last deployment, then think about retiring. It’s starting to sound like I
might want to put that off some.”
Batman clapped him on the shoulder. “Better now than ten years from
now,” he said. “The Navy needs us Cold Warriors–after all we saw, we’re
the only ones with the right suspiciously paranoid mind-set to detect the
first signs of trouble.”
The COS shot him an amused look. “Do I detect a lack of confidence on
the admiral’s part in our superb intelligence network?”
Batman snorted. “Hell, they couldn’t even tell us when the Wall in
Germany was going to come down, and every last one of them missed the
breakup of the Soviet Union. Given that, what do you think the odds are
that they detect a reunited commonwealth on the move again?”
“I wish to God I didn’t agree with you, Admiral. But I do.” The
chief of staff stared forward at the screen watching the arcane symbology
that represented the battle group, her aircraft and escorts, steaming west
just south of the Aleutian chain. “And I hope to hell both of us are
wrong.”
Tomcat 201
“You think she knows we’re here?” Bird Dog asked.
“Probably,” Gator answered. “At this low of an altitude, we’re
putting a helluva lot of noise into the ocean. I thought I saw an ESM
antenna pop up there a little while ago. Either way, I think we can count
on her knowing we’re here.”
“Well, there’s not much she can do about that, is there?”
“I don’t think so.” Bird Dog’s voice sounded doubtful. “But after
the Spratlys, with those surface-to-air missiles on that submarine, I’m not
feeling so safe and secure orbiting over a submarine anymore.”
Bird Dog swore quietly to himself, wishing he’d paid more attention to
the last intelligence brief. Did the Oscar carry a surface-to-air missile?
And if so, what was the range? “How about we move on up to four thousand
feet?” he asked. “Just give us a little safety room.”
“No objection from back here. I think I’ll still be able to follow
her–from that altitude. I’ll let you know.”
Bird Dog tapped the throttles forward slightly and put the Tomcat into
a slow, graceful spiral upward. He glanced overhead and saw the heavy,
thick bottoms of the clouds looming above him. “Three thousand, maybe,” he
said, hazarding a guess. “I’ll throttle back so you can keep a visual on
her.”
At 2,800 feet, just below the bottom of the clouds, Bird Dog leveled
the Tomcat out. Gator informed him that he still had a clear, if slightly
fuzzy, visual on the massive black hull sliding through the water.
“Who would’ve thought we would have been able to see her?” Bird Dog
said. “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, the whole purpose of a
submarine is to remain hidden. Doesn’t she know that the water is so clear
up here that we can see down thirty or forty feet?”
“That’s what worries me,” Gator said soberly. “The Oscar can fire her
Shipwreck missiles while submerged, and there’s absolutely no reason for
her to stay at shallow depths for any period of time, not unless she’s
coming up for a communications break. And if this were a com break, she
would have already stuck an antenna up, squirted out her traffic, and been
back down at depth. There’s only one reason for her to stay shallow like
this.”
“She wants us to see her? Why?”
“I’m flattered to think that you believe I can read the mind of a
Russian submarine commander,” Gator said sarcastically. “But for what it’s
worth, I can think of only one reason that she would stay this shallow.
She wants us to see her.”
“Why?”
“That, my friend, is the real question.”
1650 Local
Adak Island
The C-130 shuddered to a halt, using up most of the runway as it
gently braked. The Bear aircraft had broken off when they’d started their
final approach to the small island airstrip, and now circled overhead at
fifteen thousand feet.
Tombstone paused at the C-130 hatch and stared out at the cold, barren
island before him. The hard arctic wind buffeted him, and the movable