Flame Out c-4

by Keith Douglass

  For eight years he’d taught the best of the best, the top one percent of the Navy’s fighter pilots. It had started as a privilege, an honor bestowed on him for his excellent performance. But each time he’d set out to apply for a new duty station he’d let someone talk him out of it, appealing to pride or duty or vanity to persuade him to put in a little more time as an instructor.

  And before he’d realized it eight years were gone, and with them the best chance for a real career. He’d missed out on Desert Storm right off the bat, but the F-14s hadn’t seen much action over Iraq anyway. But he’d still been training others while Matthew Magruder was becoming America’s latest naval hero.

  Now it was too late. He’d finally wangled command of an air wing by pulling every string he could think of. But the chances of rising any higher were slim now. The Navy’s program for promoting officers to command slots was getting more and more rigid, and with all the defense cutbacks lately it was getting so there were a dozen or more top candidates for every position. That was especially true with carriers. Fourteen flattops were all there were. Even the chance of commanding a Naval Air Station rated somewhere between slim and none.

  Too senior to fly, but without the record to advance any further … Stramaglia knew he’d been letting his own bitterness hamper him in dealing with his subordinates, especially Magruder, but sometimes it just didn’t seem fair.

  Lee sat down next to him. “Looks like this is the big one, doesn’t it, sir?” he said. The prospect seemed to excite him. “Did you see the morning news?”

  “Yeah,” Stramaglia said shortly. Both of Jefferson’s television stations carried news programs, a mix of shipboard information and world news picked up by satellite.

  “I didn’t,” Magruder put in. “What happened?”

  Lee looked at him. “You must be Commander Magruder,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Welcome aboard. I’m Lee … Arthur Lee. Staff Intelligence man. I’ve heard a hell of a lot about you. Some of it was even good.” He grinned as they shook hands. “The UN vote finally went down last night. Twelve to two, with China abstaining.”

  “And it wasn’t worth a damned thing because of the Russian veto,” Magruder finished for him grimly.

  “So much for the ‘New World Order,’” Owens put in. “That’s what comes of letting the bad guys have veto power.”

  Stramaglia stayed out of their conversation, but inwardly he knew how they felt. While the Russians cut through Norway’s defenses, President Connally had been stalling American reaction until the United Nations could act. It was as if he’d learned all the wrong lessons from the conflict with Iraq, where America had mobilized UN support only after guaranteeing assistance for Saudi Arabia. Resolution 782, calling for a peaceful solution to the Scandinavian crisis and condemning the USSR for its aggression, had gone exactly nowhere. And in the interim nearly a week of precious time had been lost. Connally could claim now that he’d exhausted every peaceful means before turning to a military response, but in the process he might just have given the Russians everything they needed to make their attack on Norway stick.

  For nearly a decade Stramaglia had been regarded as a bit of a dinosaur where the Russians were concerned. Hotshot youngsters at Miramar had been fond of claiming that future conflicts would follow the pattern set down by Operation Desert Storm: small, outclassed opponents facing the overwhelming air superiority of American technology. But Joseph Stramaglia had never entirely counted the Russians out, not even after Yeltsin had emerged as the leader of the new Russian Commonwealth. There had been too many unknowns, to Stramaglia’s way of thinking. Too many factions, like the hard-liners in the military, who hadn’t been heard from.

  And now it looked like he’d been right after all.

  1100 hours Zulu (1000 hours Zone)

  CVIC, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

  The North Atlantic

  “Attention on deck!” a junior officer called out as Admiral Tarrant strode into Civic. Every man in the briefing room came to his feet in response.

  “As you were,” he said quickly, strolling purposefully toward the podium at the far end of the long room.

  As Tarrant reached the podium he scanned the lines of seated officers. Brandt was sitting near the front, with his Exec, Commander Parker, and several members of Tarrant’s Flag Staff. As he studied their faces, he wondered what they were thinking.

