Afterburn c-7

by Keith Douglass

  The situation was far more uncertain here, with the Americans completely in the dark about Russian intentions. Any of those approaching aircraft could be loaded with ship-killers intended for an all-out assault on the Jefferson. Each had to be met and, if possible, turned aside.

  “We’ve met each Russian approach and turned it aside without incident, but it’s forcing us to use our aircraft fuel reserves at a rather alarming rate. We’ve been putting aircraft off our flight deck nonstop now for, let’s see…” He checked his watch. “For two hours, now. It seems likely, to Ops, at least, that the Russians are deliberately forcing us to expend our fuel reserves. They blocked the straits in the first place. They know we’re not getting any more fuel. Now they’re trying to get us to expend what we have.”

  “Setting us up for an attack, CAG?” General Howe asked.

  “Maybe. Or maybe just to leave us helpless. Without air, of course, we’re just so much gray-painted metal.”

  “What about our UN assignment for keeping the peace?” Marusko wanted to know.

  “That’ll be up to Washington, Steve,” Admiral Brandt replied. “The transfer of control to the UN didn’t legally take place this morning. Washington might want to take that as an excuse to back out now. On the other hand, we could get a directive anytime telling us to start bombing Sevastopol until the bastards yell uncle.

  “In any case, our first priority, after the security of the battle group and MEU, of course, is to get our people off the beach.” Brandt looked at Coyote. “You said you’ve been discussing this with CA-with Tombstone.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve discussed several possibilities. One urgent note. We need to get the wounded out, including Admiral Tarrant. Stoney was wondering about subs, or a quick helicopter in-and-out.”

  “I don’t want to send our subs that close inshore. Not in Ivan’s backyard.” Brandt looked at Marusko. “How about it, Captain? Can you get them off with your helos?”

  “If Coyote’s people could give us air superiority, both over the beach at Yalta and in a secure corridor all the way back to the battle group, certainly. A piece of cake. If not, well…” He shrugged. “We all know what happens when helicopters tangle with interceptors.”

  The attempted joke fell flat in the room, eliciting no more than a forced chuckle or two.

  Brandt looked at Coyote. “How about it, CAG? Can you deliver on that air superiority?”

  “Well, sir, we’re not going to manage it without a fight. While they’ve been probing our defenses, we’ve been probing theirs, seeing how close we could get to the beach. Every time we get within, oh, forty, fifty miles of the coast, though, we find ourselves facing Migs. Lots of them. It’s kind of a standoff right now, you see. If they try to force our defenses, we open fire and we’re in a shooting war. Same for us, if we try to force our way through to the beach. And until we get clear orders from Washington…”

  Brandt nodded. “I think we’re all aware of that particular handicap. I had quite a long session with Admiral Scott this afternoon. He tells me there’s a special briefing of the President’s advisory staff scheduled for this morning, Washington time, and they’ll be going over their alternatives. But he also told me that the atmosphere back there is a bit panicky. No one in the administration wants to get into a fight with the Russians. At least, no one wants the responsibility of being the one who gives the order. We may be on our own out here for quite a while.”

  Brandt paused for a moment, as though gauging the feelings and attitudes of each of the men standing around the Flag Plot table.

  “I do not happen to believe, however, that we should be sitting around on our hands just because Washington is. I want each department represented here to begin working up a list of working options, based on the possibility ― no, belay that, the probability ― that we’re going to have to fight to get ourselves out of this damned mess… and to evacuate our people ashore.”

  “Getting out of this,” Commander Jeffries, the senior Air Ops officer, said thoughtfully, “could require something other than fighting Russians.”

  “Who’d you have in mind, Bill?” someone asked, and the others laughed nervously.

  “The Turks, actually, since they’re the ones who aren’t letting us into their waters or airspace. Has anybody considered the possibility of putting the MEU-25 Marines ashore at the mouth of the Bosporus?”

  “Write it up,” Brandt told him. “All of you, I want a major brainstorming session out of each man here. Let’s see exactly what our options are.”

