“Let’s hope it stays that way.” The admiral sat up, put on his shoes, and tied them. “I’ve changed my mind ‘ that damn OSCAR. I better get down to the ASW module. I want to see what’s happening with that Russian sub. If he’s anywhere around, I want to know about it.”
Five minutes later in the ASW module, the Admiral learned that they had no new data on the OSCAR.
“Seems she just fades away when she wants to, Admiral. She does keep us checking, and maybe that’s the purpose.”
The admiral nodded. “Get me on the horn with any new data on it.”
Back in the CDC the Admiral watched the movement of the hovercraft.
It circled a while, then drifted, moved back just off shore of the town, and circled again.
“Put a Seahawk out there and take a close look at him,” Admiral Kenner said. It just might chase him away. If he’s got no men or tanks, it’s got to be a show. Let’s give him a show and tell of our own.”
“Just a fly over, Admiral?” The Watch Commander asked.
“Right, let them know we’re here. Then have the chopper fly over and check out the damage of that Russian missile. Don’t get too low and encourage any ground fire, but make a look-see.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
The HH-60H Seahawk took off six minutes later and kept in contact with the carrier. At 147 knots it didn’t take the Seahawk long to get over the hovercraft. “Hawk One to Home Base.”
“Go, Hawk One. What’s happening?”
“Nothing. The eight or ten crewmen we see are waving at us, like they’re on a picnic.”
“Any sign of troops or arms?”
“Nothing. The boat is covered on top. Now something is going on.
Yes, they’re turning back north and heading up the coast. Their watch must be over. What now, Home Base?”
Admiral Kenner motioned to the man with the radio.
“Tell him to do a fly-over of the town down there. Make an estimate of the damage that the Russian missile did. Keep him high enough so he doesn’t antagonize the locals.”
The message went out to the chopper, and they saw on the radar monitor that the Seahawk had swung toward shore. “Home Base, Hawk One here.”
“Go, Hawk One.”
“Approaching the island at about three thousand feet. Doesn’t seem to be many people on the streets. Not many streets. From the looks of it, the missile didn’t explode right off. It must have slid down a street before it went off near a dock. Two buildings flattened. A couple more set on fire, but the locals have the fires mostly out.
Don’t see any bodies lying around. Figure they have been taken away by now. That’s about it, Home Base.”
“Roger that, Hawk One. Come on home before we get in any trouble.”
“Yes, sir. On our way.”
Admiral Kenner rubbed his face with one hand. “What the hell is Admiral Rostow trying to do? Is he showing off his hardware for our benefit? Is he trying to scare this Jap general? Sure as hell would like to split a bottle of vodka with him and get this all worked out.”
By 2000, Murdock had the SEALs back in their ready room. They all had seen the EAR weapons and knew how they worked.
“We betting our asses on these things, Cap?” Bill Bradford asked.
“Yes and no,” Murdock said. “We’re betting that they work. If the first two or three targets don’t go down, we’ll stash the EARs and go in with our usual firepower. Then we go with the idea of wounding and putting out of action the Self Defense soldiers, rather then simply wasting them. Which is going to be tougher. It’ll be shooting for legs rather than heads or torsos.”
“Lots of luck,” Jaybird said. They laughed.
“So, I’m going to assign the new weapons. We’ve got twelve of them. Bradford, you’ve got enough to pack with the fifty and your rifle. The two machine gunners are also off the hook, and Jaybird. The rest of us will have the EARS. Any questions?”
“We have any word yet about going?” Washington asked.
“Not so you could write home about it,” Murdock said. “My gut feeling is that we’ll be going in with first dark tomorrow night.”
“By IBS like we planned?” Ed Dewitt asked.
Murdock shook his head. “Who knows? That’s what we laid out for the admiral. They should have some kind of amphibious craft out here that can get us into a mile offshore.”
“Must be an amphib ship with a task force this size,” Dewitt said.
“I’ll ask the admiral,” Murdock said. “Check over your gear again.
