Choosers of the Slain

by James H. Cobb

  Amanda cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think that, Lieutenant?"

  "Because in certain areas you are very predictable. Just now, you're in a conflict between what's right and what's smart, and, fa' sure, smart don't have a chance. You'd made your decision before you even walked in here. You just had to sit around for a while and talk yourself into it."

  "Well, that's interesting. Do you often go around forecasting my future intentions?"

  "Sure," Christine grinned, "anytime you want to know what you're going to think about something, just ask me."

  The Intel swung her feet down off the bunk and reached across to her desk. She shoved aside a mixed stack of Playgirls and International Defense Reviews and revealed her interphone. Flipping the handset out of its cradle, she passed it to her captain.

  Amanda accepted it and felt a little of her burden ease.

  "Radio shack, this is the Captain. Heat up your systems. We're going to be breaking EMCON."

  Chief Robinson went alert as the Duke's trudging propeller beats suddenly accelerated. When the change wasn't followed by the blare of the general quarters alarm she relaxed again and returned her attention to her sick-bay paperwork.

  They must only be doing a sprint to a new location. After a moment, the interphone at her elbow buzzed.

  "Sick bay, aye?"

  "Chief, this is the Captain." Amanda Garrett sounded relieved and pleased. "We've got it worked out for Erikson! We're going to rendezvous with the British ice-patrol ship Polar Circle. They not only have a doctor on board, but they have a full medical team and a surgical suite. The problem is that the Brits will have to swing out wide to the south and east to stay out of the range of the Argentines.

  "Tonight we're going to work over to the east side of our patrol area. Then, tomorrow, as soon as the Polar Circle reports that she's in position, we'll execute a second high-speed run to the east to get within range of their helicopter.

  "With a little luck, the Argys will never even know we've been gone. We're just going to need a little more time to pull this off. Can you keep Erikson going another twenty-four hours?"

  "You just bet we can, ma'am! May I tell him what we're going to try and do?"

  "Negative, Chief. I'll be down in a little while. I'd like to do that myself."

  BUENOS AIRES

  0845 HOURS: MARCH 29, 2006

  "It was an ambush," General Arco stated flatly. "The surface contact we detected was one of their stealth helicopters, flying slowly at very low altitude and using a blip-enhancer device to simulate the return we would have gotten from the ship. The destroyer itself presumably lay hove to in one of the nearby snow squalls.

  "We detected the decoy target and maneuvered to engage it. As we did so, the North Americans launched what we believe were LORAIN surface-to-air missiles set in antiradiation mode. They homed in passively on the radar emissions of our aircraft. There was no warning."

  "These damned fancy radar tricks did not work, and in proving it, you cost me two of my patrol planes!" Admiral Fouga spat.

  "It did work, Admiral. That is why the North Americans sought out the system and destroyed it."

  "Remarkable," President Sparza mused. "A surface warship turning on, and hunting down, the aircraft that are supposedly pursuing it. That is hardly a conventional tactic."

  "This is not a conventional ship," Arco responded grimly.

  Sparza had again summoned his military Chiefs of Staff and his Minister of State in his private office. During their past conferences on the Antarctic crisis, there had often been tension. Now there was open strain, stemming from the growing sensation that events were slipping more and more beyond their control.

  "We are modifying two more of the remaining Atlantique aircraft for bistatic search operations," the Fuerza Aérea general continued. "We are also revising our tactics, so we will not be so vulnerable to this kind of ambush again. By this time tomorrow we should be able to resume the search."

  "And what do we do until then? Sit around with our thumbs up our ass!"

  "It is irrelevant what else we do, Fouga! When they downed our spy satellite, we lost the only other viable reconnaissance asset we had. During the past four days we have flown more than three hundred conventional search sorties over Drake Passage with every kind of aircraft we have in our inventory. We have not produced a single solid fix on the enemy's location. The North Americans' stealth systems work! Combine them with the deteriorating weather conditions over the Antarctic convergence and they are rendered effectively invisible. The bistatic radar is our only hope!"