  He saw Captain Stramaglia and other officers from Jefferson’s Air Wing at the back of the room. Most of the striking power of the battle group was contained in the carrier’s air complement, and their role in the next few days would be crucial. Tarrant hoped they would be up to the challenge. Stramaglia had a good reputation, but he hadn’t been at sea for over a decade. Did he still have the edge?

  And then there was Captain Vic Gates of the Shiloh, the battle group’s Aegis cruiser. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. His ship, with its powerful radar systems and missile defenses, would be a key player if they faced a major attack. In the Indian Ocean two years back Jefferson had come through with minor damage, but her Aegis cruiser escort had been all but crippled. Maybe Gates was thinking about that.

  But they’d all have their parts to play, the DDGs Lawrence Kearny and John A. Winslow; the battle group’s three frigates, Gridley, Esek Hopkins, and Stephen Decatur, and the two 688-class submarines, Galveston and Bangor. A carrier battle group was more than just the carrier itself. It was a balanced task force in which each ship, each aircraft, each man had a vital role to play.

  Tarrant cleared his throat and stepped behind the podium. It was time to let them know the score.

  “Gentlemen,” he said formally. “You all know what’s been going on in Norway. We’ve been watching the Russians overrun the country for close to a week, and I’m sure most of you have been wondering what the United States plans to do about it. Well, some recent developments have finally shaped our course. We received orders from CINCLANT late last night, and I felt you should all be brought into the picture. Commander Aiken will bring us up to date on the military picture first. Commander?”

  Commander Paul Aiken was head of OZ Division, the Intelligence branch of Jefferson’s Operations Department. A small, precise man with a dry manner and a face that betrayed no emotion, Aiken was responsible for coordinating all information gathered by a variety of means and making it available to the carrier’s command, air, and flag staffs. He advanced to the podium carrying a bundle of papers under one arm. The lights dimmed as one of his officers switched on the projector.

  “The situation in Scandinavia has, quite frankly, developed in a totally unexpected manner,” Aiken began. He gestured to the screen behind him, where a map of the region had appeared. “During the Cold War it was always assumed that any attack into Norway could be delayed by local forces long enough to allow NATO reinforcement before the Soviets could make significant territorial gains. The entire defensive posture of the country was predicated on this assessment.”

  He checked his notes before going on. “The Norwegians have a long tradition of avoiding European entanglements, and they were somewhat reluctant to get involved in NATO at all. However, the experience of Nazi occupation in World War II showed them that it was necessary to seek protection from stronger powers. Northern Norway guards the main approaches to the bases of Russia’s Red Banner Northern Fleet in the White and Barents Sea areas, and this has made the country both a strategic prize for the Russians and a critical strongpoint for the West. Land-based aircraft operating from Norwegian air bases could play havoc with any Soviet fleet sorties, and in addition could protect our own ships making incursions into their waters. Because the Northern Fleet also contains the bulk of the Soviet ballistic missile submarine force, the defense of which takes top priority in Russian naval thinking, the threat of a NATO strike has made it certain that the Russians would seek to neutralize Norway as part of any larger war in Europe.”

  Aiken stopped to take a sip from a glass of water on the podium. “In this c
ase, though, the outbreak of hostilities in Scandinavia does not seem to be part of any larger war effort but rather an end in itself. As a result the Soviets have been able to concentrate far more striking power against the region than had been allowed for in any of our Cold War planning. The scope of operations by Spetsnaz and other covert elements alone is on a scale that has caught us completely by surprise.”

  “Does that mean they were planning this all along?” Commander James Tennyson asked. He was CO of the Lawrence Kearny, DDG-59, a big bear of a man whose rough exterior concealed a surprising intellect.

  “It certainly suggests it,” Aiken replied carefully. “But our intelligence sources haven’t been able to confirm that theory. If the Soviets had intended to provoke a conflict there seems little enough reason for their President to negotiate a compromise agreement … unless we’re seeing an extreme case of the breakdown of cooperation between the political and military sides of their government. There is a temptation to see the assassination as KGB or GRU work designed both to create a pretext for invasion and at the same time to remove the voice of liberal reform which might otherwise have stood in the way, but without more facts at our disposal that must remain an attractive but unconfirmed theory.”

