Pacific Siege

20

Admiral Kenner listened to the radio operator calling for the Russian admiral. He felt as if he was stuck in mud up to his knees and trying to run. Everything slowed down — even the voices seemed to drag out each word to ridiculous lengths. One of the techs looked at him.

“Admiral, I have a later report. The Russian destroyer has closed to sixteen thousand, five hundred yards, and is continuing on course at thirty-two knots.”

The admiral closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, I heard. There’s just not a damn thing I can do about it right now.” The radio man handed him a mike. “We have the Russian admiral, sir.”

“Admiral Rostow, why is your destroyer threatening our outer screen? Your ship is on a collision course with one of our destroyers.

Do we have to fire at it to get your attention?”

“Admiral Kenner,” the English translator said. “Our ship is in the open sea with the rights of passage. Have we in any way threatened your destroyer? We have not. Our ship is simply on a maneuver to test its crew. We have meant no threat to your fleet.”

“Admiral Rostow, you have a strange way of showing it. Have your destroyer turn away or, at fifteen thousand yards range, we will open fire on it.”

“Admiral Kenner, you are not on your most diplomatic behavior. It may take some time to contact the captain of the Bespokoiny, but we will attempt to contact her. You will hold your fire, yes?”

Admiral Kenner set his jaw and slammed his hand down on the worktable. He keyed the mike again. “Admiral Rostow. You undoubtedly are in voice contact with the Bespokoiny at this very moment. We will open fire if your destroyer comes within fifteen thousand yards of our destroyer.”

There was no return comment.

“How close is the Russian ship?” Admiral Kenner asked.

“Sixteen thousand, sir. Same speed.”

“Read off the distance every one hundred yards.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

They waited. Everyone in the TFCC watched the display screen. The line kept moving toward the destroyer Callahan. Admiral Kenner closed his eyes and took two deep breaths.

“Fifteen thousand, five hundred, Admiral. Same speed. No change in course.”

“Contact the Callahan. Authorize one star shell to be fired over the approaching Russian ship when it reaches the fourteen-thousand-nine-hundred-yard range.”

The message was sent to the American destroyer.

CAG Olson slipped into the TFCC and watched the developments. He looked at Admiral Kenner, but didn’t speak.

The chief looked up from his screen. “Fifteen thousand yards, sir.”

Less than a minute later word came on the tac frequency.

“We have fired one star shell from the Callahan above the approaching Russian destroyer. It is red in color. The time is 2242.”

Admiral Kenner touched a bead of moisture on his forehead. He looked at the screen.

“Range, fourteen thousand, seven hundred. The Russian ship is starting a starboard turn, Admiral.”

Kenner could feel the tension break in the TFCC. Captain Olson looked at him, gave a short nod, then left the room.

“Well done, Chief. I’ll expect an after-action report on this incident on my desk by zero-eight-hundred.”

“Yes, sir. Looks like the Russian is doing a one-eighty, Admiral.

She’s probably going back to her screening position with the fleet.”

Murdock didn’t hear about the Russian destroyer probe until the next morning at breakfast. It reminded him of the way the Indian warriors used to harass their enemies in the Wild West when they had someone surrounded. A dozen warriors would ride hard and fast directly at the enemy, then just out of range they would whirl, screech, and yell, and then ride back the way they had come.

It was a chess game here as well, one side testing the other. The star shell was a great response. It showed ability and intent without killing anyone or damaging any hardware.

Murdock checked with communications, but they had no word for him from Washington, D.C.

“When a message comes in, we’ll get it delivered to you at once, sir,” the chief on duty said. “I’ll bring it up myself.”

Murdock opened the door to their assembly room at 0800 and found all of his crew on hand.

“Nothing yet, no orders. I want every man to break down his personal weapon, clean and oil it, and make sure all of his equipment is packed and ready to roll. We might get an hour’s notice, it could be four hours, or maybe fifteen minutes. The more time we can save here means more dark time on the island.”

“If we go,” Colt Franklin cracked.

“We’ll go,” Murdock said. “Stroh guaranteed it.”

“Oh, yeah, now there is a hidebound, genuine, fucked-up guarantee if I’ve ever heard one,” Jaybird Sterling said. Half the men hooted their approval.

After the shouts died out, Jaybird grinned. “Okay, you sad-asses, let’s get at it. Breakdown and cleaning. Go.”

Murdock left, and checked the commo shack again.

Nothing. He stopped by the TFCC, and watched the input from the dozens of radar scanners. One of the techs gave a yell.

“Commander, you better take a look at this,” the chief said to the watch commander. “We’ve got a ship moving down the coast again, just like that hovercraft did yesterday. Not so fast — say, fifty knots — hugging the shore.”

“What’s his range?”