  “I vote we dig a canal through Turkey,” Lieutenant Commander Arthur Lee, the head of the CAG Department intelligence team, said.

  “Nah,” Barnes said, arms folded, shaking his head. He nodded toward the chart. “Dig it through the southeast corner of Bulgaria and that little bit of northeastern Greece. Shorter distance. We’re out sooner.”

  The others laughed, and some contributed their own outrageous suggestions, including sinking the entire Crimea to remove that peninsula as a source of conflict. They’re not licked yet, Coyote thought with a flash of pride. Not if they can still joke about it.

  They were going to need a sense of humor to sustain them for these next few days. Nothing, not defeat, not fear, not the threat of an enemy attack, sapped a unit’s morale like being left hanging in the breeze by one’s own superiors in the chain of command.

  What the hell are they thinking about in Washington? he wondered.

  CHAPTER 21

  Friday, 6 November

  0847 hours (Zulu -5)

  Cabinet Room, The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  In silence, the men and women at the table watched the screen, where the hard, drawn-looking face of Vice-Admiral Dmitriev was looking back. He was sitting in a somewhat shabby-looking office, his hands carefully folded on the desk in front of him. He was speaking English ― very good English, with only a trace of an accent ― and he was speaking deliberately and with evident precision.

  “Accordingly,” he was saying, “I am assuming command of the Crimean Military District. General Boychenko has been declared an enemy of the state and will be arrested as a traitor as soon as he can be found.

  “American forces in the Black Sea area of operations, specifically the aircraft carrier Thomas Jefferson and the battle group with it, have been neutralized. This was necessary because they had already established contact with the traitor Boychenko and were intervening in Russian internal and security affairs.”

  Admiral Thomas Magruder listened to the tape, like the others, with no outward show of emotions, but he felt a sharp pang of worry. His nephew, the last he’d heard, had gone ashore with a party of Navy and UN personnel to prepare the way for Admiral Tarrant to receive the surrender of the Crimea and, as far as he knew, they were still ashore, trapped by Dmitriev’s coup.

  Within twenty-four hours of the attack on the Bosporus bridge, this tape had been delivered to the White House by the Russian embassy in Washington. The President had seen it. His advisory group was reviewing it, looking for answers to seemingly unanswerable questions.

  “We wish to stress that we have not intentionally fired upon American ships,” Dmitriev’s image continued. “The tanker sunk during the attack on the Bosporus bridge was attacked by accident… much as happened to the American helicopter in Georgia a few days ago. We apologize for that incident. We have also just recently learned that one of your helicopters was destroyed on the ground near Yalta. Again, that was a case of mistaken identity. We regret these attacks and stress that they were accidents, the products of the well-known fog of water.

  “At the same time, however, we must stress our resolve. These are dangerous times for our government, for the safety of our people, our land. We cannot allow foreign powers to hinder our great purpose or to intervene in our internal affairs.”

  “Watch it,” Herb Waring said, speaking quickly as the figure on the screen paused to draw breath. “Here it comes.”

  “B
ut we do… have a proposition for you,” Dmitriev continued. “One that we hope you will be inclined to accept, Mr. President, as a means for both of us to resolve this unfortunate and unnecessary confrontation in which we find ourselves. Boychenko’s mistake, his treason, was in handing over sovereign Russian territory to foreigners, hoping that they would guarantee the Crimea’s security. This, you must understand, is no different a situation than if one of your generals turned, say, Florida over to Russian forces for safekeeping.

  “But we can work together. We should work together, in the interests of world peace. In fact, we would welcome your help fighting against the Ukrainian invasion when it comes. There is an excellent possibility, Mr. President, that simply the presence of your carrier battle group in our waters, coupled with your declaration to stand by the rightful, popularly elected government of the Crimea, will be enough to discourage Ukrainian aggression.

  “I would also remind you of the Ukrainian genocide already committed against Russian citizens in eastern Ukraine. If they are allowed to invade the Crimea, I can only expect that-“

  “Shut that thing off,” Samantha Reed said. This was the third time they’d played the tape through, and by now they were beginning to know large parts of it by heart.

