Then he set his cap on his forehead, nodded to Zolkin and stepped out the hatch.
Chapter 32
Mack Morgan sat with his head in his hands, thinking. “Now what are those Russian bastards up to in the Caspian?”
He had been receiving decrypts on the Russian military channels. Their super secret Oracle decrypt system had been laboring all through the night to decode the traffic, and something was up. The Russians had begun moving assets off shore near Makhachkala and their naval base at Kaspiysk. It looked like they were busy activating a large floating nuclear power facility there, the Anatoly Alexandrov. But the other assets involved aroused his curiosity. They had small patrol craft, fast hovercraft, a company of naval marines, and now a most unusual addition with the Mi-26 helicopter, which landed on the flat reinforced upper helipad on the Alexandrov.
He twisted a few arms to get some very valuable time on a satellite and was able to obtain a few decent high resolution images. “Will you look at that,” he breathed. The Russkies are loading fuel into that helo, or I’m deaf, dumb and blind, he thought. This looks like the makings of a Spetsnaz operation, and the list of potential targets available in this region is short and sweet. Where could they be going?
He did some thinking. That Mi-26 was a good long range work horse. It could get out almost 2000 kilometers, so why the big load of extra fuel? They would only need that if they planned to exceed that range. Suppose they double it…He was looking at a very big circle on his map, realizing the mission could be going anywhere from Central Asia to the Persian Gulf. Hell, they could fly all the way to Rome after landing to refuel. What were they up to?
He decided he had better notify Miss Fairchild, and also get word to the Argonauts they had deployed to the Kashagan oil fields. Perhaps they could use one of the X-3s to keep an eye on the situation. Then he turned his attention to the other troubling matter that morning—the Russian Black Sea Fleet.
That little Georgian Coast Guard patrol had been brushed off easily enough, but now the Russian fleet was moving out from its bases to the north, and that was going to mean trouble. They had already overflown the tanker loading operation once the previous day with a drone, and undoubtedly knew what was going on there. Two and a half million barrels of oil was a very valuable commodity just now. The Russians were obviously trying to shut down all export routes for oil to the West. They were leaning on Georgian government, and this latest move looked ominous. The spot market price per barrel had just surged through the $200 mark and would likely go higher.
It’ll be $300 a barrel in short order, he thought. Fairchild is going to make a killing on this haul, if we can only manage to get the damn oil safely out of the Black Sea. Something tells me that fleet up north is going to have something to say about it soon enough. I’d best let Gordie MacRae know we’re about to have company. He reached for his intercom, a troubled look clouding his dark eyes.
On the Bridge of Argos Fire Captain MacRae was well aware of the Russians. His long range radar was very good with the Sampson system scouring the region, and even better when augmented by the SM1850M2 addition, which enhanced the ship’s coverage even against ballistic missile threats from the edge of space. The Russian fleet was moving, and Mack Morgan was worried about it.
MacRae had Iron Duke further out in a single ship picket now that Princess Irene was topped off and heading south. An older Type 23 Frigate, the Iron Duke had seen several upgrades to extend her active service, particularly with the addition of new radar sets and a better medium range air defense missile, the Sea Ceptor. That missile replaced the older Seawolf system, giving the frigate a modest AAW umbrella out to 25 kilometers.
“Mack says they’re sailing with the best they have,” said Commander Dean. “Those three new frigates, Grigorovich, Essen and Makarov put out to sea an hour ago. It looks like they may throw an old Krivak or two into the mix as well. Vorovskiy was operating in their border guard unit, and that’s probably the best of that lot.”
“Where are they headed, Mister Dean?”
“We have our last X-3 up watching them and returns are being fed to our systems here. The heading is due south, speed twenty.”
“They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”
“No sir, but even at that speed they can assume a position to intercept us when we head west in just two hours. We’ll be well within range of their SA-N-27 Sizzlers, and the Onyx system as well.”