Let’s be ready to move in an hour in case we get the word tonight.”
Murdock called the admiral. He wasn’t in his quarters.
Murdock found him in the TFCC and asked him about transport in to the one-mile point.
“We’ll use two River Patrol Boats from the Nashville. She’s an Amphibious Transport Dock, an LPD-13. The river boats can get you in there with no trouble. Lash your IBMs on the bow and there’s room for eight men. Be a short trip. We’ll bring two over tomorrow morning from the Nashville and have them on hand.”
“Thanks, Admiral. That’s the last of it. We’re ready to move as soon as we get clearance from the politicians.”
“That’s the way it usually works these days, Commander.”
Murdock hung up, and told the SEALs about the PBRs they would ride in.
“Is that the fiberglass hull or the aluminum one?” Ken Ching asked.
“Lots more room in the aluminum one.”
Murdock shook his head. “We’ll find out about that when we load on them. What I’m more concerned with right now is how are the walking wounded? Doc, you keeping tabs on them?”
“Right, Commander. Ching is the worst one. That leg wound is healing, but I’m not sure he can do wind sprints yet. You’ll have to ask him.”
“So, Ching?” Murdock asked.
“Yeah, it still hurts, but when I don’t think about it, I do fine.
I just won’t think about it. I’m fit for fucking duty!”
Murdock grinned. “Sounds like it if all we had to do was yell at the general.” He looked at Ron Holt.
Holt jumped up and began to shadowbox. He stopped and laughed.
“Hell, Skipper. I’m five by five and ready to dive. Count me in. My arm is fine. For four or five hours over there I can walk on my shit-picking hands.”
“What about the Shrapnel Kids?” Murdock asked.
Joe Douglas stood, then dropped and did twenty fast push-ups.
“Now, Skipper, does that arm look all right to you or what?”
“Seems to be working. Adams, what about you?”
“Commander, you’ve still got more shrapnel in your ass than I have in my arm. You can do it, I can do it.”
“We’ll get a second opinion. Doc, I want you to run all four of these gung-ho sailors past the duty doc down in sick bay. Have him check them out, but don’t let him put any of them in a bed. The rest of you, get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be busy tomorrow, and maybe when it gets dark we’ll get into action. Now get out of here.”
When Murdock got back to his quarters, there was a message for him to call Don Stroh at the office.
Murdock went to communications, where they put through a voice call on the SATCOM. Stroh came on the line at once.
“Good buddy, how is the water over there?” Stroh asked.
“Hot and getting hotter. We lost a plane. When do we go in and close this one out?”
“The old men are talking. From the President right on down. I hear he’s made a call to the Japanese Prime Minister.
Should know sometime soon. You’re what, about fourteen hours ahead of us. It’s morning here. We could get the word while you’re in dreamland. The second we get a firm go-ahead, you guys will be sent the word. How’s the team holding up?”
“Perfectly. We’re SEALS, remember? The guys want you to go on the next training session with us. The hike, the swim, the explosive pit.
You’ll en
joy yourself.”
Stroh laughed. “Yeah, like I do when I do the triathlon. Closest thing I come to physical work is climbing in and out of bed.”
There was a pause.
“Anything you need, Murdock?”
“Just a go-go-go from your boss.”
“You’ll know one way or the other when you get up in the morning.
My promise.”
“Holding you to it.”
“You got it. My dime’s worth is up. Take care, Murdock.”
Murdock said he would, and hung up. So, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. What was that from? He couldn’t remember. Tomorrow it was.
Admiral Kenner had just taken off his shoes, and was relaxing in the big chair in his quarters, when the phone rang. “Yes?”
“TFCC here, Admiral. Something is developing you may want to take a look at. We’ve had a separation of about twenty klicks between our screening ships and the Russians, but now one of their outer destroyers is moving toward the edge of our far screen.”
“I’ll be right down.”
