CARRIER 5: MAELSTROM By Keith Douglass

the Royal Navy’d heave to alongside one of your ships, come aboard, and carry

off a boatload of seamen to serve His Majesty. But, well, it seems to me that

a bit of impressment might be just the thing here, to solve my problem, and

yours.”

Understanding dawned with the force of an exploding bomb. “You want us,

Hopkins’s crew, to come aboard the Ark Royal?”

A distant thunder grew, swelling in volume. DuPont glanced up, saw the

down-angled wings of a British Sea Harrier making an approach toward the

carrier. Killing its forward velocity, the ungainly aircraft hovered for a

moment, an impossible sight, then began descending toward the Ark Royal’s

deck, drifting down like a helicopter.

Parker grinned, and raised his voice against the noise. “Those who want

to. Volunteers only. And it won’t be soft, I promise you that. You chaps’ll

have to learn the ropes on new ship, as they say, while we go on exercise.”

“Exercise?”

“Well, we’re not at war, you know. Not officially, at any rate. But I

believe I have sufficient leverage with Whitehall to swing a small readiness

exercise. Just to check out the systems and the men’s training, and all that.

And of course …” He stopped, shrugged. “Of course if we come under attack

while we’re in international waters, we have every right to defend ourselves.

Wouldn’t you say?”

“Damned straight, sir!”

“Ah, good. Well, then, unless you Yanks see fit to start another bloody

war over our impressing your seamen, I take it then that we have a deal?”

“I’ll speak to my men immediately, sir. Uh … you might have to swing

some of that leverage you mentioned toward Washington.”

“The wheels are already turning, Commander. Talked to your Joint Staff’s

Director of Operations this morning. You’ll get your TAE orders while we’re

at sea.”

DuPont felt a surge of fierce exultation. All those lives lost … but

they would not be lost in vain. Hopkins’s crew was going back! He saluted.

“I consider it a privilege to be impressed by you, Admiral!”

“Excellent!” Parker returned the salute, and then he extended his hand.

His ice-blue eyes glittered with humor. “Welcome aboard!”

CHAPTER 20

Monday, 23 June

0609 hours Zulu (0709 hours Zone)

Viking 700

Over the Norwegian Sea

Commander Max Harrison, call sign Hunter, glanced to port. catching the

movement of his S-3 Viking’s shadow as it rippled across the surface of the

sea, less than one hundred feet below. At their cruising speed of 350 knots,

the four Vikings, holding a tight, diamond formation, roared north toward

their target.

CAG had outdone himself, Hunter decided. His strategy was simple, based

on the expectation that the Russians would see what they’d seen on their radar

screens the day before and assume that yesterday’s attack pattern on Soyuz was

being repeated.

In fact, the Vikings were decoys, their crews volunteers. In the Battle

of Cape Bremanger their unexpected assault against the Soviet amphibious

squadron with Harpoons had meant victory. This time, when they got close

enough for the Russian radars to pick them out of the surface clutter, the

Soviets might assume that they were Intruders loaded with bombs or antiship

missiles. Russian CAP aircraft that spotted them would recognize them as

Vikings–there was no mistaking their high-tailed, fat-canopied profile–but

might assume they were repeating their Cape Bremanger role, pulling off a

low-level attack with Harpoons.

If so, the joke would be on them. The S-3s were flying empty, no

missiles, no torpedoes or sonobuoys, with only a pilot and copilot in the

cockpit instead of the usual four man sub-hunting crew.

Everyone was being very careful not to talk about the operation as a

suicide mission, but Hunter was under no illusions about their chances. To

make it look realistic–hell, to get in close enough that Soviet radar would

pick them up at all through the jamming–meant that they would have to ride

all the way in to the Soyuz, straight into the crossfire of point-defense

AK-630s, surface-to-air missiles, and MiGs. Four aircraft, however fast or

maneuverable, would not survive that inferno for long.

As Hunter kept telling himself, it was not whether or not they survived

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