CHAPTER 23

Tuesday, 17 March
Early morning hours
The Kola Peninsula

During the night the U.S. Air Force entered the fray ― F-117 Stealth Fighters and F-111 Aardvarks, deploying out of Lakenheath and Upper Heyford, England, crossed the mountains above Bodo, then skimmed the forests and lake country of northern Sweden and Finland, striking the Kola military bases from the west and south instead of from the north. "Smart" weapons, first seen publicly in the Gulf War of 1991, followed invisible beams of laser light unerringly into bunker-complex ventilator shafts, aircraft hangar doors, and command-center windows, as American forces kept up a relentless pressure against Russian C3 assets ― command, Control, and Communications.

Contributing their firepower to the assault through that long night were over two hundred Tomahawk cruise missiles fired from the wide-scattered fleet of Los Angeles-class attack subs in the Barents Sea. Skimming sea and earth at subsonic speeds, the TLAMs followed the terrain features loaded into their onboard computers. Their principal targets were communication relays and operations centers, SAM sites, and aircraft in their revetments.

Carrier strikes continued as well, but at a lower tempo as both deck personnel and aircrews were given a respite in preparation for missions in support of the Marine amphib operations. One carrier attack squadron off the Eisenhower, VA-66, the Waldos, participated in a long-range, nighttime strike far to the east. The Waldos' A-6 Intruders were loaded with four Harpoon missiles apiece and sent to hunt down the Groznyy, the Russian cruiser that had sunk the Scranton the day before.

Guided by Hawkeye radar pickets and by Forward-Looking Infra-Red tracking, or FLIR, they found the Groznyy in the mouth of the White Sea and left her burning and with her decks awash. The Waldos and another attack squadron off the Ike, the Tigers of VA-65, also hit other naval targets found at sea between Polyamyy and Grimikha, sinking dozens of vessels from Osa II guided-missile boats to a destroyer, the Nastoychivyy. The idea was to convince what was left of the Russians' Northern Fleet to stay at home, in port and safely under the protection of shore-based antiaircraft and SAM batteries.

Meanwhile, throughout the night in the skies above the Kola Peninsula, spy satellites and high-flying Aurora reconnaissance aircraft continued to pinpoint key targets and update the Pentagon's overall intelligence picture.

Microwave communications between command centers and outlying facilities were tapped by various electronic intelligence assets. Even from orbit, ELINT satellites could listen in on encrypted conversations between unit commanders and their units; as streams of intercepted communications were relayed back to its secret complex at Fort Meade, Maryland, the National Security Agency, largest and arguably the most secret of America's intelligence organizations, swiftly broke the codes on their batteries of Cray supercomputers. Even without decoding, the patterns of radio communications provided NSA, CIA, and Pentagon analysts with a clear picture of the Russians' Kola Peninsula military command structure… and final proof, in the form of orders from Krasilnikov himself, that the defenses were being orchestrated from the Kremlin. The idea that the attacks on the American carrier groups had been carried out by renegade local commanders was clearly a complete fiction.

That night, however, the UN's determination to enforce Resolutions 982 and 984 began taking on a new urgency.

0130 hours EST (Zulu -5)
Oval office, The White House
Washington, D.C.

The President sat in his high-backed chair, watching without expression the contorted face of Marshal Valentin Grigorevich Krasilnikov on one of the large television monitors in one wall of the Oval Office. Elsewhere in the room, Gordon West, his chief of staff, and Herbert Waring, the National Security Advisor, along with a number of secretaries, aides, and staffers, stood in silence as they listened to a translator's voice providing a simultaneous translation for Krasilnikov's impassioned speech.

"The United Nations has taken dangerous… ah… a dangerous course of action," the translator's voice was saying. Krasilnikov's own voice, the volume turned down but still audible, was shaking with an emotion the translator could not express. "For fifty years United Nations has provided forum for international debate, for keeping, uh, for peacekeeping activities through rule of law…"

"The guy's not a bad speech-maker," the President said. "No wonder he went in for politics."

