“What did you have to tell me?”
“An idea, Admiral. A way we might be able to turn this fight to our
advantage.”
“I’m interested,” Tarrant said bluntly. “Spill it.”
“I’ve already started setting things up, but I’ll need your approval.”
In swift, concise statements, Tombstone began presenting the idea that had
been nagging at him since the interrupted CVIC conference that morning. When
he’d finished laying it out, at least in broad strokes, Tarrant pulled at his
chin with a deeply tanned hand. “This is a reversal of what you pulled at
Cape Bremanger, isn’t it?”
“I suppose you could say that, Admiral. I don’t think they’ll be
expecting it.”
“And the Intruders are ready to go?”
“We have ten Harpoons left in inventory. I’ve ordered five Intruders
readied, two Harpoons to a customer.”
“That’ll do it for us, then, as far as air-launched antiship missiles
go.”
“We could rig some Mark 46s for surface attack,” Tombstone said,
referring to ASW torpedoes launched from helicopters or S-3 Vikings. “But
yes, sir. When the Harpoons are gone, all we’ll have are the Sea Sparrows.
And the Standards of our escorts.” Sea Sparrows could be used against air or
surface targets, but they only had a ten-mile range. The longer-ranged
Standard missiles fired by Shiloh and the others could also be used against
ships, but the antiship weapon of choice was the Harpoon.
“Kind of like putting all the eggs in one basket, isn’t it, CAG?”
“Sure is, Admiral. But if we don’t use ’em, they go rotten. To tell you
the truth, sir, I don’t think we’re going to have a better chance than this.”
Tarrant considered it for a moment. “I agree,” he said at last. “We’ve
got one possible problem. I suppose the Intruders were being armed down on
the hangar deck?”
“Yes, sir.” The flight deck, exposed to hurtling bits of metal, was not
the place to load munitions in the heat of a battle.
“Well, that thump you felt a few moments ago was a Russkie missile coming
into the hangar deck. I don’t know how bad it is. Captain’s looking into it
now.”
Tombstone tried to visualize the scene on the hangar deck, the cavernous
space that occupied fully a quarter of Jefferson’s interior, a steel-walled
chamber packed with men, aircraft, machinery, and inflammables. An explosion
down there could destroy a dozen aircraft and spray scores more with bits of
metal flying like machine-gun bullets.
“Then the whole idea must be bust anyway,” he said. “We can’t pull it
off without the Intruders or the Harpoons.”
“We’ll see when we get the damage reports.” Tarrant reached out and laid
one hand on Tombstone’s shoulder, a strangely human gesture from a man
Tombstone had come to think of during the past weeks as some kind of
hard-driving machine. “Commander, I’ve acquired a high regard for your
tactical intuitions over these past few weeks. You may just be the greatest
naval strategist since John Paul Jones. But even he made mistakes. If you’re
wrong this time, God help you. God help all of us.”
“God help us if I’m right, Admiral. We’re going to need His backing on
this, no matter which way it goes.”
“I’m going back up to the flag bridge,” he said. “If we have the planes
and the ordnance, I’ll approve your plan.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
“I’ll let you know when we hear about the Intruders. Carry on.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Tombstone returned to his seat and continued to watch
the battle.
0440 hours Zulu (0540 hours Zone)
MiG 501
Off the Norwegian coast
Sergei Terekhov looked at the water below with sharp distaste, but there
was no escaping the facts. He’d had to coax and prod the stricken MiG-29 to
get this far, and the damaged aircraft was simply not going to take him much
farther. That head-on pass with the Tomcat had sent a torrent of lead through
his left wing and fuselage, shredding the port wing tank, damaging his left
stabilizer, knocking out radar, radio, and all weapons systems, and playing
hell with his hydraulic system. He doubted that he was going to be able to
get his left wheel down; even if he’d been able to limp back to the Soyuz, it