Joint Operations

FOURTEEN

Aside from launching the rest of her USW assets and moving further out to sea, there was little that Jefferson could do about the enemy sub that had the sheer audacity to launch weapons at the carrier. The contact was clearly inside Centurion’s zone of safety, and while Jefferson could patrol the edges of that zone, no weapons could be launched inside the box. There was too much danger of taking out the Centurion instead of the Chinese boat. As much as he wanted to throw every torpedo he had into the water, Batman was forced to stand back and let the sub do her job. Besides, he had other things to worry about right now.

The compartment was beginning to smell of too many people too long between showers. Batman surreptitiously checked the odor emitted by his own armpits and winced. No matter — they’d all been there before, and a little body odor wasn’t going to keep anyone from doing their duty.

And he was willing to bet that the guy on the other end of the SINCGAAR line smelled even worse. Yet, there was not even a trace of exhaustion in the calm, confident voice coming over the circuit.

“Nukes — no doubt about it. The Chinese have demanded that we withdraw from the area or they’ll detonate one on the CINCPACFLEET compound. Sir, there’s no doubt in my military mind that they mean it.” There was no panic in the SEAL’s voice, just sheer, gritty determination. “Give us twelve hours, Admiral. I think we can solve this problem.”

Batman swore silently, then picked up the mike. “You have RADIAC equipment?”

“Negative, sir. But we’ve got other intelligence that tells us it’s stashed in a truck. We know where to look, and we know what we’re doing. It’s not like there’s many other options, sir. As long as they’ve got that nuke ground zero at CINCPACFLEET, we’re short on options.”

No mention of the hostages, Batman noted. It gave him a brief chill. But the SEAL officer was right — the probability was not high that anyone located within the compound would survive the conflict, anyway. Odds were that when the Chinese got ready to pull out — and pull out they would eventually — the hostages would be executed. There was little or nothing that they could do about that, but they could lose that battle and still win the war. And the key to that was eliminating the nukes.

Air superiority — that was the other problem, Batman reflected wearily, running one hand over the slightly gritty, greasy skin on his forehead. No matter which way he turned the problem, he didn’t see much of a way around having to engage the Chinese directly over the city. And that meant casualties, lots of casualties, and most of them civilians. There was absolutely no way to evacuate the island, especially not after the demonstration of power involving the airliner as they’d taken possession of the island. No, the people that were on the ground would have to remain there for the duration, although Batman would do his damnedest to try to avoid collateral damage.

“Twelve hours, you say?” Batman asked again.

“Yes, sir. If we’re not clear by then, the admiral may wish to consider a surgical strike on the compound itself. Kill the bomb the hard way.” No trace of fear showed in the SEAL’s voice.

Batman ran the list of hostages’ names through his mind again, recognizing that most of them were old and dear friends. They’d all started out together in the Navy, some in the surface pipeline, some in the air pipeline. But the more senior you got, the fewer peers you had, and he knew each one of those men well. Could he order their death?

Of course he could, just as he ordered pilots into the air every day, knowing that they might not come back. But this had a different feel, that the men on the ground would die without having a chance to fight back. “Twelve hours,” he said finally. “After that, we’re coming in.”

Batman clicked the microphone off and then hauled himself out of the elevated chair that was his in the center of TFCC. “I’ll be in the conference room if you need me,” he said to the TAO. “Get the rest of my staff in there.”

Adele felt the deep, hard ache in her muscles as she wielded the paddle. They’d only been at it for thirty minutes, yet the aircraft carrier seemed no closer than it had when they’d started. The seas were running against them, not a good sign. Yet Jack’s face was a mask of grim determination as he relentlessly dipped, pulled, and swung the paddle back over for another stroke. The muscles in his back bulged, and Adele could tell from the slight angle on the lifeboat’s bow that he was doing more work than she was. She threw herself into paddling with renewed determination.

Aircraft and helicopters from the carrier were filling the air over them. At first she thought that they were the rescue forces, but Jack explained that they were all anti-submarine assets. They might catch the attention of one of the pilots, but rescuing the Simpsons would take a distant second place to tracking down the sub.

Suddenly, Jack stopped paddling. He leaned over the rubberized bow and peered at the water ahead. Then he turned back to Adele, an expression of disbelief on his face. “There’s someone in the water ahead,” he said.

“Another boater?” Adele asked.

Jack turned forward, then motioned at her to keep paddling, picking up his own paddle at the same time. “We have to pick him up,” Jack said. “Of course we do.”

Adele groaned when she saw how far off their course the rescue mission would take them. Every foot lost in the battle against the waves was a foot that would have to be regained later if they were to make safe haven at the aircraft carrier. Yet Jack was right. The international law of good seamanship said that every vessel — and that would include their life raft — was obligated to assist in rescue-at-sea operations. She put too much force into her next stroke, broke the rhythm of the movement of the boat through the water, and silently offered up a prayer and a request for forgiveness.