A few minutes later, the admiral looked at the display screen in the TFCC and scowled. “How far is that Russian destroyer from our ship?”
“About twelve miles, Admiral.”
“What’s our closest vessel?”
“That would be the guided-missile destroyer Callahan.”
“Tell her to set General Quarters and notify her of the Russian ship.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
“Then get me Admiral Rostow on the radio. We need to have a talk.”
“The Russian still seems to be closing, sir. She’s on a collision course at a little over seventeen thousand yards. She appears to be of the Sovremenny class, with eight Raduga SS-N-22 missiles each having a three-hundred-kilogram warhead in a sea-skimmer mode.”
“That’s point-blank range, for God’s sakes,” Admiral Kenner said.
“Where is that Russian admiral? Can you raise him? Tell the captain of the Callahan to prepare countermeasures and watch for any radar targeting.”
“Sir, the Russian vessel is closing at thirty-two knots.”
“Get that damned Russian admiral now!” Admiral Kenner bellowed.
20
Wednesday, 21 February
Off Kunashir Island
Kuril Chain, Russia
Admiral Kenner listened to the radio operator calling for the Russian admiral. He felt as if he was stuck in mud up to his knees and trying to run. Everything slowed down — even the voices seemed to drag out each word to ridiculous lengths. One of the techs looked at him.
“Admiral, I have a later report. The Russian destroyer has closed to sixteen thousand, five hundred yards, and is continuing on course at thirty-two knots.”
The admiral closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, I heard. There’s just not a damn thing I can do about it right now.” The radio man handed him a mike. “We have the Russian admiral, sir.”
“Admiral Rostow, why is your destroyer threatening our outer screen? Your ship is on a collision course with one of our destroyers.
Do we have to fire at it to get your attention?”
“Admiral Kenner,” the English translator said. “Our ship is in the open sea with the rights of passage. Have we in any way threatened your destroyer? We have not. Our ship is simply on a maneuver to test its crew. We have meant no threat to your fleet.”
“Admiral Rostow, you have a strange way of showing it. Have your destroyer turn away or, at fifteen thousand yards range, we will open fire on it.”
“Admiral Kenner, you are not on your most diplomatic behavior. It may take some time to contact the captain of the Bespokoiny, but we will attempt to contact her. You will hold your fire, yes?”
Admiral Kenner set his jaw and slammed his hand down on the worktable. He keyed the mike again. “Admiral Rostow. You undoubtedly are in voice contact with the Bespokoiny at this very moment. We will open fire if your destroyer comes within fifteen thousand yards of our destroyer.”
There was no return comment.
“How close is the Russian ship?” Admiral Kenner asked.
“Sixteen thousand, sir. Same speed.”
“Read off the distance every one hundred yards.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
They waited. Everyone in the TFCC watched the display screen. The line kept moving toward the destroyer Callahan. Admiral Kenner closed his eyes and took two deep breaths.
“Fifteen thousand, five hundred, Admiral. Same speed. No change in course.”
“Contact the Callahan. Authorize one star shell to be fired over the approaching Russian ship when it reaches the fourteen-thousand-nine-hundred-yard range.”
The message was sent to the American destroyer.
CAG Olson slipped into the TFCC and watched the developments. He looked at Admiral Kenner, but didn’t speak.
The chief looked up from his screen. “Fifteen thousand yards, sir.”
Less than a minute later word came on the tac frequency.
“We have fired one star shell from the Callahan above the approaching Russian destroyer. It is red in color. The time is 2242.”
Admiral Kenner touched a bead of moisture on his forehead. He looked at the screen.
“Range, fourteen thousand, seven hundred. The Russian ship is starting a starboard turn, Admiral.”
Kenner could feel the tension break in the TFCC. Captain Olson looked at him, gave a short nod, then left the room.
“Well done, Chief. I’ll expect an after-action report on this incident on my desk by zero-eight-hundred.”
“Yes, sir. Looks like the Russian is doing a one-eighty, Admiral.
