Flame Out

CHAPTER 11

“Well, Magruder, how’d you like your first day of sub-hunting?”

Tombstone studied Stramaglia’s bland expression carefully before answering. “It wasn’t … quite what I’d imagined, sir,” he said cautiously.

The Viking had set down on the flight deck an hour before, and Magruder’s legs were still stiff from too much time sitting in one position. At one point the TACCO, Meade, had offered to swap seats with him for a while, but he’d turned it down. Now he was regretting it.

“Boring as one of my Top Gun lectures, eh, Magruder?” Stramaglia asked with a lopsided smile. “Well, that can’t be helped. I want you out on at least one flight a day until I’m sure you know everything there is to know about ASW. Got it?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Magruder replied.

“And knock off the formal little sailor routine.” CAG looked down at his desk. His tone changed, losing the mild bantering manner and becoming grim and cold. “You heard about the Bear hunt?”

Tombstone nodded. “Sounds like a real mess. What happened up there, CAG?”

“Goddamn nuggets screwed up, that’s what happened,” CAG growled. “First one of them wanted to play stunt pilot and got himself in trouble, then his call made another one decide it was time to rock and roll. A right royal cock-up from first to last.”

Magruder didn’t say anything. He might have been able to do something to keep the situation under control if CAG had let him go up with Ajax Flight as he’d requested, but it didn’t seem like the right time to point that out to Stramaglia.

There was a knock on the cabin door. CAG looked up and barked out a quick “Come!” It was Coyote, wearing his khakis now instead of a flight suit and looking just as grim as Stramaglia. “I’ve got the reports on this morning, Sir,” he said. He held up a folder in one hand.

“About time, Grant,” Stramaglia said harshly. “Park your butt and let’s go over exactly what that fine bunch of glory hounds of yours did.”

Magruder started to rise. “I’ll let you-“

“Stay put, Magruder. If you’re going to be my deputy you’d better be in on this.”

As Tombstone resumed his seat CAG leaned forward and took the bundle of paperwork from Coyote. Stramaglia deposited the folder unread on the desk and looked Coyote over slowly. “You lost two men and a plane out there this morning, Grant … and worse than that, you let your people violate the ROEs and maybe pushed us into a full-fledged war. Does that sum up the situation in your estimation?”

Coyote nodded slowly, his face a mask. “Yes, Sir,” he said quietly.

“Got anything to say for yourself?”

Hesitating, Grant looked from Stramaglia to Magruder and back again. “It was a very fluid situation, Sir,” he replied. “Men can make mistakes especially when the men have limited experience.”

“Don’t make excuses!” Stramaglia barked. “You are the squadron commander, Mr. Grant, and that makes you responsible. So don’t hide behind your men!”

Coyote didn’t answer, but he glanced at Magruder again. There was a long silence before Stramaglia went on. “If we didn’t need every experienced aviator in the stable, I’d pull you and that kid … what’s his name? Powers? I’d pull You both off the flight roster. Him for being an irresponsible asshole and you for letting an irresponsible asshole run loose. As it is, I can’t afford to do that. But you can be sure I’m going to have some things to say that aren’t going to look good in your files, Grant. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, Sir,” Coyote said meekly.

“All right. Now on to new business. Odds are our Russian friends aren’t going to be too happy with us after this one. Washington hasn’t responded with any official word, but the admiral and I are agreed we need to up our readiness in case of a retaliation. Capish?”

Grant nodded. “I agree, Sir. Best to take the cautious approach.”

Stramaglia glared at him. “Glad to hear you approve,” he said coldly. “As of now I’m putting one squadron on Alert Fifteen at all times. Javelins will be first up. Owens’ll post the rest of the rotation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

CAG’s order made good sense, Magruder told himself. It meant that the four fighter squadrons aboard would each pull long hours waiting in the ready rooms each day, suited up and ready to respond to an emergency. But at least they could put eight or ten planes in the air on short notice … although it would give the Air Boss headaches to keep so many aircraft ready for a quick launch.

