Pacific Siege

19

The official statement came through an hour after Captain Olson’s message had been delivered. He read it again to be sure he had it right.

“Admiral Kenner, Commanding, U.S. Task Force. Sir. We regret that one of our planes had an electrical and radar malfunction with the result that one of your aircraft was shot down. We offer condolences to the families of the two persons in the plane.

“We understand the immediate retaliation, and the destruction of the offending aircraft, even though the deadly accident had nothing to do with the pilot of the craft. We also have suffered a lost shipmate.

“We strongly urge that we both now maintain a separation between our aircraft. Since you were on the site first, we will relinquish the project of flying cover over the island to your aircraft. We will keep our flights offshore from the island, but in close proximity. This way there will be no reason why one force should be in the sights of the other, or that any lock-on by radar aiming should take place.

“We reserve the right to move onto the island when our seven-day grace period is over. It appears that General Nishikawa is making no preparations to leave.

“Our ships will continue to cover the area to the east of the island, and we will appreciate your recognizing this area and not interfering with our routine patrols.

“We hope that this entire situation can be cleared up with no more loss of life or equipment.”

It was signed by

“Admiral Vladimir Rostow, Russian Naval Forces Commander.”

Captain Olson took the message at once to Admiral Kenner, who had approved the wording of the complaint to the Russians less than an hour ago.

“Accident my jockstrap,” Captain Olson said when the admiral had finished reading the message. “Our pilots heard the Russian pilot of one of the other Flankers say that Sergei must have gone crazy and that the two other Flankers up there had been ordered to shoot down the one who splashed our Tomcat.”

“We’ll be lucky if that’s the only deadly confrontation we have with the Russians,” Kenner said. “This is a damn tense situation. I like the idea of keeping our forces apart this way. Tell the admiral that we accept his statement, and that we’ll cooperate on keeping our forces separated.”

“Good. I’ll write it out and you can okay it.”

Several decks below in the CDC, the watch commander looked over the shoulder of a chief manning a tactical display. This one was from their E-2C Hawkeye on station at thirty thousand feet over the fleet and monitoring anything that drove, flew, or sailed in a 250-to-350-mile radius.

“Look at that sucker go,” the commander said.

“Estimate speed of seventy knots, Commander. Damn, that’s eighty miles an hour over the water. Has to make it an air-cushion craft. The Russians have some. Last we knew, there were thirty-four of them in the Russian fleet. They could carry one in an amphibious ship if they have one in this fleet.”

“Find the specs on them,” the watch commander said. One man moved to a large book, and came back with the answers.

“Sir, they have three types, all about the same size from eighty feet to one-eighty-nine. The middle one can do seventy knots. It’s called the Aist, type one-two-three-two-point-one. Has a crew of ten, and can carry two medium tanks and two hundred troops. Range is a hundred and twenty miles at fifty knots.”

The commander reached for his phone. “That’s the picture, Admiral,” the watch commander from the CDC said. “Figured you’d want to know. The craft has turned just south of Golovnino, and is circling about a half mile offshore.”

“Thanks, Commander,” said the admiral in his quarters. “Let me know what it does next. This is no violation of our agreement with the Russians, but it’s a little pushy of them. They’re telling the little general in there that they can move in with two tanks and two hundred men anytime they want to. The hovercraft is not exactly a quiet ship.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Kenner hung up and he told Captain Olson about the call. Then the admiral took off his shoes and stretched out on a couch in his cabin.

“What worries me as much as anything is that damned OSCAR. What is a Russian submarine doing in our backyard? They have eleven of them, and the intel says five are based in the Pacific. What are they doing here?”

“We could ask Admiral Rostow,” Captain Olson said.

They both laughed. “He won’t even admit that he knows one is in the Pacific,” Admiral Kenner said.

“You know what’s missing in this whole damn scenario?” Captain Olson asked. “Where the hell is the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force? Their damn Navy? I know they have over forty destroyers, sixteen submarines, and seventeen or eighteen frigates. They could put quite a screen around this damn island. Last time I checked they had almost forty-seven thousand men in their Navy. They have all kinds of smaller craft including LCIs and LCMs and patrol craft. All of their ships have the latest and best missiles and torpedoes. So why the fuck are they sitting in port, and we’re out here on the damn firing line?”

“About time you thought of that, Irving. I had a signal on that the first day we took our orders. The Japanese Diet, their legislature, pressured the Prime Minister into ordering that none of the Self Defense Forces be used to solve this little problem. They said it wasn’t self-defense, so technically the forces could not be used.

“What it came down to was that the Japanese didn’t want their own forces shooting and killing each other. They said it could lead to a civil war.”

“So the Japs, the Japanese, just don’t want to be shooting their own people. It certainly wouldn’t lead to a civil war, that’s for sure.

Damn, sounds like a thin excuse so we would have to come yank their fucking chestnuts out of the fire again.”

A steward brought in coffee and each officer took a cup.

“Find out from TFCC what’s happening to that hovercraft,” Admiral Kenner said. “You might send one of your CAP planes down to take a closer look.”

Captain Olson went to the phone, and in a few minutes came back with the information. “From what our F-14’s say, the hovercraft probably isn’t loaded. The loaded speed is about fifty knots. It’s on a milk run, a display-only show of force.”

“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 enjoy 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.