“About fifteen klicks. Nothing firm yet.”

“Keep on it, I’ll call the admiral.”

Five minutes later Admiral Kenner and the CAG watched the progress of the line on the screen.

“Definitely slower,” Admiral Kenner said. “Captain, have one of your cover guys take a look and see if it’s manned this time.”

The order went out, and Tom Two soon reported back from the sky over Kunashir Island.

“This is Tom Two, Home Base. That’s a Roger. Dropping down now to take a snoop.”

In the TFCC, they waited, watching the thin line representing the hovercraft move south along the coastline.

“They can’t think they’re fooling anyone,” Captain Olson said.

“They have their surveillance command-control planes up too. They know we can see the ship.”

“Another bluff maybe?” the watch commander said.

“We’ll see soon,” Admiral Kenner said.

“Home Base, this is Tom Two.”

“Go ahead, Tom Two.”

“Just made a pass over the craft. She’s a hovercraft, all right.

The stern loading hatch is open and I see what looks like a tank in there. She’s covered on top, so can’t be sure if she has more tanks.”

“Take another go-round, Tom Two. Look for troops topside.”

They waited. CAG Olson scratched his head. “Admiral, if they are loaded, and if they do get to a spot where they could make a landing near the captured town, what should we do?”

“That’s an easy one, CAG. If they turn and head for shore, your Tomcats are to splatter six rounds of twenty-millimeter across their bow.”

“If that doesn’t stop them?”

“Then you have another follow-on Tomcat put four rounds into the elevated wind propellers. Put her dead in the water, but with enough power to keep afloat and killing as few Russians as possible.” CAG nodded, and talked to the two Tomcats.

“Tom One and Tom Two. Any more intel on the hovercraft?”

“Home Base, the hatch is now closed so we can’t see the tank. Spot no troops anywhere on the craft.”

“Thanks, Tom One. I have a mission for you.” The CAG gave them the orders. “The second he turns toward shore on a landing run, one of you has to be in position to do the bow firing. First one across gives them the warning shots. If they don’t stop, the second one blasts those stern air propellers with four to six rounds of your best twenties.”

Both pilots acknowledged the orders.

Murdock stood to one side watching it all. At last he spotted the marks on the screen that showed where the Tomcats were flying. Both moved closer to the small town on the Pacific side of the island.

Time crept by for Murdock. He watched the lines on the screen, the blips of the planes. Then he saw the hovercraft line turn toward shore.

“The hovercraft has turned toward shore. You have weapons free on the twenties, Tom One and Tom Two,” the CAG said on the radio.

“That’s a Roger. Tom Two making my warning run.”

Lieutenant Jerome Wilcox lined up his Tomcat F-14 so he had a small lead on the hovercraft, then nosed down and put his finger on the trigger for the 20mm cannon rounds.

He pointed the nose of the F-14 just ahead of the Russian Hovercraft and hit the trigger for a ten-round burst. He saw some of the rounds explode on the water forty feet ahead of the small craft; then he was pulling up the Tomcat less than a hundred feet off the Pacific waves.

“Tom Two. I fired approximately ten rounds in front of the target.”

“This is Tom One, Home Base. Looks like the craft is not changing course. It’s about a quarter of a mile off shore.”

“Tom One, you have weapons free on the twenty-mike-mike rounds.

Hit those aboveboard air propellers if you can.”

“Roger that, moving into position.”

Lieutenant (j. g.) Ronson flexed his fingers and pulled the into a flanking attack on the hovercraft. He felt sweat bead on his forehead.

He’d never fired at a Russian boat before. Hell, he’d never fired at anything that had human beings on it. He could very well kill several men in the next few moments.

He pushed that out of his mind, and flew the bird. He came up on the hovercraft, angled slightly to keep it in his sights, then nosed down and began his strafing run. He’d been the best at this in his squadron on target practice. This was just another target.

His hand gripped the trigger, and he decided to fire on this side of the stern and across it over the four huge air propellers, and then put some rounds beyond just to be sure.

Lieutenant Ronson wanted to wipe sweat out of his eyes. He didn’t.

Then it was time. He nosed down a little more, knowing he was dangerously close to the water. He hit his mark, and pressed the trigger. He saw the first few rounds hit the water on this side of the Russian hovercraft, then rake across the deck and explode on at least the first double set of pusher/puller propellers before he was past the target and pulling out of the dive slowly, yet staying above the spray of the waves below.

“Tom One, Home Base. Firing mission completed.

“The target is slowing, Home Base,” Tom Two said. “Tom Two over her now. I can see that she took several hits. The big air props are winding down. One looks half blown away.”

“Good shooting, Tom One. This is Home Base. The hovercraft is now dead in the water.”