  It was a theory, Tarrant thought, that fit the facts damned well. Since the collapse of the Commonwealth and the restoration of the Soviet Union, the struggle between hard-liners in the military and the KGB against liberal reformers and breakaway ethnic, religious, and political groups had been turning Soviet government into a precarious balancing act. The President of the new Union had started out as little more than a front man for the military hard-liners who had reestablished the central authority, but lately he had been striking out on his own, often in direct opposition to military interests. Now that he was gone it looked as if the Soviet Union was speaking with one voice again. And it was the old voice, the voice of Stalin and Khrushchev, the voice of aggression, that was speaking this time.

  Tarrant turned his attention back to Aiken, who was continuing from the podium. “Regardless of Soviet intentions, we must accept the realities of the position in Scandinavia. Gentlemen, Russian troops have already overrun most of Finland. The government in Helsinki offered little more than a token protest, and finally capitulated entirely four days ago. And the power brought to bear in Norway will accomplish the something there in a very short time unless the Norwegians receive significant support. That support, sadly, is going to be slow to materialize. NATO is barely capable of functioning in its old role now that the EEC countries are more interested in negotiating compromises instead of taking a hard line. There are rumors that the Labor government is going to lose a no-confidence vote in Britain, but even so, it would take time for the Brits to mobilize anything. And you all know how things stand with the United States.”

  The map on the screen behind him changed. “So much for politics,” Aiken said. “What concerns us more at the moment is the military situation in Norway. Soviet troops officially crossed the borders in the early morning hours of June fifth. Bear in mind the presence of the commando forces prior to this, because they’ve had a significant impact upon the prosecution of the campaign so far. The attack was spearheaded by two front-line motor rifle divisions, the 45th and the 54th. These followed the lines of advance we always assumed they’d use, with the 54th violating Finnish neutrality in order to work its way behind the main lines of defense.”

  Aiken took another sip of water as the slide changed to a close-up of northern Norway. “Front-line defense of Norway was in the hands of the so-called South Varanger Garrison, with a reserve force, the Finnmark Brigade, to provide rapid backup in case of trouble. The paralysis of the Norwegian government in the first few hours of the crisis caused delays in assembling the reserve formations. They had just dispersed after an earlier mobilization order, and the confusion did nothing to improve their situation.”

  He jabbed at the map with a pointer. “Virtually the whole of the South Varanger Garrison and a substantial part of the Finnmark Brigade was surrounded and destroyed by Soviet forces here, at Tana, on the sixth.”

  Another map showing the entire country appeared. “While this was happening, the Soviets were carrying out systematic attacks on other parts of the country as well. There are a few things to note … first, the fact that the Red Banner Northern Fleet sortied from the Barents Sea the day before the assassination. This could have been coincidence, of course, or a part of ongoing saber-rattling. But it is significant that the fleet was escorting a very large contingent of naval infantry and Spetsnaz troops. It hasn’t received much notice in the press, but the Soviets have shifted their shipbuilding program over to intensive production of amphibious vessels in the last few years, to go along with their carrier program. A very large portion of that sealift capability is currently in the Northern Fleet. When you add in merchant ships as auxiliary transports you can generate quite a formidable amphibious threat.”

  “But do the Russians really have that much capacity for amphibious operations, Commander?” That was Commander Loren Scanlan, skipper of the Gridley. “I mean, sure, they can put together the ships, but they’ve never really focused on marines as a major combat arm, have they?”

  “More than you might think, though we’re not certain of exact numbers,” Aiken responded with his usual caution. “Don’t forget, gentlemen, that ever since the end of the Cold War it has been common Soviet practice to assign fully functional motor rifle divisions to the navy as a way to get around the provisions of military reduction agreements, since so-called naval troops don’t count. And while you can’t turn an army division into an instant amphibious force capable of making opposed assaults, you can use them to reinforce strikes delivered by other means. Spetsnaz attacks, for instance, or parachute drops. They grab a likely piece of terrain, and these amphibious troops can come ashore and consolidate too damned fast for the defenders to react.”