  "Possibly," Sparza interjected quietly, "but we may not have time to wait for it. Gentlemen, just before the two of you arrived, General Orcho was giving the latest intelligence updates from the Malvinas. I suggest that we hear him out."

  The Army commander glanced at his notes in the manner of a man who knew all too well what they contained.

  "With the assistance of the United States Air Force Transport Command, the British have completed their defense buildup. Currently, they have two full squadrons of F-model Tornadoes flying out of their military field at Mount Pleasant.

  "In addition, VTOL fighter and helicopter units are operating out of satellite fields at Port Stanley, Goose Green, and Pebble Island. Signal intelligence also indicates that mobile air-search radars and Patriot and Rapier 2000 antiaircraft missile batteries have been deployed and are operational.

  "The Royal Marine ground garrison has been augmented by the British Army's Parachute Regiment, plus light armored and artillery elements.

  "At sea, the British have shut down and secured their offshore drilling operations. They have evacuated the civilian rig crews and the drilling platforms have been manned by Royal Marine commandos, armed with Stinger and Starstreak antiaircraft missiles. In addition, the Royal Navy has been basing ASW patrol helicopters off them. There is also evidence that CAPTOR mines are being deployed in the vicinity of the rigs. The liquid natural-gas storage facilities at Low Bay have also been successfully vented and shut down."

  "What is the latest information on the naval forces?" Fouga demanded.

  "Maintaining course and speed. They will arrive within strike range in approximately seventy hours. It is believed that both the British and American carrier groups have nuclear submarines running about a day ahead of the surface ships. This is not the most immediate threat, however."

  The General removed a folder from his briefcase and began to pass around the photographic prints it contained.

  "This first print is a freeze-frame still taken from a CNN news broadcast out of Mount Pleasant. In the background you can see the tail of a United States Air Force KC-10 tanker/transport, and a number of ground personnel, also identified as North American.

  "This second print is a computer-enhanced blowup taken by the Brazilian Geo-Resources satellite of Wideawake Field on Ascension Island. The three straight-winged aircraft are P-3E Orion patrol planes of the United States Navy. There is also a second KC-10 and what appears to be a B-1C heavy strategic bomber.

  "We believe that with the completion of the British defense buildup, the United States and Great Britain are preparing to escalate their level of aggression. We believe that they are preparing to forward-deploy long-range reconnaissance and strike aircraft into the Malvinas to support their blockade. If this is done, our situation will become ... more difficult."

  "How long do we have before they become operational?" Sparza asked.

  "Possibly two days at the most."

  The Argentine President returned his attention to his Air Force commander. "Arco, what can we do about this?"

  The aviator looked down at the carpeting for a moment, wearily trying to assess the situation. "Well, we could try and knock out Mount Pleasant. It would mean taking our best aircraft off of their current antishipping mission. Even at that, I could not make any guarantees. Hardened airfields require a lot of killing, and they are ready and waiting for us. We would be bound to take heavy casual
ties."

  "You cannot sink a solitary ship! You cannot destroy an airfield! Sweet Christ, why do we bother to have an air force?"

  "That is enough, Fouga!" Sparza snapped. "I will be the judge of who is performing adequately and who is not. To date, I have found no fault in General Arco's actions, or in the performance of his service."

  Fouga subsided, brooding, and Sparza turned his attention to his Minister of State. "Aldo, what of the diplomatic situation?"

  "Things are not good, Mr. President," Salhazar replied. "At the United Nations, it appears that we are caught between North American diplomatic power and British diplomatic finesse, much as it was during the Malvinas conflict. A few of the traditional anti-Western states have responded favorably, but as more of a reflex action than a declaration of solid support. We hold the ABC block and our immediate allies. Not much more."

  "What about the Antarctic Treaty conference?"

