“Assuming that’s how they’re doing it, how do we use the information?” Tombstone asked, looking at the intelligence officer with new respect. He would make it a point, he thought, to make sure that the man got a better call sign. Whatever the reason for earning the name Lab Rat, he’d just outgrown it.
“That part’s a little tricky,” Lab Rat admitted. “The first option is trying to expose what China’s done. Unfortunately, we’re lacking a little technicality called proof.”
“Sure would be nice, though. At least the other nations would start listening to some sense instead of blindly following China’s lead,” CAG said.
“Not necessarily,” Lab Rat disagreed. “The concept of losing face is of enormous importance here. The other nations probably already know that China’s behind this. They may not know the details, but they’ll suspect something. If we simply call China’s bluff, we put them in a difficult position. Remember, after we leave the South China Sea, they’re still going to have to deal with the giant to their north. And an unhappy, embarrassed China is going to be a more difficult neighbor. Second, we’ll lose face with the smaller nations — not for having been tricked initially, but for not arriving at a solution that turns the situation to our advantage and allows China to save some degree of face.”
“Who the hell cares whether China’s embarrassed!” Batman exploded.
“We have to,” Tombstone said grimly. “Different answers to problems at this level, Batman. Things were a lot simpler when it was simply a matter of ordnance on target and time on top. You’ll see, the first time you’re sitting in this chair instead of behind a desk.”
“Understood, Admiral,” Batman said formally.
“As the commander has explained, we lose face if we can’t play by the rules of this game. So what we need to do is turn this situation to our own advantage, without getting our people killed and without forcing the issues. That about it, Commander?”
“Yes, Admiral, I’d say that’s an accurate summation.”
“How?” Tombstone said simply.
Lab Rat smiled a little. “I was hoping you might ask that.”
1800 local (Zulu -7)
TFCC
“This better work,” COS said grimly. He stared at the TFCC big-screen display, watching the small symbol representing the Aegis track to the west. “Otherwise, we’re in serious trouble if China decides to launch an alpha strike against us.”
“Vincennes is fifteen miles off the coast of Vietnam, sir,” the TAO reported. “Sufficient to be outside of territorial waters.”
“She was supposed to move further north,” Tombstone said, eyeballing the distances. “He can probably surveil the northern approach from where he is, but I’d like to give her the additional sensitivity that being closer will give her. I need those famous Aegis eyes and spies giving me more warning. Flankers coming off the coast of Vietnam aren’t the only threat we have to worry about out here — not if Commander Busby’s intelligence estimate is correct.”
“I suggested that, Admiral, but her CO mentioned that he’d prefer the additional reaction time to the additional coverage,” the TAO answered.
Tombstone sighed. “Get him on the horn for me. Private circuit, encrypted — and piped to my cabin alone.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral,” the TAO said, suppressing a grin. He picked up the carrier telephone line to call the communications officer and arrange the patch-through. For just a second, he was tempted to ask for the circuit to be patched to his dialer as well, and then he thought better of it. Aegis had been a pain in the ass all day, ever since the new OP-ORD had gone into effect. Judging from the admiral’s expression, a full two-way duplex circuit wasn’t going to be necessary. This was one conversation that looked like it was going to be strictly one-way.
Within five minutes, the private circuit was patched through to Tombstone’s cabin. The Communications Officer, or COMMO, had gotten quite adept at arranging that particular configuration, since Tombstone found reason to have to speak privately with the Aegis CO on a regular basis.
Tombstone held the receiver to his ear and listened to the hum of encrypted static as he waited for the Aegis TAO to locate his commanding officer. A few moments later, he heard Captain Killington’s distinctive voice.
“You got a problem with your orders, Captain?” Tombstone said frostily.
“No problem, Admiral. Just a couple of questions about our position that I was discussing with your TAO. I wasn’t sure how familiar he was with the nuances of Aegis anti-air capabilities. Moving up north is going to decrease our-“
“I’m aware of everything I need to know about an element of my battle group, Captain. There are reasons for your orders — they were not invented out of thin air simply to make your life more difficult.”
“I wonder if the Admiral is free to share some of those reasons with me,” the Aegis CO said. Even over the encrypted net, the stiff, formally polite tone of his voice was evident. Tombstone could almost understand it. From Vincennes point of view, there were too many submarines in the vicinity of the carrier. Additionally, since the size of battle groups had declined drastically in the last several years, Vincennes was the only truly capable anti-air platform around, doing double duty filling a role that previously would have been supported by at least two cruisers. The only questionable air contacts they’d seen in the last month had come from the coast of Vietnam. Additionally, given the Chinese’s questionable air refueling capabilities, any strike would most likely not come from China’s mainland, but from a detachment deployed to Vietnam.
The sensible AAW coordinating position was off the coast of Vietnam, and quite definitely not so close to land. From the position Tombstone had ordered the Aegis to, Killington would be forced to try for a tail shot against a missile fired at the battle group if a raid did come off the coast.
Unfortunately, Tombstone could not possibly explain his rationale to the Aegis CO, even if he had been inclined to. The real reasoning behind the operational plan was on a strictly limited need-to-know basis, and Killington didn’t need to know. All he had to do was execute a normal Aegis role in the battle group.
