Silver Tower

CHAPTER 16

The master SBR display now only showed the three-hundred-mile area surrounding the Strait of Hormuz, but even so it took Jake Jefferson and two other technicians to process the volume of data being collected. "The Brezhnev is within one hundred miles of Bandar-e Lengeh," Jefferson reported. "Numerous aircraft in the area."

"Those Russians sure are getting ballsy with that carrier," Walker said, studying the display. "Only one ship, a Krivak-class frigate, between it and Bandar-Abbas. If the Iranians decide to shoot again, the carrier will make one inviting target.

"Aircraft launching from the Brezhnev, sir," Jefferson reported again. "Fast moving, not rotorcraft."

"I still can't figure the Iranians shooting at those ships," Kevin Baker said. "Did it look like those Soviet ships were threatening them, about to go into Iranian waters?"

His question got him no answer. Saint-Michael was intently scribbling in a notebook, Ann staying near him. "Where is the California?" she asked. "Still about six hundred miles away from the Strait of Hormuz," Saint-Michael said distractedly. "The Nimitz will probably move a few hundred miles closer, within flying range of its fighters, and wait there." He looked at her. "I'd say your father's safe, don't worry."

"Safe? I wish I could believe that." She looked at the master SBR display. "How come we can't see the Nimitz and the California on the screen?"

The general was now ignoring her, so Walker took it up: "The Joint Chiefs asked us to zoom in on the Strait of Hormuz. They want a detailed look at where that Soviet carrier Brezhnev is going and what she's going to do."

"But the Nimitz's battle group…"

"Still under surveillance. The SEIR still scans the area for a thousand miles around the target area, and that includes the Arabian Sea and the Nimitz. The results of its scans are still recorded — we just don't display the whole area. There's just too much data to digest, and we can't keep both shifts going round the clock."

"But how can you tell if something's happening near the Nimitz?"

"The system is programmed to alert us if the SBR detects a threat near our own ships. An alarm will go off and the display will change to scan—"

"Rotorcraft recovering on the Brezhnev, sir," a tech cut in. "Brezhnev turning northwest into the wind again."

Walker motioned to Ann. "Why don't you check those monitors there? You can use them to plot out the California's position. "

Ann thanked him with her eyes and moved over to the unoccupied computer monitor. She studied the display, noting with fascination that it identified the type of vehicle, its location, its speed and its probable destination and time of arrival. It was identifying trucks, boats and planes of all sizes, even barges and light airplanes-it even had a line of data on a contact labeled "MARINE MAMMAL."

There was nothing on the screen mentioning the Nimitz or California, so she used an arrow key on a small keyboard to scroll through several pages of SBR contract data reports. The list was very long, and she worked the arrow key faster and faster—"

"Ann, hold it." Saint-Michael suddenly appeared beside her. "Scroll forward again. Did you see a blinking data line a second ago?"

"Yes, I think so." She scrolled forward, wondering what she should be looking for. "Faster, Ann." The general finally nudged her aside and pounded the arrow key, finally stopping at a data block that blinked. on and off about once every two seconds. He touched his earset controls. "Full SBR master display."

Walker turned toward his commanding officer. "Sir, that will spoil the data transmissions for the area. Nimitz and JCS are only formatted for a three-hundred-mile dis—"

"I want full SBR display, Jim. Right now. Those Soviet fighters that launched a few minutes ago from the Brezhnev they went inland. And fast."

He made his way back to his command chair and strapped himself in just as the large master SBR display shimmered and transformed itself back to its large-scale diagram of the entire target region. Several blocks on the display were blinking — areas in northern and northeastern Iran, southern Iran and Afghanistan. The dot representing the Brezhnev was also blinking furiously. "Get on 'em, dammit," Saint-Michael ordered.

The response was immediate.

"Fast-moving fighter aircraft, origin Brezhnev, four hundred seventy knots, one thousand feet above the ground. Sixty miles south of Shiraz."

"Four high-speed, low-altitude aircraft heading south, origin estimated as Lyaki on the Caspian Sea, one hundred forty miles north of Tehran."

"Brezhnev launching… Two high-speed aircraft heading north-northwest along the Iranian coast—"

"The California is on channel six, General," Walker cut in. Saint-MichaeI punched a button on his communications panel. "California, this is Armstrong Alpha. We've detected several high-speed Soviet aircraft overflying Iran. Several from Lyaki heading for Tehran and Tabriz, several from the Brezhnev heading north toward Shiraz and Esfahan. It sure looks like an invasion force.