Within five minutes, they closed on the figure in the water. Adele could see that he was almost unconscious, floating partially on his back and held aloft by a personal flotation device. She slowed her strokes in time with Jack’s as he maneuvered the life raft upwind of the figure. When they were within ten feet, she gasped.

“He’s — he’s Chinese!” she said.

Jack nodded but didn’t answer. She saw his knuckles turn white on the paddle.

And what the hell were they supposed to do with a Chinese? Had he been part of the crew responsible for directing the submarine to attack them? Had he fueled an aircraft that now flew over Hawaii, or loaded the weapons that had killed so many already?

She could tell that Jack was going through the same thought process. Finally, he sighed, and laid his paddle down in the boat. “Hold me steady,” he ordered.

Adele dipped the paddle into the water with delicate sculls, holding position on the man in the water. Jack leaned over the rubberized side and grabbed the man by the back of the personal flotation device. She saw him jerk upward, drawing the man partially out of the water, the corded muscles along his back and arms standing out like iron. With one final, massive heave, he pulled the man into the lifeboat.

The man was on the smallish side, even for a Chinese. His eyes were half closed, his face badly burnt and blistered. He was talking quietly, mumbling, incomprehensible in his native language. Jack ran his hands over the body, checking for breaks or wounds. Finally, he leaned back on his heels and said, “He’s been out here a couple of days, I’d say. Amazing that the sharks didn’t get him. Nothing seriously wrong that I can find with him, other than exposure and dehydration.”

“I wish the sharks had gotten him,” Adele said bitterly.

“I know.” Jack gazed off into the distance, as if wrestling with his own conscience. Finally, he sighed. “Well, they didn’t. And he’s here now.” He reached behind him and drew out a water bottle. He uncapped it carefully, then tilted the mouth of it up to the sailor’s lips.

Fresh water cascaded across the man’s burnt and swollen lips, and the sensation appeared to revive him slightly. His eyes were slightly wider open, and with an effort, his eyes focused on them. He tried to lift one hand to assist and hold the bottle, but he was too weak. Jack shook his head, said, “No, just drink.”

Jack held the bottle at the man’s lips and gently sloshed the water into his mouth. The man started coughing, deep, chest-wrenching spasms that kept him from drinking. Finally, when the last cough subsided, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and motioned for the water bottle again. This time, he was able to take small sips. Jack held the water back when he tried to drink too deeply all at once.

“Slow at first, fella,” Jack said. “You drink too much too fast and it’ll all come back up again.”

The man reached for the bottle again, this time taking smaller sips. Jack poured some onto a cloth and wiped it gently over the man’s face. Then he applied an antiseptic ointment to treat the sunburn. “He needs medical care,” Jack remarked. His gaze drifted away from the man and back to the Jefferson, still so far away. “And there’s only one place to get it.” With a sigh, he picked up his paddle again.

Adele picked up hers as well, already feeling the blisters rising on her palm. The man said a few words in his own language that she could not understand. But the meaning was clear from the tone of his voice. Thank you sounded the same in just about any language, no matter what words were used. She nodded in response, but refused to look at him.

“Do you speak English?” Jack asked him.

“Yes.” The word was soft and hesitant. “I understand better, but I can speak.”

“Which ship are you from?”

The sailor rolled over to a sitting position and pointed at a ship in the distance. It was the massive vessel that Lab Rat had called the Rising Sun.

The room boiled with seething frustration, coming equally from Batman’s staff and the pickup crew Tombstone had brought along. Tombstone stepped to the head of the table, greeted the two senior flag officers, then said, “All right, people. We need a plan, and we need it now.” He briefly sketched in the details reported by the SEAL team on the ground and concluded with, “I want some options. Everything from soup to nuts, people. We don’t know what we’re going to be ordered to do, and I sure as hell would like to have a plan that doesn’t require me to send MiGs down in flames right over the city.”

There was silence for a moment, then the army general spoke up. “Sooner or later, we’re going to have to put troops on the ground. Air power alone never wins a war, regardless of what you’ve been told about Kosovo.”

Batman nodded. “Point well taken, General. But before we start transshipping troops, we’re going to want to have air superiority.” He pointed at Tombstone. “My old lead is going to have to worry about the bigger picture, along with the rest of your team. My question at this point is how do we most effectively use our air power under these circumstances?”

“Where is the amphib ship, Batman?” Tombstone asked. “How many days before we can have troops in the area?”

“They should be in area tomorrow,” Batman replied. He glanced over at his Marine commander to confirm the information, who nodded. “How and when we deploy them is another matter altogether.”