She’s probably going back to her screening position with the fleet.”
Murdock didn’t hear about the Russian destroyer probe until the next morning at breakfast. It reminded him of the way the Indian warriors used to harass their enemies in the Wild West when they had someone surrounded. A dozen warriors would ride hard and fast directly at the enemy, then just out of range they would whirl, screech, and yell, and then ride back the way they had come.
It was a chess game here as well, one side testing the other. The star shell was a great response. It showed ability and intent without killing anyone or damaging any hardware.
Murdock checked with communications, but they had no word for him from Washington, D.C.
“When a message comes in, we’ll get it delivered to you at once, sir,” the chief on duty said. “I’ll bring it up myself.”
Murdock opened the door to their assembly room at 0800 and found all of his crew on hand.
“Nothing yet, no orders. I want every man to break down his personal weapon, clean and oil it, and make sure all of his equipment is packed and ready to roll. We might get an hour’s notice, it could be four hours, or maybe fifteen minutes. The more time we can save here means more dark time on the island.”
“If we go,” Colt Franklin cracked.
“We’ll go,” Murdock said. “Stroh guaranteed it.”
“Oh, yeah, now there is a hidebound, genuine, fucked-up guarantee if I’ve ever heard one,” Jaybird Sterling said. Half the men hooted their approval.
After the shouts died out, Jaybird grinned. “Okay, you sad-asses, let’s get at it. Breakdown and cleaning. Go.”
Murdock left, and checked the commo shack again.
Nothing. He stopped by the TFCC, and watched the input from the dozens of radar scanners. One of the techs gave a yell.
“Commander, you better take a look at this,” the chief said to the watch commander. “We’ve got a ship moving down the coast again, just like that hovercraft did yesterday. Not so fast — say, fifty knots — hugging the shore.”
“What’s his range?”
“About fifteen klicks. Nothing firm yet.”
“Keep on it, I’ll call the admiral.”
Five minutes later Admiral Kenner and the CAG watched the progress of the line on the screen.
“Definitely
slower,” Admiral Kenner said. “Captain, have one of your cover guys take a look and see if it’s manned this time.”
The order went out, and Tom Two soon reported back from the sky over Kunashir Island.
“This is Tom Two, Home Base. That’s a Roger. Dropping down now to take a snoop.”
In the TFCC, they waited, watching the thin line representing the hovercraft move south along the coastline.
“They can’t think they’re fooling anyone,” Captain Olson said.
“They have their surveillance command-control planes up too. They know we can see the ship.”
“Another bluff maybe?” the watch commander said.
“We’ll see soon,” Admiral Kenner said.
“Home Base, this is Tom Two.”
“Go ahead, Tom Two.”
“Just made a pass over the craft. She’s a hovercraft, all right.
The stern loading hatch is open and I see what looks like a tank in there. She’s covered on top, so can’t be sure if she has more tanks.”
“Take another go-round, Tom Two. Look for troops topside.”
They waited. CAG Olson scratched his head. “Admiral, if they are loaded, and if they do get to a spot where they could make a landing near the captured town, what should we do?”
“That’s an easy one, CAG. If they turn and head for shore, your Tomcats are to splatter six rounds of twenty-millimeter across their bow.”
“If that doesn’t stop them?”
“Then you have another follow-on Tomcat put four rounds into the elevated wind propellers. Put her dead in the water, but with enough power to keep afloat and killing as few Russians as possible.” CAG nodded, and talked to the two Tomcats.
“Tom One and Tom Two. Any more intel on the hovercraft?”
“Home Base, the hatch is now closed so we can’t see the tank. Spot no troops anywhere on the craft.”
“Thanks, Tom One. I have a mission for you.” The CAG gave them the orders. “The second he turns toward shore on a landing run, one of you has to be in position to do the bow firing. First one across gives them the warning shots. If they don’t stop, the second one blasts those stern air propellers with four to six rounds of your best twenties.”
Both pilots acknowledged the orders.
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