Flame Out

CHAPTER 20

“So what you’re telling me is that we can predict what they’re going to do, but we can’t do a hell of a lot about it.” Tombstone Magruder massaged his forehead with both hands. He had been awake most of the night going over every aspect of the military situation, but all he had to show for his work was a pile of file folders on his desk and a headache ten times worse than any he’d ever suffered from G-forces in a fighter cockpit.

“I can’t speak for what we can do, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Arthur Lee replied. “But yes, we’ll see what they’re up to. Satellite recon will be able to monitor the bastards, and I’m confident we can sort out any decoy operations.”

Since the fighting the day before, Jefferson had continued on course into the Norwegian Sea, but cautiously, carefully. ASW forces had flushed six more subs in that time, with two more confirmed kills and the others either knocked out or driven off. Magruder’s involvement in the submarine-hunting had been peripheral at best, but each reported contact had brought back thoughts of Gridley’s destruction. No number of successes could erase that first disastrous failure.

Through the night hours Commander Lee had been working with Aiken’s OZ division to analyze every scrap of available intelligence data. Satellite recon images had been tracking some major Russian activity overnight, and now Lee was prepared to make solid preparations concerning enemy activity in Scandinavia.

The most noticeable development was the increased naval activity along the coast. Photographs taken by an orbiting KEYHOLE spy satellite had tracked nearly fifty ships gathering near Trondheim. Some were clearly warships, centered around the powerful helicopter cruiser Kiev. But the majority had been identified as troop carriers, ranging from two Ivan Rogov-class LSDs to a mixed bag of smaller LSTs and several freighters plainly pressed from civilian into military service. Lee had cited numerous technical points to support his contention that they were fully loaded, and that suggested that they were beginning a new campaign now that they had neutralized Keflavik and given the Jefferson battle group a bloody nose.

The possibility gained credence when taken in conjunction with activity reported around Murmansk, where elite Soviet paratroopers had been kept in reserve practically since the start of the conflict. Now they seemed to be getting ready to move out. Lee couldn’t predict where they would strike, but it was his opinion that the Soviets at this point had few options left.

“The Norwegians are dug in tight and ready for damn near anything that comes in on the ground,” Lee had said at one point. “They’re fighting the kind of war they were always supposed to fight, holding a few key passes against Russian columns that can’t push them back without unacceptable casualties. If they keep following the same basic strategy they’ve been using the Russians’ll try an end run starting near the coast. Drop a major desantniki force near a usable port, then funnel in all the amphibious troops they can manage. All of a sudden the RNA’s got a whole corps inside their lines and driving on Bergen, and that’s all she wrote.”

“If it’s that predictable, will they really try it this time?” Magruder had asked, still not entirely comfortable with the ins and outs of ground strategy and tactics.

“No guarantees, of course,” Lee had replied. “They could make maybe two other moves. One would be a major drop right behind the lines somewhere near the center of the Bergen defensive perimeter, with the idea of creating a large hole in the line that the armor could exploit. Problem with that is that Norway’s still an easy place for a defender. They run the risk of achieving nothing more than a short advance before getting bogged down all over again.”

“And the other option?” Magruder had pressed.

“Use the naval force as a decoy, then drop the paratroops behind the end of the line opposite Oslo. They’ve built up a pretty fair contingent around the capital, and a determined drive on that side supported by desant troops could lead to a nice little penetration.”

“But you don’t think that’s what they’ll try?”

“Not really. First off, that’s the longest overland route to Bergen they’ve got, and again they’re up against the defensive advantage. Number two, all their logistical support down there would have to come in by air. They’ve got air superiority now and they could have air supremacy in a few more days, but a determined offensive by the RNAF or even a spell of nasty weather could cut those troops off with virtually no supplies. They’re already at risk keeping Oslo fully supplied. I really don’t think they’d want to risk the whole offensive on something like that.” He had grinned. “Don’t forget, the Soviets’ve had experience seeing what kind of havoc a determined partisan with a hand-held Stinger can play with a well-planned op. Afghanistan’s going to haunt them the way Vietnam did our boys until the Gulf War came along.”

It all made good sense, and Magruder was willing to rely on Lee’s expert opinion. In addition to his Intelligence experience, the man had a genuine flair for strategy. He seemed able to pick out the advantages and disadvantages of just about anything the Russians chose to do. But in the end, Tombstone didn’t see that any of it would be much help.

He stopped rubbing his throbbing forehead and looked at the map again. “All right, we can spot their airdrops as they happen. The satellite coverage gives us that much. If they do what you expect, then this amphibious force will start moving in to support the parachute troops within a few hours. Assuming we can sort through whatever diversions they mount, we’ll be able to predict where they’re heading and probably their ETA. Right?”

