CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

widened as he caught a glimpse of its next movement–it turned south,

slowly approaching the carrier. Surely they couldn’t be–how could

they–no, it had to be. Whatever was going on on the rest of the ship, it

was clear that somebody had decided to continue flight operations even

under the hostage situation.

Tombstone felt a moment of grim pride. It was one of the strengths of

naval leadership, the ability to take charge of any disastrous scenario and

try to wring tactical advantage from it. He wondered who had the balls to

make this call, and resolved that, no matter how it turned out, that

man–or woman–was getting a commendation.

Some tiny movement of Tombstone’s eyes must have betrayed him. Rogov

turned and stared at the tactical screen. “What is this?” he snapped,

finally noticing the small symbol moving toward the aft end of the carrier.

He turned back to Tombstone, outraged. “How did you-”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tombstone responded coldly. “Regardless of

how your organization works, my men are trained to take charge. That’s

what’s wrong with your whole scenario, Comrade,” he said, giving the last

word a heavy inflection. “You may kill me, you may kill everyone in TFCC,

but the remaining men and officers will take charge and carry out the

mission of this ship.”

Rogov whirled to the three remaining Spetsnaz. “Get up on the deck,”

he ordered, pointing at the door. “As soon as that aircraft’s on deck,

kill the flight crew and disable the aircraft. Go on, you heard me.”

“But, Colonel-” one of the commandos started to say.

Rogov cut him off. “I will maintain control here.” He raised his

weapon, displaying it for the other three. “Regardless of the admiral’s

brave words, his crew here will not attempt anything foolish with their

admiral’s life at stake. Now go.”

The three commandos left the small compartment at a run, quickly

heading for the flight deck.

They burst out onto the tarmac, orienting themselves toward the rear

of the carrier. Tomcat 201 was a small speck, quickly growing larger.

“Who the hell is fouling the flight deck?” the air boss shouted.

Berkshire peered over the edge of the tower and examined the figures below.

“I don’t know, boss, but I don’t think they’re ours. Our plane

captains normally don’t carry machine guns on the flight deck.”

“That bird’s only one mile out. If those fellows start shooting-” He

left the sentence unfinished.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Berkshire. “Boss,” he started

hesitantly, then raised his voice. “This is out of my area, but doesn’t

the Tomcat have a gun on the front, sort of like a cannon?”

“Yes, it does. But what-ah.” The air boss picked up the microphone

to the flight deck circuit. “All hands clear the deck. That’s an order.

Now!” He turned to Berkshire. “With any luck, they won’t understand

English, or they won’t think it applies to them. Either way, we’ll give

that Tomcat a clear field of fire. Now, let me see if I can explain this

to the pilot without having him think I’ve gone insane.”

1315 Local

Tomcat 201

“He wants us to do what?” Gator asked. “A strafing run?”

“That’s what the man said,” Bird Dog responded. “Look, I can see them

now. Right next to the island.”

“Bird Dog, you hit one full fuel tank and we’re talking a major

conflagration on the flight deck. Then where do we land? Have you thought

of that?”

“Then I’ll just have to be sure not to miss,” Bird Dog replied with a

good deal more confidence than he actually felt. “I remind you, Gator,

you’re talking to the man who can pitch a thousand-pound bomb in an ice

storm without a visual. Now just let me show you what I can do with a

cannon.”

1320 Local

Flight Deck, USS Jefferson

The commandos crossed over the yellow lines that marked the border of

the operating area of the flight deck. They darted aft, staying on the

starboard side of the ship, just to the right of the landing aircraft’s

projected flight. With less than a minute remaining until the aircraft

crossed in front of them, they reached the number three arresting wire,

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