General Haynes chimed in with, “The Marines can take the beach, but we’re going to have to have regular Army to secure the rest of the island, I suspect.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the Marine countered. “As long as we can keep the division from getting ashore, we ought to be able to handle it. The airport is the key, along with the communications center. Once we control the airport, we can bring in your additional assets as needed.” He paused for a moment, then admitted grudgingly, “Sure wouldn’t hurt to have some of your urban warfare folks, though.”

Haynes smiled grimly. “You’ll get them.”

The discussion that followed centered on the logistics involved in first securing air superiority and simultaneously denying the Chinese amphibious forces access to the beach. Tombstone was struck by the cold professionalism that developed so quickly. Just hours before, they’d been strangers, but in almost no time, when confronted by an operational problem, they’d melded into one of the finest fighting teams he’d ever seen.

And he’d picked them. Along with General Haynes, of course, but it was essentially his team, his planning that brought just the right combination of characters, specialties, and training together. He was the one who led the problem solving, drawing out opinions from the quiet special forces intelligence officer they’d picked up, tamping down the exuberant Air Force KC-135 pilot when he got out of hand, mining the depths of Hannah Green’s seemingly bottomless wealth of information, guiding the discussion and making the decisions at the key points. He had been the one to give Coast Guard Captain Henry full go-ahead on what had seemed like a risky scheme. In the end, although he was drawing on the talent of the men and women he’d assembled, it was his war.

He felt a surge of vindication, and wondered a moment at its source. Then it came to him, dawning gradually with a sweet feeling. Tomboy’s comments about needing a combat pilot rather than a planner had cut deeper than he’d thought. Yet, he had to admit, she’d been right. And now, looking at the results of his work, he knew that what he did was just as valuable — more so, in the long run — than strapping his ass into the cockpit of a Tomcat and howling off toward the horizon with his hair on fire.

Finally, Tombstone cut off the discussion with a wave of his hand. He leaned forward over the cheap metal table, his elbows planted firmly on it, his dark, somber eyes burning in his tired face. “I don’t see any way around it, Batman,” he said softly. “The Chinese are using our desire to avoid collateral damage against us. As long as they think we are afraid to act, our hands are tied. So, at least in this room, I think we need to come to a conclusion about that. In the end, it’s going to be sheer, brute force air power that wins the day in this one.”

Batman sat silent for a moment, then nodded. “We’re going to take some civilian casualties,” he said heavily. There were a few groans around the room, and Batman quelled them with a harsh look. “I don’t like it any better than you do, but until we come up with another plan, there’s no choice.”

“We wait until the nuke is neutralized, then we pound them out of the air.” Batman slammed one hand down on the table. “If I get enough tanking support, I can run every one of those little bastards back all the way to the mainland. And by God, that’s just what I intend to do.”

“We have to consider the possibility that the nuke may be detonated as well,” Lab Rat said. A horrified hush fell over the room. Lab Rat shrugged. “We’re trying to consider all scenarios, right? Well, I’d say it’s a little premature to assume that the SEALs will pull this off.” He held up one hand to forestall protest. “I’m not saying they won’t, mind you. God knows that particular team has pulled off the impossible too many times for me to count them out entirely. Still, we’re dealing with an enemy that may not hesitate to waste that many of its people to prove a point. When it comes right down to it, we have to be able to take the hit and keep on ticking.” He glanced around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes with his own stern look. “What I mean is, we need to completely assess our EMP hardening. Take the precautions now that you would in the event of an actual detonation. Be ready for it, people. I’m not going to say it’s going to happen, but if it does and we’re not prepared, it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Tombstone sighed heavily. Had it come to this? Contemplating the detonation of nuclear weapons on American soil? He shook his head, trying to pretend he didn’t believe it was possible, but he’d dealt with the Chinese too many times in too many scenarios to believe otherwise. In the Spratly Islands, they’d killed their own people just to make it look like they were under attack. In too many theaters of war around the world, he’d seen the difference in the mentality between the Chinese and the American forces. The use of the manned torpedoes, for instance. Even the Russians were more understandable than the inscrutable Chinese.

“Perhaps,” a small voice said from the back of the room. Tombstone turned to see who had spoken. It was his Air Force tanker toad. “Perhaps, sir — Admiral, I mean — well… I can coordinate the tanking problem for you,” the Air Force guy continued. “I speak the language, sir. I’ll put gas in your sky all day long if you want. But on the other thing — well, the Chinese are new to this whole carrier aviation thing, aren’t they? And they’re flying VSTOL aircraft, not conventional launch, right?”

“Stating the obvious, young man?” Batman asked.