“Home Base, Tom One. She seems to be getting under way again, slowly but reversing course. I say again, the Russian hovercraft seems to be reversing course heading north.”

“That’s affirmative, Tom One. Our plot shows she’s now moving back toward her fleet. Observe but don’t follow beyond ten klicks.”

“That’s a Roger, Home Base.”

CAG Captain Olson looked at the admiral. “At least we didn’t sink her. Could have. You’ll probably be getting a message from your buddy Admiral Rostow.”

Admiral Kenner shook his head. “Don’t think so, CAG. He tried a bold move to get his attackers inside and it didn’t work. He’ll have to lick his wounds and try for a stealth move by night. No, I don’t think that we’ll hear a peep out of our Russian Naval officer friend.”

The admiral turned to Murdock. “You hear anything from your man in Washington yet about a go for your team?”

“Not a word, Admiral. Today, I hope.”

“Be best. You said you think the Russian commandos will be sent in tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Sir. We need to go in tonight to get there first.” On the Russian island of Kunashir, in the small village of Golovnino, Japanese General Raiden Nishikawa stared in delight as he saw the Russian hovercraft take the strafing by the American fighters. He cheered as it stopped and then turned slowly and moved back toward the north at no more than ten knots.

His second in command had been with him on an inspection of the security outposts, and both had seen the warning rounds, then the attack on the boat.

“They were going to land?” Major Hitachi asked.

“Yes. I’m sure they wanted to. That class hovercraft can carry a tank, maybe two, and at least two hundred combat soldiers. We were lucky today that the United States drove them away.” Nishikawa shook his head, and stared at the retreating hovercraft making less of a spray of water than when it had arrived at what he guessed had to be over thirty-five knots.

“But tonight, after dark. What is going to happen then? We still have three days on the seven day deadline. But the Russians were ready to violate their own limit by invading us today. What will they do tonight? We must be especially alert as soon as darkness falls.”

Murdock returned to the compartment as soon as he talked with the admiral in the TFCC. The SEALs had finished with cleaning, checking, and oiling their weapons. Each man had his gear laid out for inspection, mostly so each one could check and double-check to be sure he had with him what he wanted on the mission.

Murdock went to his table, and laid out his gear again. Yes, it was all there. They would not take the big, heavy Mark 23 H&K .45-caliber pistol. He wanted the men able to move quickly.

A sailor came in the door and looked around. When he saw Murdock, he went up to him and held out an envelope.

“Commander Murdock?”

“Right. I hope you bring good news.”

The man grinned and hurried out of the room.

Murdock tore open the envelope and read the typed-out message.

The ready room’s chatter tapered off as one after another of the SEALs saw the messenger and wondered what the message would say.

Murdock read it quickly, and looked up. “We have a go.”

The room exploded with cheering and stomping, then quieted again.

“Stroh says we got past the Japanese Prime Minister with the EAR weapons. He hopes to hell that they work. He also said that he figures we’ll have to take our regular weapons in, but he won’t be telling the Prime Minister about that. Looks like Dewitt and I better go see the admiral.”

By the time they tracked the admiral down in his quarters, it was a little after 1100.

The admiral already knew of the go.

“Your PBRs are already on board. You can load them with your IBSs and get them lashed down while they are in the hold. Then they’ll go out a hatch near the waterline and you can board them. What’s your time schedule?”

“Sir, dark here is about seventeen hundred. How far from shore and the town are we?”

“I checked. We’re fifteen miles off shore and about five miles south of the town. The PBRs will do twenty-four knots. If you leave here an hour before dark, you should have plenty of time to get offshore a mile at dark and get into your IBSS.”

“Good. We’ll be ready at fifteen hundred to load the boats, then plan on casting off at sixteen hundred.”

“Any last-minute special equipment or gear you need, Commander?”

“No, sir. We’re ready. We’ll have our SATCOM tuned to the carrier’s tactical frequency for voice, and check it before we get onshore. I think we’re all set, sir. Thank you for your help.”

Admiral Kenner smiled. “No problem. Oh, you could put in a good word for me with the CNO next time you have lunch with him.”

Murdock laughed. “Admiral, I hardly know the man. If I take him to lunch, I’ll be sure to mention you.”

Back at the ready room, Jaybird Sterling hurried up to Murdock when he came in.

“Skipper, I’ve got our guide here to take us back to the stern.

That’s evidently where our IBSs are and the patrol boats. He says we’ll launch the PBR craft there and then board them.”

“True, after we lash the IBSs on the bow of each of the PBRs.”

Murdock looked around. “Jaybird, get these guys to chow, and then we’ll do the last-minute packing up. We’ll be pushing off from the carrier at sixteen hundred — that’s a little over four hours. Now chew some tail and get these guys fed.”