Lee nodded. “Almost certainly. They’ll stay bunched up so the escorts can cover them from subs and missile attacks. Don’t forget, the Norwegians still have some of their navy left. But they wouldn’t be much good in a head-on fight with the Soviets.”

“Okay. That’s the good news then. The bad news is their air power. They already have a damned strong contingent of fighters and bombers from Frontal Aviation out there, and you say they’re about to reactivate Orland with more squadrons of MiGs and Sukhois.”

“It’s already in service on a limited scale, Commander,” Lee corrected. “By tomorrow they’ll be flying six or eight squadrons out of there.”

Magruder rubbed his chin. “And, of course, we’ve got their naval air to contend with. Not just as extra cover for their operations ashore, but as a direct threat to us as well. I don’t like these odds, Art.”

Lee shrugged. “I can’t do much about that, sir. I deal in facts. This is what we’ve got to work with.”

“How reliable is our coordination with the Norwegians? Can we get any help from them at all?”

“They’re pretty hard-pressed, Commander,” Lee said slowly. “You know they’ll be doing everything they can, but I expect their resources will be stretched to the limit by what they’re already up against.” He paused, studying the map with a thoughtful expression. “One thing we might do is encourage them to mount a strong raid toward Oslo, though.”

“How would that help?”

“Well, it would probably take every extra plane they’ve got, and it might not cause a whole lot of damage, but as sensitive as the air supply pipeline has to be right now, I’d say we’d draw a lot of their Frontal Aviation units away from the navy. That would also probably block them if they’d planned on an end run out of Oslo.”

“Hmph.” Magruder was still frowning. “Narrows the odds some, but not enough. I’ve got one and a half interceptor squadrons, two Hornet squadrons I can use as fighters or bombers but not both at the same time, and one squadron of Intruders that are bombers only. With that we have to make a dent in their attack force and still cover the Jeff.” Suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue, he looked away. “Hell, I don’t know the answer. I don’t think CAG could’ve covered all these bases.”

The damnable thing was that it was almost possible. If he was willing to take some risks, he could probably put together an attack that would have a shot at crippling the enemy amphib forces, but if he made one wrong step the results would make the loss of the Gridley look like a minor lapse in judgment. There were just too many variables … and Magruder wasn’t sure he could face the tough decisions that would have to be made.

If he attacked and failed, a lot of good pilots could follow Stramaglia and the others … and the Jeff herself could come under attack again. Thousands of American lives were potentially at risk.

And if he did nothing, it would be thousands of Norwegians who might die, and at the end of that road lay the ultimate victory of the Russian war in Scandinavia, with all the potential for future trouble that carried with it.

As a squadron commander, back in North Korea, Magruder had first been forced to face up to his responsibility for the life-and-death decisions that went with command. He could still remember the torment of losing Coyote when his plane went down in that first dogfight off of Wonsan. It was a lesson every leader of men learned sooner or later.

But time and rank didn’t make that lesson any less painful. As a squadron commander he’d been directly responsible for twenty or thirty lives at best, though often his own personal actions had reached far beyond that immediate circle. Now he was responsible for hundreds of lives directly, and the fate of many more could also be affected by his decisions.

“Look, Art,” he said at last. “We can’t do anything else for now. Why don’t you pack it in and get some sleep. We’ll get together and go over whatever OZ gets in later on. Okay?”

Lee looked at him with a worried expression. “You going to be all right, Commander?” he asked. “Seems like all this is hitting you pretty hard.”

“I know what I’m supposed to do, Art,” Magruder said slowly. “I just have to find out if I’ve still got the guts to do it or not. And it’s something I can only work out on my own.”

As Lee left, Magruder’s thoughts went back to North Korea. Back then issues of right and wrong, action or inaction, had all seemed so clear-cut. Now they didn’t seem so easy to resolve.

Yet that was exactly what he had to do.

Fatigue and numbing cold … gray skies and an angry gray sea … those were Coyote’s world. A part of him thought he was trapped in a dream, in the old familiar nightmare, but another part insisted that it was all too real.

The water had been icy, sucking the warmth right out of him as he struggled into the life raft and fought to control his panic. He needed a cool head to stay alive, a cool head and his survival training.

Coyote remembered cradling his RIO to him, seeing the striped helmet hanging at an impossible angle, knowing that the man was dead yet unwilling to accept it. But no … John-Boy had helped him into the raft out there in the rolling waters of the Atlantic, had helped him later when he couldn’t get his hands to work to attach the harness so that the SAR copter could hoist him aboard.