“Maybe so, sir,” the Air Force officer said, his voice gaining confidence. “But a lot of this is foreign to me. Right now, I’m the best example of ignorance you’ve got on this boat. Ship,” he corrected hastily when another Navy officer jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “Anyway, I was thinking about the last time Pearl Harbor was attacked, and some of the strategies used then. I think, knowing what I’ve heard about your ships and your aircraft, that there might be a way to lure them out into the open.”

Tombstone and Batman exchanged incredulous looks, then Tombstone said in a suspiciously mild voice, “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve got in mind?”

The Air Force officer did, sketching in a broader plan, then filling in details as he went along. Soon other staff members were chiming in, and a murmur of excitement grew in the room.

Finally, Tombstone cut off the discussion and turned to Batman. “You know, we pulled something like this before. It worked out then, didn’t it?”

Batman nodded. “Damned if it didn’t. But what makes you think it will work twice in a row?”

“Because it has to.” Tombstone turned back to the assembled group. “It’s a go.”

As the minutes turned into hours, their passenger steadily regained consciousness. By the time she could tell that they were finally making some progress toward the aircraft carrier, Adele could tell that his eyes were focused, he was paying attention, and he understood what they were trying to do. He took small sips of water, carefully rationing it, and offering it every so often to one of the others. He’d made motions as though he would take her place in rowing, but he was clearly too weak to be able to do so. Adele thought she detected a note of relief in his face when she refused his gestures.

The aircraft carrier seemed to grow larger all at once, and she could see the fine details on the side of it, the rivets holding the plates to the strakes, men moving around inside the hangar bay, and the discharge of water from scuppers located along the edge of the flight deck. How had they managed to gain on it so fast? And then suddenly the explanation struck her. Jack must have known it all along. Of course, the aircraft carrier was not stationary in the ocean, waiting for their poor little life boat to make its approach on her. She’d been maneuvering the entire time, at first steaming away from them, and now coming at an angle toward them. How stupid of her not to have figured that out — no wonder it had seemed that they were making no progress toward the carrier. Now, however, it was a different story.

“Got the flares out?” Jack asked.

She held up one for his inspection. “Right here.”

He took it from her, and started to light it. “No guarantee that they’ll break off what they’re doing and come pull us out of the drink,” he said, watching her face carefully for any trace of fear.

“I know that.” Involuntarily, her eyes strayed to their passenger. Not everyone was as diligent about following the rules at sea. But dammit, they were American citizens, and they had lost their boat while trying to protect the aircraft carrier. Surely that ought to rate some consideration for pulling them out of the drink.

But the aircraft carrier didn’t know that the two — make that three — occupants of the international orange lifeboat on their beam were the same ones that their intelligence department had been speaking with earlier. The cell phone had been one of the casualties of the sinking.

The helicopter that had been trailing behind the aircraft carrier now took a slight tack toward them. It maintained its distance, hovering in the air approximately six thousand yards away. Adele could see the glint of sunlight off the canopy, off binoculars peering out at her.

Jack put the flare aside and picked up the flashlight. He blinked out SOS, the international signal for distress, and then the Morse code word for medical. There was no response from the helicopter.

For a moment, Adele despaired. Then, as she watched, another helicopter launched from the deck of the aircraft carrier.

Of course the plane guard helo wouldn’t conduct SAR, not when flight operations were under way. Safe recovery of the air crew was the helo’s first priority. The helo had vectored over to take a quick look at them, and then had clearly reported its findings back to the carrier for dispatch of a second helicopter.

Fifteen minutes later, a second helicopter was hovering over them. The air crew lowered a horse collar, and a swimmer dropped into the water beside them to assist them into it. One by one, they were winched up into the belly of the helo.

“Anyone hurt?” an air crewman shouted at her, striving to be heard over the noise of the helicopter.

“Exposure,” she shouted back, pointing at their passenger.

The air crewman did a double take as he noted the identity of the sunburned, exhausted passenger. She saw his lips form into an O, as if he were whistling. “Friend of yours?” he asked.

In brief, shouted phrases, she relayed how they had managed to pick him up out of the ocean, and filled him in on their earlier communications with the carrier. She saw comprehension dawn on his face, and one hand stole up involuntarily to cross himself. After she’d finished, the air crewman left them with the corpsman and made his way forward to talk to the pilot. She could see the pilot glance back at them, then pick up the microphone.

The air crewman came back to them. “Be a translator waiting for us when we land, ma’am.”

She nodded, vaguely irritated that the status of their passenger was of more interest to the aircraft carrier than the rescue of its two spies. Still, she could understand their concern.

As they settled onto the deck of the aircraft carrier and a crew of people came rushing out to meet them, Adele noticed a small boat tied to the stern of the carrier. It was smaller than Heaven Can Wait, but she had a foreboding feeling as she looked at it.