“That’s it for now, Grant,” Stramaglia said after a moment. “But make sure you have a little talk with your people about what happened today. Because if Powers or any of those other hotdogs runs wild again, I’ll have your hide!”

Coyote left hastily, looking pale. He wouldn’t meet Magruder’s eyes on his way out.

When he was gone Stramaglia steepled his fingers on his desk and looked at Tombstone through narrowed eyes. “You think I was too hard on him, Magruder?”

“He’s a damned good man, sir,” Tombstone said. “And he can’t nursemaid every nugget up there.”

“And he’s also your friend.” CAG shook his head. “There’s no room for friendship in a job like this, Magruder. Think about that. Someday you might have to treat a friend that way.”

“But-“

“From where I’m sitting the important thing about what happened this morning is the fact that we just shot up two Russian airplanes. If by some miracle the Russkies don’t treat that as an act of war, we’ve got to make damned sure there aren’t any repeats. And if they do come after us I’ve got to make sure those damned hotdogs are on a short leash. Your buddy Grant’s the one who’s responsible for the Vipers, so he’s the one I have to land on with both feet. If you don’t like it, mister, then you’d better not plan on ever sitting in this chair.”

Tombstone swallowed and nodded slowly. He didn’t like it, but CAG was right … as far as he went. But surely there was a better way to handle it. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. Lesson over. Now get the hell out of here so I can start figuring out how to save a squadron commander’s neck when I file my report.”

Magruder was halfway out the door before he realized what Stramaglia had said. Perhaps the man really did care about the officers in his outfit after all.

Coyote met him in the passageway.

“Thanks a lot for all the support, buddy,” he said bitterly, blocking Magruder’s path. His face was flushed, and his eyes were angry. “You could’ve said something to get that bastard off my back. Instead you just sat there and let him dish it out!”

“C’mon, Willie-“

“Never mind! I guess that’s what happens when you get the big promotion, huh? All of a sudden keeping your own nose clean is more important than helping out your friends.” Coyote turned away abruptly and started down the corridor.

“Coyote-” Magruder began. Then he shrugged and turned away. It was no use arguing with Coyote now anyway. Maybe when he calmed down …

How could he think I wouldn’t stand by him? Magruder wondered, hurt and angry. He’d gone to bat for Coyote after Grant had left, even knowing that Stramaglia was likely to come down on him just as hard as he had on Viper Squadron’s commander. Didn’t Coyote realize that he’d never let a friend down that way? Or was the friendship too strained by time and distance now to hold up any longer?

He was beginning to think Stramaglia was right. There was no room for friendship in his job now.

“The President of the United States!”

The men and women gathered in the underground chamber surged to their feet at the announcement from the Marine guard at the door, but President Frederick Connally waved his hand in a dismissive gesture as he entered, impatient with the ritual. Didn’t these people realize there were more important things to worry about than observing the formalities?

He looked around the small room with its walnut paneling and the massive teakwood conference table that dominated everything. The expressions his top advisors wore told him the news wasn’t good.

With a sigh he settled into the leather chair at the head of the table. An Air Force officer carrying an innocuous-looking briefcase took up a position nearby.

Connally hated that briefcase and everything it stood for. It was the “football,” holding the codes that would grant Presidential authorization for a nuclear weapons release. The football had been much on his mind these last few days.

“All right, gentlemen, let’s hear it.” The message requesting his presence in the Situation Room had been brief and vague. His Chief of Staff, Gordon West, had framed it carefully to avoid giving away details to any of the senators attending the morning conference in the Cabinet Room. His eyes met West’s for a moment, but the former governor of Minnesota looked away.

It was Admiral Brandon Scott who spoke. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs had a reputation for bluntness and was an outspoken critic of the new Administration’s defense policies, but Connally also knew that the man understood his business.

