at the easternmost tip of the peninsula, overlooking the narrow Kerch
Strait that connected the Black Sea with the Sea of Azov to the north.
The strait was only five kilometers wide at that point, separating the
Crimea from the Taman Peninsula. .. and Russia proper. “Kerch,” he said
again, turning to Kulagin. “They are going home, as Boychenko promised
them.”
“Then we have won, Comrade Admiral!”
“Hardly!” Turning from the map, he hurried back to his desk. There was
much to be done.
“But if the rebels are fleeing-”
“An hour ago I had a report from our aerial reconnaissance unit,”
Dmitriev said. “The American battle group is now moving northeast at
full speed.”
Kulagin remained in front of the map, studying it carefully. After a few
moments he said, “The Americans are going to Kerch as well?”
“Yes. It is obvious, no? They intend to provide naval transport for
Boychenko’s troops across the strait. It could be that Boychenko plans
to cut a deal with Krasilnikov.” Probably by painting me as a bungler,
he told himself, but he was unwilling to voice the thought to his
subordinate.
“But we have naval facilities at Kerch. And a battalion of naval
infantry.”
“Exactly,” Dmitriev said as he picked up the telephone on his desk. He
punched a button. “Vasily! Get me Yevtushenko at Kerch! I don’t care
what time it is! Get him!” As he waited for the connection to be made,
he looked at Kulagin. “And Anton! While I discuss this with Yevtushenko,
call an assembly of all ship captains. In the main briefing room down
the hall, three hundred hours.”
Kulagin’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. “All captains? A sortie,
Comrade Admiral?”
“A sortie. With speed, we can catch the American battle group against
the Taman Peninsula, while Yevtushenko deals with Boychenko’s soldiers
ashore. If we cannot use the American carrier group, we can destroy it.
.. a demonstration that should impress our Ukrainian friends. More
likely, we will actually be able to force their surrender, and that
would be a prize indeed to present to Krasilnikov!”
“But, sir! An American battle group!”
“Don’t you see, Anton? They have been flying air operations steadily
since Thursday morning. Since before that, even, if you count their ASW
and fighter patrols. They were in combat Thursday against our Bosporus
strike force. And this evening they mounted a major operation that must
have involved all of their air assets. And with their lines of supply
cut, they simply do not have the reserves of aviation fuel necessary to
continue operations much longer. Even an American aircraft carrier
battle group cannot fight for long without fuel for its aircraft!”
“We don’t know how much they still have, though-”
Dmitriev laughed. “They do not have enough, and that is all we need to
know! That, and the fact that we know where their carrier force is
going. .. straight into the pocket south of Kerch and the Taman
Peninsula! We will trap them, force them to use the last of their
aviation gasoline. .. and then we will have them! Go now! Quickly!”
“Da, Comrade Admiral!”
It was, as the Americans might say, a long shot, but they might just be
able to pull this off.
0720 hours (Zulu +3)
Tomcat 207 U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson Tomboy guided her F-14, nose number
207, into position astride the slot for catapult two, following the arm
and hand motions of a Green Shirt on the deck in front of her. The cat
shuttle was run back, and she heard the thumps and clanks as the deck
crew attached it to her nose-wheel. It was still dark, with sunrise
another ten minutes away, but the entire sky was alight with a deep blue
radiance that clearly illuminated the activities on the deck.
She felt again the familiar thrill of anticipatory excitement, waiting
for the cat shot.
“Ready to roll back here, Tomboy,” her RIO, Lieutenant Bruce “Hacker”
Kosinski said from the backseat.
“Okay, Hack. You keep your eyes peeled back there. We’re going to be
knee-deep in Russian interceptors as soon as we hit the coast.”
“Roger that.”
She thought again of Tombstone ashore. His order still rankled, and