“It’s not necessary that you know why. Just that you know where. You do — so get your ass on station,” Tombstone said impassively.
“Aye, aye, Admiral. We’re heading north at flank speed,” Killington said finally, a note of suppressed anger in his voice.
“Not flank speed! Your orders are to use normal transit speeds. Thirty-plus knots is an aggressive posture, and you’re supposed to be assuming a normal patrol station. Listen to me very carefully, Captain. My chief of staff had command of one of your precious Aegis cruisers before he was assigned here. Given any provocation at all from you, I’ll give him a second command. Yours. Got that?”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Tombstone slammed the receiver down and then switched the dialer off the private frequency. He stared gloomily at the CCTV, focused on the now-quiet flight deck. So much depended on the Aegis fulfilling her delicate role in the maneuvers! Killington’s request hadn’t been unreasonable — to be filled in on the big picture, and to know how his ship’s orders contributed to it. Still, coming from Aegis, he’d been predisposed to deny the request out of hand. And now, with the Aegis headed north smartly, every hour simply increased the logistic problems associated with flying the CO over to the carrier.
Damn, hadn’t he learned this lesson as a lieutenant commander? The problems associated with managing the highly competent men and women who made up the modern Navy? Wasn’t there some point at which he’d feel certain he was capable of doing his job and leading his people?
Tombstone sighed. Too much depended on this plan coming off exactly as planned.
CHAPTER 17
Tuesday, 2 July
0800 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
“You set?” Bird Dog asked as he tucked his kneeboard in over the preloading button on his G-suit. Sudden acceleration would depress th
e button and activate the suit before it could react automatically. One more thing that could go wrong, something in the back of his mind noted, another little mechanism for killing pilots: gray out and unconsciousness brought on by high G-forces.
I might not even know, if it was bad enough. Be in the drink in seconds if I passed out. Cold seawater, hot jet engines, big explosion. It’d be fast, anyway. God, at least don’t let me stay conscious. Don’t let me have to watch it.
An involuntary tremor shook him, and he pushed the thoughts away. This was no time to be thinking about the dangers he faced every day, not while sitting on the cat. Keep your mind in the cockpit, idiot. That’s what kills more pilots than anything else — getting distracted at just the wrong minute and forgetting to fly the aircraft. Look at Gator. He’s done this a million more times than you have, and you don’t see him sweating the load.
Bird Dog glanced in the mirror and saw the RIO give one last tug on his harness. Ice-blue eyes, framed by the flight helmet and the face mask, met his. Gator gave him a thumbs-up.
“Ready now,” Gator answered.
Bird Dog snapped off a salute at the handler and pressed his head and back hard against the back of the seat. Seconds later, he felt the first slight motion of the Tomcat. The steam piston rammed forward to the bow of the ship, accelerating the F-14 to 145 knots in six seconds. Catapulted off the carrier at just above stall speeds, the Tomcat clawed for airspeed and attitude, but settled for just staying airborne.
“Always a miracle,” Gator said, taking a deep breath.
“I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Bird Dog asked, trying for a light note in his voice.
“First time’s the last time. So you know where we’re heading?” Gator asked, abruptly changing the subject.
“You think I wasn’t paying attention at the brief? South.”
“South is the right answer, my man. You get the nose pointed that way, I’ll give you a vector.”
Bird Dog winced as he thought back to the one time he hadn’t managed to keep the aircraft pointed in the right direction. Then he forced the thought away and resolved to keep his head in the cockpit. His RIO hadn’t taken a slam at him. It was Bird Dog’s mind that was the problem.
“Sure you trust me that much?” Bird Dog replied lightly. “Awful tough task for a pilot, figuring out which way’s south.”
“I think you’re up to that part of it. Okay, come left to 187. That ought to put us dead on course for it. No, it’s the other part that bothers me. The part about why.”
“Now who was nodding off during the brief?” Bird Dog ribbed. “I thought they covered that fairly well. With all these islands going boom, we’re supposed to go watch and see if this one does. A real challenge for a multimillion-dollar aircraft.”
Bird Dog heard the RIO fidgeting in his seat and glanced in the small rearview mirror. “Hey! You hear me?” Bird Dog asked.
“I heard you. I heard the brief, too.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Aw, come on, Gator! Don’t make me play Twenty Questions with you!”
“It’s nothing, Bird Dog. Nothing firm, anyway. It’s just that I don’t entirely believe that that’s why we’re going out to circle a bunch of rocks. Think about it. We’re headed directly away from everything that’s happened in the last couple of days. Seems strange, that’s all.”
“Well, why else would we be going out there?”
“I’m not entirely sure. And that’s what bothers me. If it were really pictures of rocks blowing up, you’d send a TARPS bird to take pictures. Or an S-3. Or a helo. Or something that could go low and slow and get evidence. Not an F-14 with a combat load. And not on this type of cyclic ops. You notice that, Bird Dog? We’re on flex deck ops, massive alert five birds, and no CAP in the one area we ought to be interested in. Now why do you suppose that is?”
“Hadn’t thought about it, really. I didn’t see my name posted for alert, and that’s all that I looked for.”