  “The rest of it’s flag-waving and grandstanding,” Secretary of State Heideman said. “With a fair amount of heart-thumping thrown in gratis.”

  “The guy’s insane,” Waring said, shaking his head. “The President would never go for something like this.”

  “I don’t know,” Reed said thoughtfully. “We should at least consider the offer. Discuss it. It may be the only viable option we have.”

  “Excuse me,” Admiral Scott said sharply, “but did I just hear that tin-plated neo-Communist dictator try to extort American military help? Those bastards just hijacked an entire carrier battle group and a Marine Expeditionary Unit and are holding them and something like thirty thousand of our men and women hostage! We do not make deals with terrorists!”

  “Of course we do, Admiral,” Reed said testily. “We do it all the time.

  We just cloak the reality behind negotiations and settlements and new breakthroughs in the peace process.”

  “Good God, Madam Secretary-“

  “Now hear me out!” Reed insisted. “This may not be the disaster the rest of you are making it out to be.”

  “What?” Scott said. “Is this a new way you have of cutting back the Defense Department? Give our carriers to the Russians?”

  “Admiral, I will remind you that you work for me! If you can’t accept that, if you can’t live with my standards, then you are welcome to tender your resignation.”

  “No, ma’am,” Scott replied, his jaw stubbornly set. “You’re going to have to fire me, because right now it looks to me like I’m the only one looking out for the interests of our people over there.”

  “Our people should be safe enough, Admiral,” Waring said. “Dmitriev’s not crazy enough to launch an attack on a carrier group, not as weak as his forces are right now. All our boys need to do is sit tight… maybe withdraw to a Turkish Black Sea port, and they’ll be fine.”

  “Has anyone bothered to ask the Turks what they think of that?” Lloyd said quietly.

  “They still refuse to admit our ships into their waters,” Heideman said glumly. “We have people talking to them. They’ll see reason, we think, but it might take time.”

  “That’s not likely,” Scott said. “Damn it, they have a war on their hands now. Don’t you see? Russia just attacked Turkish territory. What… Roger? How many civilians died in that attack?”

  “Last number I saw was eight hundred,” Lloyd replied. “That’ll go up, though. They’re still fishing bodies out of the Bosporus.”

  “Well, why are the Turks mad at us?” Reed wanted to know. She spread her hands. “This puts us and the Turks in the same boat. Russia attacked both of us!”

  “They, ah, may think that we provoked that attack, Madam Secretary,” Heideman said carefully. “They may be trying to distance themselves for that reason.”

  Scott snorted rudely. “Ankara may also still want to salvage their relationship with the Russians.”

  Lloyd nodded. “The admiral’s right. Remember, the Turks need the Russians to help control the Kurd arms-smuggling on their border. There are factions in the Turkish government that would accept a Russian apology for the ‘accident’ on the Bosporus in exchange for an air strike or two against Kurdish camps in Armenia.”

  “So where do we stand, then?” Reed wanted to know. “You’re telling me there’s no way we can get through and resupply them?”

  Scott looked at Magruder and nodded. Magruder pulled a sheaf of plastic binders from his briefcase and passed them out to the others at the table. “These, Madam Secretary,” he said, “are our estimates of the CBG’s capabilities. In short, we estimate that they can continue normal flight and patrol operations for ten days. If, however, they are forced to fight a major battle ― if Dmitriev launches an air strike against the Jefferson, for instance, and they have to beat it off ― that operational window drops to three days. Less if they use mass attacks continued over a period of time, which is traditional Russian strategy.”

  “What if operations are rationed?” Waring asked. “You know, not flying any missions at all unless they’re absolutely necessary?”