  The Minister shook his head. "We have problems there as well. The other Treaty states are not reacting as we had hoped. The decisive action on the part of the United States and Great Britain is having an effect. The divisiveness and controversy we had hoped to create has not taken place. Again, we can be sure of only the ABC states. Most of the other member nations seem to be taking a wait-and-see attitude pending the outcome of the blockade."

  "I am rather curious about that myself, Aldo," Sparza replied, drawing his cigarette case. He took a moment to kindle a Players with his desk lighter before continuing.

  "Gentlemen, the window of opportunity for this project is closing, and the situation is critical. We must act decisively if Conquistador South is to be salvaged. Our only other option is to abort and accept the resulting diplomatic and political repercussions. Now, what can we do?"

  There was a long moment of silence. Finally Admiral Fouga spoke. "The linchpin of this entire operation has always been the supply convoy and the necessity of getting it through. Very well, then, let us get it through! Now, before we are totally cut off!"

  "We are already cut off, Fouga," Arco said irritably.

  "The Cunningham would be on top of you before you cleared the harbor."

  "Good enough, let them come. Your ghost ship is good at hiding, but to stop us, it will have to come out of the shadows and fight!"

  The Fleet Commander leaned forward intently in his chair. "Mr. President, our best escort group will be covering the transports, and our best destroyer squadron will be providing distant cover for the convoy. With that kind of firepower available to me, I am certain that I can defeat any single warship that might attempt to engage us."

  "You sound as if you intend to take this personally," Sparza said.

  "I do, sir. I intend to command the task force myself, should you order it to sail."

  "I see. Gentlemen, are there any further suggestions?" Sparza glanced around the small circle of men in his office. There was no response.

  "Very well, then. Admiral, you will sortie the supply convoy and proceed to San Martin Base with all possible speed."

  "Yes, sir! At once, Mr. President." Fouga began to hastily lever himself out of his chair.

  "One moment more, Admiral." Sparza's voice caught him. "Your primary mission is to get that convoy through, not to hunt United States warships. Be certain that you are clear on your priorities."

  "Yes, sir," Fouga replied pompously and saluted, "the Fleet will not fail you."

  The heavyset naval officer picked up his briefcase and cap and started for the door.

  "Fouga"--General Arco did not turn in his chair to look after the Admiral--"for the sake of your men, don't take the North Americans for granted, not for a second."

  DRAKE PASSAGE

  0210 HOURS: MARCH 29, 2006

  Retainer Zero Two, her rotors folded back parallel to her tail boom, sank down out of the night and into the red-lit pool of the hangar bay. As the elevator descended with a howl of heavy-duty hydraulics, Arkady let his head go back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. They were burning and gravelly from too many hours spent staring through a night-vision visor.

  Straightening again as they reached deck level, he released his safety harness and popped the canopy latches, breaking away the rime of refrozen snow along the frame.

  "How'd it go, sir?" Chief Muller asked as he helped to swing the Plexiglas panels open and to the side.

  "Not too bad. A pleasant night out under the stars."

  "That's only by comparison, Chief," Grestovitch cut in from the system operator's station. "Anywhere else but here and it would have been hell with the heaters busted."

  "Negativism, rampant negativism, that's all I'm hearing out of that backseat anymore. That's a terrible attitude to have, Gus, even if you are telling the truth."

  Arkady lifted off his helmet and painfully stood up in the cockpit. "What's the word on our ops status, Chief?"

  "That depends, sir, on whether or not you still want Ensign Delany to make another sweep later this morning."

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "In that case, we got problems. Zero One's still down. We found ice erosion on the blades of the Fenestron, as well as cold fractures in a couple of the panels of the boom shell. We had to tear the whole fantail assembly apart again. I don't know if we can get her back together by zero four hundred."

  "Okay, then she'll have to use this bird," Arkady said, swinging down over the canopy rails. "Get her prepped for a fast turnaround."

  "Lieutenant, Zero Two is right up to the red-line limit on transmission time. We really need to have a look inside that gearbox before we send her out again."

