine,
ricocheting into the back of a seaman running toward the island. For a few
moments, his screams echoed above even the roar of battle, at least in the
vicinity of the island, until a hospital corpsman could jab a needle into his
arm and inject him with morphine. Most of his intestines were strewn in a
slippery smear across the deck, unfortunately, and he did not live long enough
to reach sick bay.
Seconds later, an AS-7 Kerry antiship missile slipped past Jefferson’s
hard-pressed defenses, skimming out of the north just above the water,
ignoring RBOC blooms as it locked onto Jefferson’s radar image, traveling so
fast that three separate CIWS bursts served only to lash the water beneath and
to either side of the hurtling fish shape into white frenzy.
At Mach 1, its one-hundred-kilogram warhead slammed into Jefferson’s
side, beneath the overhang of the flight deck just aft of the port-side
forward elevator.
Every man on board knew that Jefferson had been hit.
CHAPTER 19
Monday, 23 June
0435 hours Zulu (0535 hours Zone)
cic, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Romsdalfjord
He felt the shudder transmitted through the deck in CIC, a far-off thump
that echoed for several seconds through the steel caverns of the warship.
Tombstone looked up from the display monitor he’d been studying, frowned at
the overhead for a moment, then turned his attention back to the displays. If
the carrier had been seriously damaged, he would know it in a moment. There
was nothing else he could do, save stay where he was and watch the battle as
it unfolded around the Jefferson.
How long could it continue? He slouched forward in the raised,
leather-backed chair, following the crawling blips on the main display, blips
representing air targets tangling above the carrier. Over the 1-MC, a voice
announced a fire on the hangar deck and ordered damage-control parties and
shoring parties to report to a particular frame, but it was easy to ignore the
urgent call, concentrating instead on the crackle and buzz of voices calling
to one another over the tactical communication net. With the electronic
sounds, the flicker and drift of featureless points of light across glowing
monitors, it was more like some bizarre video game than a battle. The
engagement had long since passed beyond Tombstone’s control. He continued to
issue orders that were passed on to the warring aviators somewhere in the
unseen skies beyond the CIC’s overhead, the “roof” as they called the flight
deck. As new threats materialized, he deployed aircraft by twos or fours,
forming reserves, spending those reserves as each Soviet thrust appeared among
the shifting hordes of blips.
But the real battle had taken on a life of its own. Jefferson would live
or die now according to which side had the better aviators, the better
machines, the greater will. Jefferson’s computers could report, but not
manage, the struggle. It was now up to Coyote and Teejay and the others, not
to Tombstone.
“Admiral on the deck,” a voice called, but no one in the dimly lit
expanse of the CIC Air Module moved from the phosphorescent glows of their
radar screens. Tombstone swiveled in his chair and saw Admiral Tarrant
standing behind him.
“Hello, CAG. I got the word you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes, sir,” Tombstone said, sliding from the chair. He’d left a message
with one of the admiral’s aides shortly after GQ had sounded. “I didn’t
intend to drag you from the battle, though.”
“It’s out of my hands now,” he said with a grim smile. “And yours too, I
expect.” He nodded toward the rows of consoles, the silent, bowed heads of
the electronics technicians and radarmen manning the CIC suite. “Actually,
since they jumped us before I could get back to the Shiloh, I figured I could
get a pretty good look right here.”
“Well, glad to have you, sir.”