MacRae thought for a moment. “This situation is very delicate at the moment,” he said. “Technically the Russians and Americans are in the thick of things in the Pacific. Britain is a NATO ally and therefore would be considered hostile.”
“And what about the Turks, sir? Iron Duke says she’s tracking a Turkish sub out there, S-354, the Sakarya.”
“Don’t worry about the Turks, Mister Dean, they’re in it with NATO too.”
“But can we count on Turkish support, sir? They can match or beat the Russian Black Sea Fleet out here.”
“That they can, and I believe certain arrangements have been made, if you follow me. That sub out there will throw in on our side if need be, and the Turks have promised us two frigates when we start heading west.”
“That’s welcome news, sir.”
“Aye, but Morgan says the Russians threw everything they had at the Americans this morning. Then that bloody volcano blew its top and we’ve heard nothing since. Thing is this, laddie. If the Russians decide to engage here, then you can bet they’ll hit us with everything they have as well. They don’t have enough of a fleet here to last out the week, if it comes down to it, but they can make our life miserable, particularly if they shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I understand, sir.”
MacRae looked at his watch. “They’ve rigged up two more lines and the pumps have been working overtime. We’ll have a couple million barrels under our belts in another hour. Then there’s this business in the Caspian. I don’t much like the fact that we’ve three of our X-3s and good men out there. There’s no way we can protect either Chevron or BP operations in those oil fields. Now Mack Morgan seems a wee bit flustered over something the Russians have going at Kaspiysk. He thinks he sees a Special Ops mission staging there, and what else would they be looking to bother out there but those oil fields?”
“Sounds logical, sir.”
“And a bloody cold logic at that. Well, the thing is this, Mister Dean. If they move on those fields any time soon the Argonauts will be in a bar fight there. I’d just as soon have those men with us. We’ve got our oil. Let’s bring the lads home.”
“Very well, sir. Chevron won’t be happy about it.”
“Chevron doesn’t write my paycheck, Mister Dean, nor yours either.”
“Aye, sir.”
MacRae was pacing now, walking slowly back and forth on the bridge as he considered the situation. But he didn’t have much time to think about it. His Sampson air alert operator called out ‘Top One,’ a single aircraft inbound on their position.
“What is it, Mister Conners?”
“Single contact, Mach one at 20,000 feet. Probably an Su-24, sir.”
“One plane?”
“Aye, sir. Range is 186 miles and closing. If it’s packing heat it can fire in five minutes.”
“Then we go to full Air Alert. Is Iron Duke tracking it, Mister Boyle?”
“Sir, Comm signals indicate affirmative. They have a live track but have not locked on missile targeting radars.”
“Very well.”
MacRae decided to wait. If the Russians were attacking, it would not be with a single plane. Iron Duke was out there with her Sea Ceptors, and fully capable of handling the situation, but she wasn’t locking on. This was most likely a recon flight, though it was rather ballsy, he thought. Then again….All it would take is for us to give this single plane a pass and have it pump a missile into one of those tankers out there. All’s fair in love and war. My charge is to defend these ships at any cost.
“M
ister Boyle,” he said calmly. “Contact that plane and tell them if they come within fifty kilometers of this operation we must assume hostile intent and will act accordingly.”
“Aye, Sir!” Boyle was quick to it, and always by the book.
“That’ll give them something to think about,” said MacRae. “They’ll have to be wondering if that means Iron Duke out there, or us. Either way we’re one and the same. Let’s see what they do.”
The Russians didn’t think long.
At a range of 100 kilometers the situation took a dramatic turn when the Russian plane fired a pair of missiles. Seconds later the Sampson system had identified them as Kh-58U Anti Radiation missiles for targeting radars.
MacRae was truly surprised. “What in bloody hell are they doing?” he said aloud.
“Iron Duke is locking on, sir. They’re firing a barrage of Sea Ceptors.” Britain’s newest air defense missile was firing from VLS quad packs installed on the frigate’s forward deck. The Duke fired four, and the speedy missiles were out after the incoming targets in a heartbeat, two for each of the missiles fired by the SU-24.”