“Well, doesn’t it strike you as unusual? For the next four days, we’re going to be operating at very specific hours on very specific missions. And this in the middle of some weird shit going on out here. I don’t know, Bird Dog, it’s just not making sense to me.”
“Me, neither, now that you mention it.” And I’m not sure I really care, except for the alert part of it. Sitting on the flight deck for hours, all I see is Alvarez. Every time the engine turns over, every time some idiot plane captain gets near me, I see it again.”
“At least we’re getting one of the flights today,” Gator said. “Better than sitting on the deck.”
Bird Dog looked in the mirror again and saw the RIO looking back, a speculative gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah. Gotta love that,” Bird Dog said finally.
0830 local (Zulu -7)
TFCC
USS Jefferson
“There goes the first flight,” Tombstone said, watching the plat camera.
“Think it will work?” Batman asked.
“It should. Lab Rat came up with a damned fine plan. Shit, remind me not to call him that anymore.”
“Noted.”
“The way this op is planned,” Tombstone continued, “it’s the Chinese that are going to be running the maze, not us. They’re going to see a lot of American air activity to the south, around the furthest away rocks that are part of this island chain. We’re hoping it’s going to get their curiosity up. At the very least, we’re acting exactly the opposite of what they probably expect. One way or another, that ought to provoke some sort of response from them.”
“With an unarmed E-2 up overhead, I hope it’s not an armed response,” Batman said.
“Me, too,” Tombstone said soberly. “We’re taking a chance, I know. But look at the facts. They haven’t fired at our aircraft up to now-“
“-just our ships, and an occasional shot at an S-3,” Batman interrupted.
“-and the shot at the Vincennes might have been kicked off by the Vincennes playing grab-ass with her fire control radar. We have some strong indications that they’re doing targeting exercises, data links between the fighters and the submarines, but no real indications that they’re prepared to forcibly eject us from the South China Sea.”
“Not that they could,” Batman added.
“The fastest way to get us out of here is going to be to apply political pressure on the United States. And you’re right about the force part of it. Even if they wanted to, I doubt that they could do much more than make life uncomfortable for us for a few days. Not much matches the firepower we carry with us.”
“So we try to avoid cooperating with their plan and force them to tip their hand to their neighbors?” Batman asked. “Shit, Stoney, doesn’t sound like much fun to me!”
“It’s not. Particularly for the E-2. But if you’ve got any other ideas, speak up.” Tombstone regarded his old wingman fondly. “Didn’t think so.”
0930 local (Zulu -7)
Tomcat 205
How long had he been staring at the horizon? Bird Dog shook his head and resumed his scan. Complacency about routine CAP missions killed aviators.
“You still awake up there?” Gator asked. “We’re only thirty minutes into this mission.”
“Who do you think’s flying? Santa Claus?” Bird Dog snapped.
“Just asking, buddy, that’s all. You looked rough during the brief.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
More than just a little, if he were truthful with himself. He’d tossed in his rack for four hours, succeeding in doing nothing except getting the sheets tangled and sweaty. When he’d finally fallen asleep, it hadn’t been much better than being awake. Alvarez haunted his dreams, a silent, screaming phantom swirling around his cockpit. He’d been on a mission, some sort of bombing run, and every time he turned onto the final vector for the drop, Alvarez appeared. In the dream, somehow the airman had been blown onto the front of the aircraft instead of
being chewed up by the engines. He clung there like a June bug on a car, plastered to the canopy by the force of the catapult shot and the wind. Those eyes, pleading, tears filling them without ever spilling over onto his cheeks, the mouth open in a silent entreaty.
Bird Dog had startled awake, still shaking from the vision. For a few minutes, he’d been filled with incredible rage at the dead airman. He hadn’t meant for his brakes to fail, or for Alvarez to ignore normal flight deck safety precautions. It hadn’t been his fault, it hadn’t!
“Let’s just get through this mission, Gator,” Bird Dog said quietly. Arguing with his RIO suddenly seemed like the last thing he wanted to do today.
“Okay. But when we get back on deck, I think we’re going to have a long talk,” Gator said finally. Bird Dog recognized the tone. Gator would let it slide for now, but back on deck he’d assert his seniority and his privileged status as Bird Dog’s backseater to pry into his pilot’s head. While Gator had been in the aircraft when the accident had occurred, he hadn’t been the pilot, and both men knew it. No amount of reassurance that it’d been an accident would bring the dead airman back. Or, Bird Dog suspected, prevent the nightmares from returning. He wondered if he’d be seeing Airman Alvarez in his dreams for the rest of his life.
“Strangers, bearing 245, range 120 miles,” the OS on the carrier said suddenly. “Tomcat 205, intercept and VID.”
“Roger. We’ll want to tank in about an hour, though,” Gator said. It was unlikely that the OS would forget to check their fuel state, but it never hurt to remind them. “Any IFF?”
“Negative IFF. Speed five hundred knots, rapid rate of climb. Based on the egress point, could be Flankers coming out off the coast again. Or MiGs, for a change of pace.”
“Any other info?” Bird Dog asked.
“Negative. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” the OS said calmly.
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