  The intelligence officer looked around the room as if expecting further comment, but none came. He cleared his throat and went on. “Air strikes on the first two days of the fighting accounted for well over half of the Norwegian air force. Norway has … or rather had about a hundred combat aircraft, mostly F-16s. They’ve put up a good fight, but the odds are just too much. Add the neutralization of several key airfields by commando attacks and runway cratering from missiles and bombs, and you can see the way things are headed. We estimate the Soviets will have virtual air supremacy in Scandinavia within another few days.

  Tarrant scanned the officers for reactions to that. The CAG staff looked particularly grim, as well they might. With most of the Norwegian air force knocked out, carrier-based planes would be seriously out-matched in numbers. Even the vaunted Top Gun ten-to-one kill ratio might not be enough if Jefferson’s air wing had to go into battle.

  “The final leg of the Soviet attack rested in air transport of sizable combat forces into secured positions in Oslo and Tromso,” Aiken went on. “Here again their commando and desant troops gave them a real edge. The move into Oslo was roughly comparable to the buildup of forces in Kabul during the opening stages of the Afghan war. Combined with amphibious landings at Bodo and Narvik, these operations badly disrupted the entire Norwegian coast. The long, thin nature of the country, with its poor terrain and limited road net, renders Norway vulnerable to this sort of divide-and-conquer technique.”

  A new map came up, a close-up of central Norway around the city of Trondheim. “This is where the real blow fell, though, in the area called Trondelag. For the past six years it has been the site of a major U.S. Marine Prepositioning center. The equipment and supplies for a specially tasked U.S. Marine Expeditionary Brigade were located here, together with prepared runway facilities at Orland and Vaemes. On June sixth these were attacked by naval Spetsnaz, reinforced by naval infantry and airborne troops. Our best satellite reconnaissance indicates that Trondelag has been all but destroyed … and with it virtually every contingency plan the United States ha
d for supporting Norway.”

  “Christ,” someone said from the front row. Tarrant thought it was Commander Don Strachan, CO of the frigate Esek Hopkins. “Why don’t we just surrender now and be done with it? Or is there some good news buried in all of this mess?”

  “The good news, such as it is, came on the seventh,” Aiken answered. “On that day a Soviet attempt to take the city of Bergen failed. Bergen was the one area not caught totally off guard by the war. The senior army man there, General Nils Lindstrom, managed to pull his troops into a tight perimeter line. By concentrating air cover and intensive SAM fire and triple-A, Lindstrom knocked out the airborne elements of a major Soviet drive on Bergen. It’s located in the southeastern end of the country … one of their biggest ports and naval bases, and near some major air bases as well. The city’s critical to both sides at this point, gentlemen. As long as it’s in friendly hands we have a point of reentry into Norway, and the Soviets know it. Everything boils down now to how long Lindstrom can hold out there.”

  “Without effective air?” Stramaglia snorted. “The Russkies’ll pry them out of there inside a week.”

  Aiken nodded. “That’s our estimation, Captain. At the moment they are overextended, but once they’ve consolidated their position they are sure to muster enough strength to threaten Bergen.”

  “Thank you for your rundown, Commander,” Tarrant said, moving back toward the podium. The lights came up as Aiken took his seat in the front row. “Gentlemen, that’s the situation as it stands now … but there is one important addition Commander Aiken didn’t mention. Yesterday evening, the White House received a communique from the Soviet government reiterating their position that the conflict in Norway is a strictly local matter. In addition, they have declared that all foreign military vessels should stay clear of the Norwegian Sea in an area defined by the Greenland-Iceland-United Kingdom line, extended from the Scottish coast to Jutland. I believe the phrase they used was ‘to avoid accidental escalation of the current regional hostilities.’ In essence they are saying that any warship entering their exclusion zone is liable to come under attack.”