“I’ll want our Vipers up, and ready immediately,” MacRae said to Dean, who relayed the order loud and clear. “CIC, activate forward deck Sea Viper system and standby”
“Aye, sir, Vipers up and ready. Sampson reports hard lock and steady track on all contacts.”
“Con, Top Seven! I have additional contacts inbound at low altitude.” There were suddenly seven more Su-24’s inbound, and behind them another seven, and now MacRae knew the gloves were finally coming off.
“Mister Dean,” he said. “What are we looking at in terms of Russian naval air power out here.”
“Sir, I checked that this morning. Their 43rd Independent Naval Shturmovik Air Assault Squadron in the Crimea was listed as having twenty-two SU-24s. Four of those are tactical recon variants, but these have to be the strike squadrons.”
“And they thought they were going to bother my Sampson system with a forty year old radar seeker?”
The Sampson air defense radar system was perhaps the best in the world. In trials and war games it even exceeded the capabilities of the US AEGIS system. US naval officers had commented that the British air defense destroyers were no less than awesome, capable of tracking up to 1000 targets at any one time.
The situation had taken a sudden and dramatic turn. The Russians were trying to launch a surprise attack, and his tankers were just sitting there like big fat ducks, still tethered to their loading buoys and hoses.
“What will those strike planes be carrying?”
“Sir, this isn’t a dedicated naval strike plane. It’s a ground attack aircraft, but that said they might be using a variant of the Kh-58 in an anti-shipping role. Or else this is just a SEAD mission to get after our radar before their fleet gets into it.”
It was indeed. Air Alert One called out a barrage of fourteen incoming missiles, followed within seconds by a second barrage. The Russians had taken advantage of the nebulous thin border zone at the edge of any impending conflict to get in the opening salvo. It was ingrained in Russian military thinking—fire first.
“Sir!” said Ensign Boyle. “I have Captain Williams of Iron Duke on a secure channel.”
MacRae reached for the overhead handset and thumbed it on. “We’re going hot,” said Williams. “Just thought I’d let you know.”
“We can hear you singing, Captain,” said MacRae, “and we’ll squeeze the pipes for you.”
“Very well, Argos. Good shooting.”
The Argos Fire and Fairchild & Company were now at war. Everything that came before was mere posturing and bluster. Missiles inbound on over two million barrels of oil were another thing entirely.
“Well lads,” said MacRae. “We’re in it for certain now. Air One, prosecute your contacts, and be quick about it.”
“Sir, aye sir!”
Where there had once been a flat and empty deck forward of the stealth turret Argos had raised earlier, there was now a series of open hatches harboring deadly Sea Vipers, the Fairchild modified version of the Aster 30 SAM. It was fast at Mach 4.5, and extremely agile, being capable of 60-G maneuvers. Argos Fire had a battery of 60 of these missiles, more even than the standard British Daring class destroyer would carry. They were going to need them.
The action was short and violent. The Iron Duke’s advanced Sea Ceptors were quick to their targets, and she had four times her old air defense firepower with a single quad-pack occupying the space that one of her older Seawolf missiles might have taken. They were able to find and swat down the two anti-radiation missiles that led the attack, and the plane that fired them died soon after.
The Sea Ceptors had a limited range of only 25 kilometers, but within that envelope they were fast and deadly. The Russian planes had fired and were not sticking around to do any battle damage assessment. The SU-24 Fencers made an abrupt about face and were racing north again for their base in the Crimea, too far away to be bothered by Iron Duke’s missiles. But the doughty frigate was firing furiously at the incoming barrage of Ka-58s. The British built systems were a generation or more ahead of the attacking ordnance. Of the twenty-eight missiles fired, Iron Duke got eighteen and the Argos Fire downed the rest. Not a single missile got through.
“What was that all about?” said Commander Dean. “It was too damn easy.”
“Don’t be surprised that our missiles perform as advertised, Mister Dean,” said MacRae. “But all things considered, I know what you’re saying.”