Waring, standing closest to the Chief Executive, looked up from a transcript of Krasilnikov's speech. "I wonder if he might not have some valid points here, Mr. President. After all, if we continue to act as the UN's muscle in Russia, what's to stop the UN from pulling the same tactics against us some day?"

"The alternative, Herb," the President said slowly, "is to let them start nuking each other, and anyone else who makes them mad. The UN can't afford to let that start happening. We can't afford to let it happen."

"Uh, oh," Gordon West said. "He's starting in on us now."

"The United States of America has embarked down dangerous road," the translator was saying. "One of military adventurism, of unrestrained and illegal meddling in internal affairs of sovereign, ah, of a sovereign world power. This, perhaps, was safe enough when confronting Third World countries like Iraq or the People's Republic of Korea, nations that could not seriously challenge American military might.

"But now, the United States, operating behind facade of bandit thugs of United Nations, has challenged a great power, one capable of most, of the most severe and devastating retaliatory response."

"my God, he's threatening us!" West said softly. "He's actually threatening to loose his nukes on us if we don't back off!"

"I hear him, Gordy," the President said. Indeed, he'd heard this speech three times that night already, as well as going over the written transcript.

The key here was knowing ― or at least taking a damned good guess at ― what Krasilnikov was really saying beneath his bombastic phrases of you-can't-do-this-to-us hurt and outrage.

"The wanton destruction of one of Russia's most modern ballistic-missile submarines by units of the U.S. Navy operating illegally within the Barents Sea," Krasilnikov went on, "cannot swerve us from our purpose, which is the final unity and security of the Russian peoples, and the defense of our Motherland against all foreign invaders, even those cloaked in the rags of so-called United Nations mandates. The United States should bear in mind the fact that we have many ballistic-missile submarines, and that a suitable demonstration of our will could as easily be directed against the American aggressors as against the traitors in illegal rebellion against the present Russian government."

"Mr. President," Waring said. "It may be that the thing to do at this point would be to pull back, take a deep breath, and think this whole thing through. We are looking at the possibility of thermonuclear war. I don't think we've been this close to a full-scale nuclear exchange since the Cuban Missile Crisis."

The President shifted his gaze to others in the Oval Office. In one corner was a small coterie of military officers, among them the Pentagon liaison, Admiral Magruder.

"What do you say, Admiral?" the President asked.

"Actually, Mr. President, we've been eyeball to eyeball with the Russians several times since 1962. They had nuclear missiles ready to go during the Six-Day War, for instance-"

"That's not what I was asking, Admiral. How shall we respond to Krasilnikov's, ah, accusations?"

"Hardly my place to say, Mr. President, I'm a military man, not a leader of government."

"Damn it, Admiral-"

"Sir, I can point out that all of our intelligence to date Suggests that the only nuclear weapons he has access to are those in the Northern Fleet.

The rest are either in rebel hands or contested, controlled by loyalist Strategic Rocket Forces but cut off behind the lines in rebel territory. If he were to order a nuclear strike against the United States, it would be a sharply limited one."

"Even a single nuclear detonation in the continental United States would be devastating, Mr. President," West pointed out. "A catastrophe."

"A nuclear detonation anywhere in the world could be a catastrophe, Gordy," the President replied. "Especially if one followed another, and another, and another…"

"I can also point out, Mr. President," Magruder continued, "that if we pull back now, we achieve nothing. We've gained no ground. We haven't stopped the Krasilnikov faction from carrying out their threats. The American men and women who have died already will have died for nothing but some rather thin symbolism. 'Delivering a message,' as some of your political friends like to put it. We might even lose our whole battle force, probably will, in fact, if the shooting match goes nuclear over there. All for nothing."

