be a sharply limited one.”
“Even a single nuclear detonation in the continental United States would
be devastating, Mr. President,” West pointed out. “A catastrophe.”
“A nuclear detonation anywhere in the world could be a catastrophe,
Gordy,” the President replied. “Especially if one followed another, and
another, and another …”
“I can also point out, Mr. President,” Magruder continued, “that if we
pull back now, we achieve nothing. We’ve gained no ground. We haven’t
stopped the Krasilnikov faction from carrying out their threats. The
American men and women who have died already will have died for nothing
but some rather thin symbolism. ‘Delivering a message,’ as some of your
political friends like to put it. We might even lose our whole battle
force, probably will, in fact, if the shooting match goes nuclear over
there. All for nothing.”
“Well, good God,” Waring said, angry now. “If it’s a choice between
losing a couple of damned aircraft carriers and losing New York City-”
“Admiral Magruder,” the President said, cutting off Waring in
mid-sentence. “Do you think our military forces over there have a
chance, any chance at all, of carrying out their mission?”
“Yes, Sir. If our intelligence estimates of the situation are correct.
If they’re not micromanaged into a pocket. If their mission isn’t
changed on them in mid-course by people back here who think they know
better.”
“What do you mean?”
Magruder shrugged. “Sir, right now our carrier battle force and the II
MEF have clearly defined goals, a mission, a purpose, and the support
they need to carry it out. If you or the UN decide to change or muddy
their mission goals, well, there aren’t any guarantees. That was a
large part of the problem in Vietnam, the lack of a clear, well-defined
objective.”
“Point taken, Admiral. The men can do the job, so long as the guy
giving the orders tells them what to do, then gets out of the way.”
“Mr. President-” Waring began.
“Herb, we’re too far into this to change now. We’ve got to go ahead.”
“God help us if you’re wrong, Mr. President.”
“Amen,” the President replied. “Because no one else will.”
0830 hours (Zulu +2)
Air Ops
U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Despite the continuing, usually good-natured rivalry between Navy and
Air Force over who had the better flyers, Tombstone had been damned glad
to see the new arrivals plotted on the Ops displays. While Intruders
were all-weather, day-or-night-capable attack aircraft, handing off the
bombing to the Air Force had let VA-84 and VA-89 stand down for a decent
night’s sleep, in anticipation of what would be happening in the
morning.
Tombstone had been up late the night before again, going over the final
planning for Operation White Storm, but he’d been able to pull down five
uninterrupted hours of sleep, and when an aide had rousted him awake at
0530 hours he was feeling better rested–and more confident–than he’d
felt in several long days.
At least part of his change in heart was the result of a decision he’d
made the night before, a decision he implemented that morning with a
change to the air wing duty roster. Tombstone had decided to put
himself on the active flight list.
Years before, the CAG of a carrier air wing had been expected to fly
combat missions. Hell, that was a tradition that went back to World War
II, when CAGs really were commanders of air groups and were expected to
lead their men against the enemy. Modern warfare, however, had become
more and more a war of machines and technicians, of computers and
radar-guided weapons and of unit commanders who gave their orders over
secure data links. With the superCAG concept, the commander of a
carrier air wing, while he still logged his hours of flight time, was
expected to lead a mission from Air Ops, where he could use his training
and his judgment to direct an entire battle, rather than the small part
he’d be able to see from the front seat of an F-14.
By and large, Tombstone agreed with the common sense of doing things
that way. It cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to train a man to be