  “Mr. Waring, that ten-day estimate takes into account only ‘necessary operations.’ Minimal CAP ― that’s Combat Air Patrol ― with enough aircraft up at any given time both to give warning of an approaching hostile force and to be able to meet it in the air. Hawkeye and Prowler electronic surveillance flights. We have to have the E-2Cs up round the clock, or we’re sailing blind. Viking and helo ASW flights go off round the clock, too, covering the entire battle group from hostile subs. Anything less…” He stopped and shrugged. “We might as well hang out a sign. “For sale. Used aircraft carrier. You haul it away.’”

  “What about hardware?” Waring asked. “Missiles, stuff like that?”

  “One major engagement could expend nearly everything they have aboard, sir. But aviation fuel will be their major worry. Even at best, in peacetime with a slow ops schedule, a carrier’s JP-5 stores are only good for a couple of weeks.”

  “And Dmitriev knows that,” Scott added. “I don’t believe for one second his claim that the attack on our UNREP tanker was an accident. The bastard was trying to sink her, partly to help block the channel, partly because he knew she represented an additional two weeks of flying time for our carrier planes.”

  “How about food and water?” Heideman asked.

  “That won’t be a major consideration, at least not for a while,” Magruder told him. “They make their own fresh water. They may run out of fresh fruit and stuff like that, but they can go for a good many months with onboard stores.”

  “Look, the fact of the matter is we can’t give in to Dmitriev’s demands,” Scott said. “That’s extortion, pure and simple.”

  “Well, what would you have us do?” Reed demanded. “We can’t go in and get them out. You say they can’t last for long without fuel and supplies. The Turks won’t let them into their ports. I see no alternative but to recommend that they cooperate with the Russians!”

  “Madam Secretary,” Scott said. “Do I need to remind you that these people have attacked us? Sunk a civilian ship working under charter with our fleet? Blockaded that fleet? Strafed one of our helicopters assigned to UN duty? Fired on our aircraft? Threatened us with an attack against that fleet?”

  “Then give me an alternative that I can present to the President!”

  “Simple,” Scott said, folding his arms across his chest. “We send in the Marines. Secure the whole of the Dardanelles Straits, from the Aegean to the Black Sea. Send in Seabee units and SEALS to blast the wreckage out of the channel. We move another carrier ― the Eisenhower is already in the Med ― into the Aegean and fly support missions across Turkish territory, and to hell w
ith what Ankara says. We can also fly aerial refueling missions off the Ike and extend the Jefferson’s onboard stores.

  “Meanwhile, the Marines hold the channel open against possible repeat Russian attacks until the wreckage is removed and our ships and people are out of that death trap!”

  “The Turkish government may take a dim view of our invading their territory,” Heideman said.

  “Then they can provide access to our ships,” Scott said. “Also, we have MEU-25 already in the Black Sea, with the Guadalcanal and her escorts. They would be in an excellent position to grab the Black Sea end of the Bosporus and begin clearing operations. I would suggest bringing in MEU-21 for operations on the Aegean coast.”

  “The Army should have a piece of this,” General Kirkpatrick, the Army Chief of Staff, said. “Ranger units to seize key airfields. The 101st to grab Istanbul and its approaches. This thing is doable.”

  Reed looked at the general with distaste, then turned to Admiral Scott.

  “Surely you gentlemen aren’t seriously suggesting we declare war on Turkey? The last I heard, they were on our side.”

  “That seems to be debatable, Madam Secretary,” Scott told her, “at least in view of their refusal so far to allow us overflight privileges or access to our battle group. I believe an amphibious operation may be the only way to secure the safe extraction of our people.”

  “The worst aspect,” Admiral Magruder pointed out, “is the length of the entire Dardanelles-Bosporus channel. It’s three hundred kilometers ― make that a hundred eighty miles ― from the Aegean end of the Hellespont to the Black Sea end of the Bosporus. Most of that is the Sea of Marmara, in between the two, but we’d still have several hundred miles of coastline to secure, a mammoth operation. And it’s not like we’d be facing some third-rate, minor country, either. We’ve counted on Turkey as NATO’s right flank for so long that we’ve equipped them pretty well. Worse, we’ve trained their people pretty well. An op of this scope would be no walkover.”