"Well, good God," Waring said, angry now. "If it's a choice between losing a couple of damned aircraft carriers and losing New York City-"

"Admiral Magruder," the President said, cutting off Waring in mid-sentence. "Do you think our military forces over there have a chance, any chance at all, of carrying out their mission?"

"Yes, Sir. If our intelligence estimates of the situation are correct.

If they're not micromanaged into a pocket. If their mission isn't changed on them in mid-course by people back here who think they know better."

"What do you mean?"

Magruder shrugged. "Sir, right now our carrier battle force and the II MEF have clearly defined goals, a mission, a purpose, and the support they need to carry it out. If you or the UN decide to change or muddy their mission goals, well, there aren't any guarantees. That was a large part of the problem in Vietnam, the lack of a clear, well-defined objective."

"Point taken, Admiral. The men can do the job, so long as the guy giving the orders tells them what to do, then gets out of the way."

"Mr. President-" Waring began.

"Herb, we're too far into this to change now. We've got to go ahead."

"God help us if you're wrong, Mr. President."

"Amen," the President replied. "Because no one else will."

0830 hours (Zulu +2)
Air Ops
U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson

Despite the continuing, usually good-natured rivalry between Navy and Air Force over who had the better flyers, Tombstone had been damned glad to see the new arrivals plotted on the Ops displays. While Intruders were all-weather, day-or-night-capable attack aircraft, handing off the bombing to the Air Force had let VA-84 and VA-89 stand down for a decent night's sleep, in anticipation of what would be happening in the morning.

Tombstone had been up late the night before again, going over the final planning for Operation White Storm, but he'd been able to pull down five uninterrupted hours of sleep, and when an aide had rousted him awake at 0530 hours he was feeling better rested ― and more confident ― than he'd felt in several long days.

At least part of his change in heart was the result of a decision he'd made the night before, a decision he implemented that morning with a change to the air wing duty roster. Tombstone had decided to put himself on the active flight list.

Years before, the CAG of a carrier air wing had been expected to fly combat missions. Hell, that was a tradition that went back to World War II, when CAGs really were commanders of air groups and were expected to lead their men against the enemy. Modern warfare, however, had become more and more a war of machines and technicians, of computers and radar-guided weapons and of unit commanders who gave their orders over secure data links. With the superCAG concept, the commander of a carrier air wing, while he still logged his hours of flight time, was expected to lead a mission from Air Ops, where he could use his training and his judgment to direct an entire battle, rather than the small part he'd be able to see from the front seat of an F-14.

By and large, Tombstone agreed with the common sense of doing things that way. It cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to train a man to be a leader; it simply no longer made sense to have an army's generals out front with the flag, the first to die as they inspired their men.

But at this point, the actual development of the battle was largely out of Tombstone's hands. He'd assembled flight lists and schedules, orders of battle and logistical needs, all based on the Pentagon's preliminary work on Operation White Storm. The targets were set, and all he could do was sit in his chair in Air Ops, watching the radars and listening to the voices of his people as they engaged the enemy.

So he'd put himself down to lead a TACCAP, a tactical combat air patrol covering a bombing raid going in over the Kola Inlet later that morning.

"Admiral on deck!"

The men at the Air Ops consoles did not stand, but Tombstone and the other officers watching the operation stood as Admiral Tarrant, flanked by his chief of staff and Captain Brandt, strode in.

"Good morning, CAG," Tarrant said. "They told me I could find you down here."

"You didn't need to come hunting for me, Admiral. I could've come up to the fresh air and sunshine."

Tarrant grinned as he glanced around the Ops compartment, red-lit and claustrophobic. "It is something like a cave down here. I can understand you wanting to get out for a change."

Tombstone suspected he was driving at something. "Sir?"

"I'm disallowing your request, CAG. I need you here, directing your wing. Things are going to get damn complicated this morning when the Marines hit the beaches, and I don't want you off over Russia somewhere. Clear?"

Tombstone's hands flexed briefly at his sides. He knew better than to argue this one. "Clear, sir."