“The Soviets have advanced their front to link up with the amphibious and desant forces around Trondheim,” Scott said. He touched a button on the table in front of him and the curtains blocking off the rear-projection screen at the end of the room opposite the door rolled back. A map of Norway appeared, showing Soviet positions astride the center of the country in red. A second blob of red marked their bastion around Oslo, so far supplied and reinforced entirely by air.

“How the hell did they move so far, so fast?” Connally asked. “I thought the plans for the defense of Norway were solid. Haven’t they been working on them for the past fifty years, for Crissakes?”

“Not quite, Mr. President,” Secretary of Defense George Vane responded. “The planning that was put in motion fifty years ago was based on having a strong NATO alliance. Most of them became obsolete the day the Berlin Wall went down and everybody started scrambling to make friends with the Russians.”

“I’ve had about all the anti-Communist bullshit I need for today from the Senate delegation that was just upstairs, George,” Connally snapped. “I don’t need rhetoric. I need results!”

“It isn’t just rhetoric, Mr. President,” Vane said quietly. “The simple fact is that the end of the Cold War era left us behind. It’s a classic case of being ready to fight the last war when the next one rolls around.”

“Just what’s that supposed to mean?” the President asked him coldly.

“It means that we didn’t evolve new strategies fast enough to keep pace with the new political realities,” Scott amplified. “For better than forty years we were all geared for one thing — the big conventional war in Europe, with Russian tanks pouring through the Fulda Gap and the NATO allies rallying to hold them off. The situation changed, but we didn’t change with it.”

“We counted on a couple of divisions attacking the Norwegian frontier,” Vane added. “So far we’ve identified six divisions on land and the equivalent of another one operating by sea, plus a pair of divisions providing desant troops for paradrops and airmobile attacks. There are at least twice as many tactical air units available in Scandinavia as we ever projected. Without the need to support operations in Germany or elsewhere the Soviets can overwhelm Norway without even trying very hard.”

The National Security Advisor, Herbert T. Waring, spoke for the first time. “There’s also the matter of our preparedness. If this had been happening in the seventies or the eighties we would’ve been on full alert the first day of the crisis, back when it was still just a lot of saber-rattling. We would have been shuttling Marines over there as fast as we could round up the flights to carry them, and the prepositioned supplies we had around Trondheim would’ve been worth something. Norway could’ve gone just like the buildup in Saudi before Desert Storm … but we let it slip by until it was too late to act.”

“Damn it, Herb, we just can’t keep on playing policeman to the world anymore,” West said harshly. “The last Administration tried that and ended up screwing around with the budget so much that we may never get the deficit under control again. And we came within a gnat’s whisker of an all-out war in Korea … not to mention the mess in India.”

“And if we hadn’t been out there pounding the old beat,” Scott said quietly, “India and Pakistan would’ve bombed each other back to the Stone Age with nukes. The world’s too small a place for isolationism to work any more.”

“Gentlemen, this isn’t getting us anywhere!” Connally said loudly. “I didn’t ask for a political debate.”

“You wanted to know why the Russians were able to push so far,” Vane said. “You’ve just heard a few good reasons. Not all of them, by any means. Without the English, supporting Norway is damned near impossible. The nearest air base we’ve got is Keflavik in Iceland, and that’s just not enough to close the GIUK gap, much less help out in Norway.”

“You’re still pushing for that, eh, George?” Connally said, raising an eyebrow. “If it’s such a lost cause, why should we get involved now?”

“Mr. President, we’re already involved. The incident this morning — the skirmish between our aircraft and the Russian recon flight — will guarantee that much.” Scott looked grim as he spoke. “Unless you’re ready to back down publicly in front of the Russians — and I mean the whole nine yards, public apologies, acceptance of their exclusion zone, everything — then we’re in this war up to our necks as of today.”

“Do the rest of you feel this way?” Connally asked.

Vane and Waring nodded. Vincent DuVall, the Director of the CIA, shrugged. “That’s our best estimate, Mr. President,” he said.