  "Ah, fuck it!" Arkady hooked his thumbs into his belt and scowled down at the deck. "All right, try this. Move Delany's scheduled launch time back to 0430. Any later than that and she won't be able to do anything constructive before the pixies come out at first light. If Zero Two isn't ready to fly by then, we'll just shit-can the whole operation."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "Inform Ensign Delany of the situation and the schedule change and keep me advised."

  "Will do."

  Grestovitch stiffly dropped down beside his pilot. "I got the mission log and the sensor records downloaded, sir," he said, patting the data cassettes in his sleeve pocket.

  "Good enough. I'll touch base with the Captain while you drop those off with the duty watch in the CIC. After that, consider yourself free to crawl off somewhere and lose consciousness for a couple of hours."

  "Thanks, Lieutenant. That sounds real good."

  "Thank you, Gus. Given the past couple of days, I find it a little bit amazing that you're still flying with me."

  "Aw hell, sir. After a while, you sort of get used to being crazy."

  Amanda Garrett was alone in the wardroom, unaware when Arkady entered. She was slumped forward at the mess table with her head resting in the curve of her arm. A cooling mug of tea and a half-eaten sandwich had been pushed to one side, showing how the need for sleep had won out over hunger.

  Nonetheless, when Arkady quietly lowered his helmet and flight harness to the deck, the faint click of metal against Fiberglas snapped her awake like a cat. She jerked upright, looking around wildly.

  "The ship is okay, Captain," Arkady said, choosing the words he knew would calm her the most readily.

  She blinked and came back into herself. "Oh, hi, Arkady. When did you get in?"

  "We recovered just a few minutes ago."

  She glanced at her wristwatch and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I haven't been out of it for too long, then. How did it go?"

  "Not too bad," Arkady said, pulling out one of the mess-table chairs and seating himself. "We swept out about eighty-five miles to the east and didn't kick up anything on the surface except for neutral commercial traffic. I can't be as sure about subsurface contacts, but I ran a couple of sonobuoy lines and spot-checked with the dunking sonar. I think we've got clear water out there."

  "I'm glad to hear it. How about the sea states?"

  "St
ill holding at Force Three. Ceiling's down to around five hundred. The surface fog has thinned out, but we're still hitting occasional patches of freezing rain or snow."

  "Is it going to give us any problem with the helicopter rendezvous?"

  Arkady shrugged. "Not if the Brits know their stuff. Besides, we won't be within range for that until this afternoon. Daylight'11 make things a whole lot easier."

  "That's good. Now, what about Nancy? Are you still sending her out tonight?"

  "Well, that's kind of problematical at the moment. I'd like to get one more sweep off before dawn, but it looks like we may not have an operational helo. We've got some servicing problems."

  "God, that had to be next." She leaned forward again on the table and rested her forehead on her crossed wrists, her hair flowing down to curtain her face. "How bad is it getting with your people, Arkady?"

  "It's starting to back up on us a little. This semipolar environment makes for a lot of extra man-hours of maintenance work, and we just don't have the men to produce the hours.

  "I think we can keep things glued together for a couple more days while maintaining an adequate safety margin. Beyond that, we're going to have to start cutting back on flight time."

  "Give me that couple of days more, Arkady," she asked, her voice muffled. "That's all I'll need."

  "How are you doing, Captain?"

  She straightened and looked across at him sharply. A spark of anger flared in her eyes, an instinctive denial of her own weaknesses. Arkady met her gaze levelly. Yeah, dammit, I am going to ask.

  After a moment, she softened and produced a slight wry smile. "Fraying a little around the edges, but still all here. It's been kind of a heavy-duty few days. Beating that bistatic search system took care of our most immediate tactical problem, though. Now, if I can just get Erikson out..." She let her voice trail off.

  "You sound like you're taking this kid personal, Skipper."

  "That's because I am, Arkady. If I'd just stuck under weather cover like I should have on the day of that first Argentine air strike, he'd never have been wounded."