"What kind of casualties have you been running?"

"Remarkably light so far, Admiral. We lost one Tomcat and four Intruders yesterday. We lost another A-6 during recovery."

"What, a crash on the deck?"

"Not quite, sir. Lieutenant Commander Payne had a hydraulics failure after completing his run. He took a hit from triple-A over Vladimir, and his gear failed when he hit the deck. We ditched the aircraft to keep the deck clear, but Payne and his B/N got out okay."

Tarrant nodded. "Eisenhower reported similar losses. Light.

Suspiciously SO."

"Maybe the Russians are too far extended in the south," Captain Brandt suggested.

"That's what everybody back in Washington keeps telling me," Tarrant said, "but I don't quite dare believe it. They're holding something back, and I want to know what it is."

"We had a couple of TARPS aircraft up last night, Admiral," Tombstone said. TARPS ― the Tactical Air Reconnaissance Pod System ― was a streamlined package flown on the belly of certain specially equipped Tomcats, containing a CAI KS-87-B frame camera, a Fairchild KA-99 panoramic camera, and a Honeywell AAD-5 infrared scanner. It gave excellent and highly detailed photographs of the terrain below, by day or night. "It looks like the bombing strikes have been hurting them pretty bad."

"No argument there. We've been getting the same story through satellites and high-altitude reconnaissance flights. The word from the Pentagon this morning was that we've been putting six out of ten of our targets out of action on the first pass, and we've already started doubling up on most of the targets that are left. Most of their major SAM sites have been knocked out, and their communications network is in a shambles. That the impression your aircrews have been bringing back?"

"Yes, sir. At this point, the biggest problem our planes face is from mobile triple-A, shoulder-launched weapons, even small-arms fire. Some of our planes have been landing with 7.62mm holes in their wings."

Tarrant glanced at Brandt, then back to Tombstone. "Gentlemen, about five hours ago the Pentagon got the final nod from the President. There was some question about how deeply the United States should get itself involved in Russia's internal conflict, but the word now is that White Storm is a go. The President has publicly declared full American support for UN Resolutions 982 and 984, and we are prepared to back them up with direct military intervention on the ground. We are going in to disarm the Russians, gentlemen. One way or another. CAG, you can pass that on to your people in your morning briefing."

Tombstone's heart was pounding in his chest. "Aye, aye, sir."

"Air Force attacks will be continuing as well, of course, so it's likely to get a little crowded over the beach."

"Are any strategic bombing runs planned, Admiral?" Brandt wanted to know.

"No, Captain. B-52s, B-1Bs, and B-2s deployed out of CONUS would all carry the risk of making the Russians think we're escalating a strictly regional conflict into global war… or that we might be trying to sneak in a preemptive nuclear strike.

"But anything else goes. Last night, the ships of II MEF shifted eastward to position themselves for the amphibious operation. That will begin at 1000 hours. Both Jefferson and the Ike will be joining the amphib force later today. Throughout that time, CAG, I want every aircraft you can muster in the air, hitting the Russians everywhere you find them, keeping them off balance. White Storm won't have a chance if Krasilnikov's people can catch their breath and concentrate their forces."

"The next phase of the air op calls for interdiction of the rail lines and roads connecting the Kola bases with the south, Admiral," Tombstone said.

"We'll be paying special attention to Kandalaksha, at the head of the White Sea, because that appears to be the hub of the local command structure."

"Excellent. I know if anyone can carry it off, Tombstone, it's you and your people."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'll pass that along to them."

But as they continued discussing the day's operations, Tombstone felt the depression, the pressure, the spiritual tiredness that had been weighing him down for the past several days, returning. If the Russians had reserves, if they were holding something, anything, back, it would be revealed today when the Marines began storming ashore.

And Tombstone would be here, in Jefferson's Air Ops, while his people were dying.

Never in his life had he wanted more to disobey a direct order.

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