“Well, I don’t agree,” West said. “I think all of you are a little too ready to see the old Russian bogeyman lurking in the shadows again. We could stop this crisis right now if we would just give diplomacy time to work.”

Secretary of State Robert Heideman looked up. “The Soviet Ambassador was willing to arrange a conference on Norway when I talked to him last night,” he said. “Unless this incident with the Tu-95 gets in the way, we still have a foot in the door for some kind of peaceful settlement.”

“Sure,” Vane said harshly. “And in the two or three weeks it takes to get the conference rolling, Lindstrom’s people get the crap kicked out of them and the Russians occupy the rest of Norway. When are you people in State going to wake up and smell the smog? Diplomacy works best when you can back it up with firepower. Just compare the Carter era to the Reagan years. Ronald Reagan put an end to the Cold War, Bob, even if it was Gorby who got the awards.”

“I said I didn’t want a goddamned debate!” Connally exploded. They had covered this same ground over and over again since the start of the crisis. “Admiral, when you said we needed to show the flag in the Norwegian Sea I went along with it. Now it looks like your precious career has landed us in the middle of the war. But before we go any farther I need to know just what you think those men can accomplish. You tell me Lindstrom’s not going to hold out, that without British or German help we can’t deal with the Russian invasion. So why should I let your people proceed if things are as bleak as you people have been painting them?”

“Let me answer that one, Mr. President,” Vane said. “The time has come to quit thinking in terms of incremental jumps. We can’t just keep on reacting to each new Russian move, We’ve got to take the initiative.”

“How?” West demanded.

“I think our forces should go to DefCon Two immediately,” Van said. “Start mobilizing a strike fleet and a Marine Expeditionary Brigade right away, and put the 101st and the 82nd on alert. As soon as possible we need to start putting men into Norway.”

“That’s suicide!” Heideman protested. “While they have air superiority in Scandinavia we can’t possibly get the Army in place.”

“Glad to hear you understand that much,” Vane commented coldly. “We’ll also need to ferry air units into the Bergen area as quickly as possible so we have a chance to even out the odds a little.”

“Won’t all this take time?” Connally asked.

“Absolutely. Too damned much time. It’ll take days just to get the first planes in. There weren’t that many serviceable air bases in Norway when all this started … it’ll be worse now that the Soviets have had a chance to bomb Out the runways they’ve still got. And that’s why we need the Jefferson in those waters now more than ever, Mr. President. Just by being there she’s a distraction the Soviets will have to deal with. And every day, every hour she delays the advance on Bergen by keeping the Russians occupied out at sea makes our intervention more viable.”

Connally looked around the table. His eyes found the “football” at its place next to him. “So no matter how hard we try, it comes down to all-out war,” he said quietly. “is Norway really worth the risk of a nuclear exchange?”

It was Scott who answered him. “If you’re going to ask that question, Mr. President, then you might as well be prepared to resign now and let the Soviets have the entire world. It’s easy to argue that a given country isn’t really worth all that much. Norway’s not that large or that rich. So let it fall. Then what happens? Will you risk a nuclear war over Germany? Or France? What about Great Britain? These days they aren’t even our close allies. Will you risk nuclear confrontation over our right to freedom of the seas? The Russians want to keep us out of the Norwegian Sea now. What if they renew their ties with Havana and try to restrict our access to the Caribbean next?” He pointed to the map. “The only place to draw the line is at the first victim, Mr. President. Whether you’re protecting oil in Kuwait or ice and snow in Norway. Because the only alternative is to abdicate our responsibility. Not as world policemen. As a free part of the world community. It’s too late to resist a tyrant when he’s knocking on your own door.”

Scott fell silent, and no one answered him. Finally Connally stood slowly. “Very well, you’ve made your point. Order DefCon Two, and begin drawing up a plan to support the Norwegians.” He paused. “And God help us.”