“I would have coordinated that attack with their surface action group,” said Dean. “That was nothing more than a shoot and scoot.”
MacRae, folded his arms, one hand raised to his chin as he considered what Dean was saying. “Well the thing is this, lad. They lost one plane and a few old missiles, but everything we sent up after them was a nice, shiny new missile. All the Russians did is rush in and flash their kilts at us. We’re just two ships out here, and there’s only so many missiles under that forward deck. We just fired ten Sea Vipers, by my count, and we’re a long way from home. My guess is that those planes will be back again soon. They pulled a few teeth, then, didn’t they?”
The bridge phone rang, and MacRae turned to see it was line one, the executive offices. “That will be her majesty,” he said to Dean, smiling. “She’ll want to know what we were shooting at. Let’s get the Argonauts home at once and wind this operation up.”
Before he had a chance to take the call his Sampson air alert system was calling out a new threat. “Sir, I have incoming missiles, high and slow.”
Dean looked at the readout, raising an eyebrow. “SA-N-27 Sizzlers,” he said. “They’re the only missiles with the range to hit us down here. Well they won’t be high and slow for very long. Get them now, during their sub-sonic cruise approach phase. They’ll come down on the deck for their terminal run and accelerate with Mach 2 or better, dancing like faeries the whole way in.”
MacRae nodded as he picked up the handset, quickly explaining the situation to an anxious Miss Fairchild.
“I understand, Captain. Defend the company, and may God be with us. But I have another request—I’m afraid I’ll have to make it an order, Gordon.”
That was unusual for her to call him by his first name on the ship’s internal comm system. She usually reserved such familiarity for the sanctity of her offices.
“Madame?”
“Those helicopters we have in the Caspian…Can they fight?”
“That they can, Madame, but I was considering bringing the lads home, seeing as though the situation here is changing rapidly, and not for the good. We’ll need to move west as soon as possible.”
He listened, surprised by what he heard next, his features set and serious. There had been a call to the executive offices—a very special call. It had come in on the secure red phone that was answered only by Elena Fairchild herself, though MacRae knew of its existence. He also knew that when “special calls” came
in from time to time, they were always followed by “special orders.” Yet what he heard now was going to complicate his life in ways he could not possibly imagine.
“That operation in the Caspian Mack Morgan was fussing over,” she said. “Well we’re going to pay them a little visit. Come to my office when you can and I’ll discuss the matter further.”
“Very well,” said MacRae, hanging up the phone with the shake of his head, completely nonplussed.
Now what in seven hells is this about? I’ve got missiles inbound, Vipers ready to get out after them, and more trouble than a banshee in a basket right now!
It was going to be a very long day.
Chapter 33
They had their meeting in the officer’s mess that night, and Karpov watched the blood slowly drain from the face of the other two Captains. First there were smiles, as if he were telling them a good joke to relieve the tension of their situation. Then came the uncomfortable shifting in the seats, the looks of irritation and obvious frustration. Vranyo was vranyo, the little lies the Russians would stretch into stories with one another, and there were forms and protocols that had to be adhered to, but this was a little much considering what they had just been through.
Ryakhin and Yeltsin found themselves looking from Karpov to Zolkin and back again, clearly confused as to what was going on. It had taken the officers and crew of Kirov a good long while to come to grips with the fact that they had actually moved in time, and this even after being overflown by WWII class aircraft and encountering ships at sea that had long since been given to the scrap yards.
Ryakhin was a strait laced man, young, proud, having made Captain of the second rank just before the outbreak of hostilities. He was now commanding the new fleet frigate Admiral Golovko, a promising young officer who was given one of Russia’s newest ships. Yeltsin was older, more wizened, a Captain of the first rank as Karpov was. He knew Karpov from the academy and was somewhat leery of him. The stories he had heard of the man were none too flattering, but he was not one to dwell on gossip.
9 Days Falling, Volume I k-5 Page 31