school,” the President said, but he disarmed the words with his famous
grin.
“What happened?”
“They fought through a winter when six feet of snow fell on Arkhangelsk.
Most of the deaths were from frostbite or disease, but there were combat
casualties as well, American troops fighting the Red Army in the heart
of the Kola Peninsula. Squabbles among the Allies and a change of heart
in Washington brought the rest of them home after two years.”
“So what are you saying, Admiral? Are you recommending that we stay out
of Russia?”
“I’m saying, Mr. President, that we’d better be damned sure about what
we’re getting into over there, that we’d better be crystal clear on what
we’re doing and why. Otherwise, sir, we’ll find ourselves neck-deep in
quicksand.”
“I appreciate your concern, Admiral. But I assure you that we will have
strictly limited goals and objectives. I’m told that the Pentagon has
been working for some time on a plan for just such a contingency as
this. Now, people, let me touch on some of the salient points of this
operation.”
As he listened, Magruder had to concede that this was not intended as a
long-term mission. It was more of a raid in force, with no plans for
occupation, or even for cooperation with Leonov’s forces.
The only problem lay in the certain knowledge that it was going to be a
hell of a lot easier getting into Russia’s civil war than it would be
getting out.
2215 hours (Zulu +2)
Bear Station
U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
“Come.”
Tombstone opened the door, stepped past the Marine sentry outside, and
entered Admiral Tarrant’s office. Tarrant had transferred to the
Jefferson earlier that afternoon, at least for the time being. Shiloh
was better for managing a sea battle, but the Jefferson offered better
facilities for planning bigger ops, especially those involving the
carrier herself.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
Captain Brandt was on a sofa in the corner of the room, but he said
nothing.
“Yes, CAG. Shut the door and drag up a chair. Sorry to haul you up
here so late. Drink?”
There was a crystal decanter of scotch on the Captain’s desk, and
Tombstone’s eyebrows rose when he saw it. The Jefferson, like all Navy
ships, was dry, and he knew Brandt didn’t drink. Tarrant must have
brought his own stock. “No, sir. Thank you.”
“How’s the wing holding up?”
“All right, sir. Tired, but we’re keeping the CAPs aloft. Funny.
There’s not been much reaction out of the Russians since we sunk their
sub.
We’ve had two of their attack aircraft make runs at our perimeter, but
those appeared to be probes sent in to test us rather than serious
assaults. We turned one back and downed the other. I was expecting all
hell to break loose.”
In silent reply, Tarrant handed a message across the desk to Tombstone,
then refilled his glass from the decanter.
It was a long one, signed by Admiral Brandon Scott himself, explaining
in detail the parameters of a massive amphibious operation code-named
White Storm. A U.S. amphibious task force, II MEF, was already en
route to Bear Station and would be arriving sometime very early in the
morning.
Scarcely believing what he was reading, Tombstone scanned rapidly
through the message.
“We’re … invading Russia, sir?”
“We are, and I quote, ‘to secure certain key Russian naval facilities in
order to prevent deployment of enemy PLARB forces.” The sub bases,
Stoney.
They want us to grab the sub bases at Polyamyy.”
“Good Lord. How are we going to pull that off?”
Tarrant sipped at his drink, put his head back, and closed his eyes with
a sigh. “God damned if I know, CAG. But you can start with this.”
Reaching out with one hand, he slid a stack of paper across the desk
toward Tombstone.
The document was massive, inches thick and weighing several pounds. The
cover page had the operational name, White Storm, and was marked top
secret.
“The Pentagon has been working on this one ever since Leonov got kicked
out of Moscow,” Tarrant said. “It assumes we have to intervene in the
Kola to stop a Russian ICBM launch by their submarine forces. They’re