Commander Meserve aboard the California turned pale in the unearthly blue glow of the California's combat information center, then whirled toward the intercom. "Attention all hands. Condition yellow. Repeat, condition yellow. Captain to CIC." He turned again to the headset that linked him with the orbiting space station. "We're blind down here, Armstrong. We've lost the real-time display. Can you assist?"

"You need to reconfigure your display for one-thousand-mile scan range," Saint-Michael told him. "We're only programmed to transmit either the full-scan picture or the three-hundred-mile scan of the strait."

Captain Matthew Page was sweating in his life jacket as he trotted back into CIC. "Report, Commander."

"Armstrong reports several aircraft from the Soviet Union and from the carrier Brezhnev entering Iranian airspace. Says it looks like an invasion force."

"A what?" Meserve held out the headset to Page. "Armstrong, this is Captain Page. General, what the hell is going on?"

Saint-Michael keyed his earset. "It's confirmed, Captain. Six high-speed aircraft heading toward Tabriz, six toward Tehran, six toward Esfahan and six for Bandar-Abbas. We're also showing eight large, slow-moving aircraft at low altitude heading for Tehran. SBR hasn't identified them yet but I think they're probably troop transports or heavy bombers. Take your pick — it spells trouble."

The eight men in CIC looked to Page for orders. After a few moments he pulled the headset's microphone to his lips. "How much longer do you have on this orbit, General?"

"One hour of reliable real-time data. After that another half hour of less precise position-only data until we drop below the horizon. It'll take another hour after that to resume coverage—"

"Can't you slow yourself down, sort of hover over the area? Buy more time?"

Saint-Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation and glanced at Ann. "Haven't you ever explained this to your father?" He returned to the laser communications link. "Captain, just take my word for it. We can't hover anywhere."

"Stand by, Armstrong." Commander Meserve had pushed the red telephone into Page's hands. "Page here."

"Matt, this is Admiral Clancy. The group is on yellow alert. Repeat, yellow alert."

"Aye, sir. We went to yellow as soon as we got the word from the space station."

"Very well. Stand by to maneuver. We'll be launching Hawkeye radar planes, four escorts and two patrol birds. Are you still in contact with the space station?"

"Affirmative. We've lost the real-time display but we have voice contact. We'll be reestablishing data link with Armstrong momentarily. "It looks like you're it, then, Matt. We've lost the realtime display and we have no voice contact. Maintain contact with Armstrong Station by the best possible means and report any significant developments to us pronto. Advise them that we'll be launching aircraft and request maximum SEIR coverage. Over."

"Aye, aye, sir. Out." Page replaced the red phone and returned to the headset. "General, aircraft will be launching from the Nimitz shortly. Can you keep those planes under surveillance until we get our equipment reconfigured? We're still blind down here."

"Affirmative, we'll give you voice narrative until you get your tactical screen reprogrammed." Saint-Michael turned to Jefferson and spoke through the wireless intercom: "Jake, you're on channel six. Give the California verbal advisories on any aircraft or vessels near the carrier group or near the aircraft it'll be launching. Get Kelly to help the Squids on the California to get their display reformatted."

"Yes, sir." Jefferson positioned himself in front of the master SBR screen and readjusted his headset as he studied the screen. "California, this is your controller on board Armstrong Station. Fifty-seven more minutes until we're out of optimal SBR range. How copy?"

Page nodded to his senior radioman in charge of the California's combat-information electronics system. "Loud and clear, Armstrong."

As Jefferson issued his report the crew of Silver Tower watched the Soviet attack rapidly intensify, "More aircraft launching from Brezhnev, " a tech reported. "Several aircraft over Tabriz and Tehran. ETA for large Soviet jet aircraft from Baku Military Airfield is five minutes. " Ann and Kevin Baker could only stand by as the SBR technician reported wave after wave of aircraft swarming over Iran. Through it all, Sergeant Jefferson continued his calm, steady litany in a low, unwavering voice. "Looks like an execution," from Colonel Walker. "We've picked up the first emergency reports from Iran. The word is the Soviets are attacking with chemical weapons."