Two dreams, then … that was it. His RIO had died in the waters off North Korea, but John-Boy had lived through it to help him when he needed it. Through the fog of a half-dream other memories played against one another. The harness cutting into him as the SAR copter lifted him aboard … the mustard-colored uniforms of the Oriental soldiers dragging him onto the deck of the North Korean patrol craft … One dream blended with another until Coyote no longer knew which was which.

He remembered the prison camp, the brutal guards, the beating. They had finished with him and marched him into the yard outside, and there they had prepared him for execution. Julie … he’d held on to thoughts of Julie, and with her picture in his mind he’d accepted the idea of death, but when the guards pulled their triggers the only sound had been the snicking of bolts on empty chambers. A mock execution, designed to break him down …

Coyote came fully awake with a start, disoriented, confused, soaked with sweat. It took a long moment to get his bearings, to realize he was still in Sick Bay, safe after being fished out of the Atlantic following the ordeal of the battle with the overpowering Russian forces.

“Hey, Coyote, you okay?” John-Boy asked from the next bed, sitting up and looking concerned.

“Yeah … yeah, I’m okay,” Grant replied, knowing he sounded anything but convincing. “Just … a bad dream.”

He shuddered and turned over, unwilling to face John-Boy, but equally unwilling to go back to sleep. He had dreamed much the same dream every night for six months after the end of the Wonsan fighting. He’d spent a long time getting over Korea before finally driving himself to return to the carrier and face his fears, and in the skies over the Indian Ocean he’d proven that he still had the old edge. The dreams had come back from time to time, but over the months they had finally faded away.

Now he was dreaming again. When his Tomcat had finally given up the ghost he and John-Boy had punched out, close enough to the carrier to make a recovery fairly easy. Still, the same chill waters that had dragged Jolly Greene to his death after the crash on the flight deck had nearly claimed Coyote as well, and would have had it not been for John-Boy’s help. This time help had been close at hand, but the parallels with Korea were still vivid.

Someday his luck would run out. He would fly out on a mission and never make it back. Like Greene … or Baird … or Stramaglia.

In that camp in Korea Coyote had thought he’d made his peace with death. After the mock execution, he had truly believed that he was ready to die, and that had made it easier to endure everything that had followed. But he had been given a second life, one that included not just Julie but a new daughter and the chance to start with a clean slate.

Yet he’d come back to this life, and some day it would take him for its own. He would lose everything and the two people he cared about most would have to go on without him. He wasn’t just playing with his own life, but with theirs.

That thought hurt worst of all.

“Coyote?” He rolled over again. It was Tombstone, looking haggard and drawn with a uniform that looked like it had been slept in. “They say you check out fine, Coyote. You’ll be flying again in no time.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t muster any enthusiasm.

Magruder took a step toward him and stopped. “Hey, look, man, I wish I’d been out there with you guys. Maybe if CAG had let me go up there things would’ve been different.”

“Sure,” Grant said. “You’d be dead and he’d be alive. Hell of a trade, huh?”

After their confrontation outside CAG’s office Coyote had cooled down enough to realize that Magruder hadn’t deliberately turned his back on him, but the gulf between them was still there. Even as tired as Tombstone plainly was, Coyote could see that same wistfulness in his friend’s eyes. Magruder wanted to recapture something in the past, something he’d lost … the same thing Coyote still had but would gladly have given up in exchange for the chance to live in peace with his family. That gap between the two men could only get wider the way things were going now.

Tombstone forced a feeble smile and broke the long, awkward silence. “Hey, look, the least you can do is try to bribe me to give you a good efficiency report. I mean, what’s the good of being best buddy to your new CAG if you don’t use it, huh?”

“Damn it, Stoney, leave me alone!” Coyote exploded. “Just leave me the hell alone!”

Magruder took a step back, as if recoiling from a blow, and his face grew hard. “I would if I could,” he said harshly. “I’m sorry you seem to think I’ve suddenly become the enemy or something. I never wanted that.” He paused. “I came down here because I needed you. I was thinking about Korea, and I realized how much our friendship always meant to me, how it helped keep me sane sometimes. But even if I can’t have your friendship anymore, I still need you. We’re up against it, Will, and I need help sorting out what to tell the admiral.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Grant said quietly. He wanted to say something more, to try to explain or apologize, whatever it would take to get past the empty look in Tombstone’s eyes. But Magruder didn’t give him the chance.

