He would be superfluous in CIC. Let Bodansky perch in the semidarkness of
CIC, giving his orders, making his decisions. He was not as cold and
calculating as Terekhov, was not the fawning, cowardly idiot that Glushko had
been. It wouldn’t matter either way. Nothing that any one commander could do
or say would count for much this day.
The matter would be settled at a higher level, almost at a spiritual
plane, by the warriors who were now squaring off, man to man.
“Admiral Khenkin,” a voice said over a loudspeaker. “This is Lazerov in
Combat. We are tracking at least twelve targets approaching from the south.
Four are at extremely low altitude. Analysis suggests that they are either
A-6 Intruders or S-3 Vikings commencing an attack run. Both Admiral Yumashev
and Marshal Timoshenko have acquired the targets and have positive tracks.
Range now fifty-five kilometers. We may open fire at any time.”
Khenkin glanced at Bodansky, who was still standing on the flag bridge.
“I think you’d better get down there, Dmitri. I will come if I am needed.”
“Yes, Admiral.” He saluted and left.
Khenkin picked up a telephone handset. “Lazerov. This is Admiral
Khenkin. You have my permission to commence fire.”
He turned as he replaced the handset, looking again out the bridge
windows at the Marshal Timoshenko, three miles off. Raising his binoculars to
his face, he could make out the twin arms of the cruiser’s surface-to-air
missile launcher tilt and swing on its forward deck. There was a flash, and
the first missile arrowed into the sky, twisting sharply in midair toward the
south. Seconds later, a second missile pursued the first toward its unseen
target somewhere beyond the southern horizon.
“Quartermaster,” he snapped.
“Yes, Admiral!”
“Note the time in the log,” he said into the hush on the bridge.
“Marshal Timoshenko commenced fire on hostile aircraft approaching this task
force.”
Joy sang through his veins. And now, Khenkin thought, now it begins.
CHAPTER 21
Monday, 23 June
0611 hours Zulu (0711 hours Zone)
Viking 700
Over the Norwegian Sea
Hunter gripped the S-3A’s stick as the aircraft shuddered through a patch
of rough air. A threat indicator winked on, accompanied by a warbling tone in
his headset.
“Shit, Spock,” he told the man next to him. He’d been hoping to make it
another ten or twenty miles before being picked up by enemy radar. “They
nailed us already.”
“That is affirmative,” TACCO Lieutenant Commander Ralph Meade said, as
cold and as expressionless as ever. “Frequency-hopping, monopolar, which is
how they’re scanning us through the jamming. Sounds like Head Lights.
SA-N-3.” He studied his radar screen for a moment, then added, “SAM, SAM. I
have a positive track, two missiles incoming, SARH-active, range two-nine
miles.”
Hunter glanced at his tactical officer. The man’s professional reserve,
the emotionlessness that had given him his call sign of Spock, never failed to
amaze him. Here they were, deploying on a suicide mission with a pair of SAMs
on the way, and the guy was rolling off the targeting data as though he were
sitting in a simulator back in Norfolk. He found that Spock’s relaxed manner
had a calming effect on him as well. But his heart was still pounding beneath
his seat harness.
“Well,” Hunter said evenly, “they were going to pick us up sooner or
later.” The SA-N-3, called Goblet by NATO, was a semiactive radar-homing
missile big enough and fast enough to be used against air or surface targets.
Head Lights was the code name for the fire-control radar that guided the
missile to its target.
He keyed the Vikings’ tactical frequency. “Fisher One-one to all
Fishers. Here’s where things get exciting. On my command, execute Dispersal
Pattern Alpha. On three … two … one … execute.”
At his own order he brought the Viking’s stick slightly to the left, as
each of the four S-3s swung onto a different, new heading. To Soviet radar,
it would look like they were deploying for a Harpoon launch. It would also
separate them as targets and make it clear which of the four had been targeted
by the SARH missiles.
“Smokescreen, Smokescreen, this is Fisher One-one,” Spock called over a