“That dogfight yesterday … it was a good trap, but it didn’t work. The Russians screwed up and didn’t finish you guys off when they probably could have. I want to know why. If we end up going up against them again, I need to be able to make them screw up again and give us a chance to win. Without some kind of edge we’ll never pull it off.”

“What do you want from me?” Coyote asked. “We fought, we got our asses kicked, the cavalry showed up. That’s all I know.”

“Come on, Will. You were up there in that dogfight. In command, for all intents and purposes. I wasn’t there, and all I’ve got to go on are the reports from the Hawkeye and a few vague ideas. Why did the Russians pull those planes out?”

He shrugged, unable or unwilling to come to grips with the question himself. “Ask Batman. Or Ears.”

“God damn it, Will, I’m asking you! It’s your instincts I need. Your nose for tactics. The Hawkeye report makes it look like they pulled those planes out because our Hornets were forming up over Jeff. Was that it? Were they screening their carrier, or did they just think they didn’t need the overkill to take you guys out? Come on, you must have had some kind of feel for how they were doing. If they were screening their carrier, that means there’s at least one bastard out there who can be bluffed into pulling in his horns on cue. But if it was just a miscalculation of how much strength they needed up there …”

Grant sat up slowly, frowning, forcing himself to relive the dogfight. “They were doing pretty good,” he said. “They frightened off Tyrone and nailed Trapper. Then the Sukhois bugged out …” He hesitated. “But we’d been doing okay ourselves. If I’d been in charge I wouldn’t have sent off a third of my planes then. Not unless I had to.”

Magruder looked animated for the first time since he had appeared. “You don’t think it was just a mistake then?”

“Hell, no,” Coyote answered, trying to muster a smile but failing. “Whoever was in charge up there knew what the hell he was doing. No doubt about it. That bright boy wouldn’t just let go of a whole squadron unless some bigger boy made him. And the only reason I can see for that would be to cover their carrier.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Magruder said. “Thanks, Will … and, uh … I’m sorry. But I needed to know, and you’re still the one whose judgment I know I can trust.”

“I wish I could,” Coyote muttered. But Magruder was gone, leaving him alone with bitter thoughts.

“It still doesn’t sound good, Commander,” Tarrant said heavily. Across the table, Magruder seemed to slump. The man was plainly dead on his feet, and even though he looked freshly shaven and was dressed in a crisp new uniform, it was obvious he’d been up all night.

That made his report that much more disturbing. Tarrant knew Magruder had done his best, but he just didn’t have enough of a safety margin in his calculations to convince the admiral that they could do any good.

It was frustrating. Magruder and his Intelligence Officer had some good ideas for pinning down a large chunk of the Soviet air arm to allow an Alpha Strike to get through, but the carrier’s slender resources just wouldn’t support it. After all, the only way to draw off the Soviet air carrier involved a convincing diversion against the carrier itself, so that meant spreading American resources among at least three different missions.

“If we could just deal with Orland,” Magruder was muttering darkly. “We might manage it then …”

Tarrant shook his head. “That’s easy enough, Commander. I don’t even need your planes to take out Orland. No, the real problem is getting enough of a strike in on both the carrier and the landing ships without leaving us so vulnerable that we can’t hold out. We can’t count on hitting them with surface-launched missiles, because Red Banner Northern Fleet’s got enough missile defenses to handle whatever we throw their way. Our only real hope of getting to either target is to get in close with manned aircraft that have a shot at evading their ship-mounted SAMs. But if we keep a squadron to cover the battle group I just don’t see enough planes left to cover two strike forces and carry enough Harpoons and bombs to do any damage.”

Magruder was nodding slowly. “That’s what I was afraid of, Admiral. If we just had a few more planes … Tomcats to cover the Jeff, one squadron of Hornets to bomb the troopships, one to ride cover …”

“And you end up sending the Intruders in on Soyuz without an escort. It’s suicide.” Tarrant shook his head. “No, unless you can come up with another squadron by magic, we’re stumped. I think our only choice now is to steer toward Iceland, make it look like we’re trying to skirt their fleet and get in behind them or something. Maybe that’ll draw off Soyuz and enough of Red Banner Northern Fleet to give the Norwegians a shot at doing something themselves.” He sighed. “It was a good effort, Commander. Don’t blame yourself over circumstances beyond your control.”

“Yes, sir,” Magruder said dully.

“If we’re going to head any further north I’ll want the ASW patrols increased. We’ll be moving out of the SOSUS net soon and I want the sub threat covered. That means more work for your Vikings, but-“

“Vikings?” There was a gleam in Magruder’s eyes. “Hold on a minute, Admiral. There’s one idea we didn’t explore …”