Armageddon Mode c-3

by Keith Douglass

  The room lights dimmed, and a slide projector at the back of the room winked on. Ships appeared on the projection screen, photographed in crisp, colorful detail. The largest vessel was a carrier caught obliquely in early morning light. Her wake was a pale green-blue trail in the dark purple water.

  “These came down from MSI this morning,” Neil said, unfolding a telescoping pointer. “SOVINDRON consists of six surface ships and one submarine. We managed to catch these three in a TARPS run at zero-six-fifteen hours. The carrier you see here is the Kreml. Her escorts are a Kresta II-class guided-missile cruiser, the Marshal Timoshenko, and a Kotlin-class destroyer, the Moskovskiy Komsomolets.”

  He signaled with his hand and the slide projector chunked. A magnified image of the carrier from a slightly different angle appeared. “Kreml, gentlemen. The Kremlin. Second of the Soviet supercarriers, he was laid down at the Nikolayev south shipyard in December of 1985 and completed in 1991. He is nuclear-powered, with four reactors and a speed of better than thirty knots.”

  “She,” Admiral Vaughn interrupted.

  “Sir?”

  “You said ‘he.’ Ships are female.”

  “In our Navy, yes, sir. The Russians refer to ships as ‘he.’ I just thought-“

  “You’re briefing Americans, damn it. You can use American terminology.”

  “Yes, sir.” Neil turned back to the screen. “She has a displacement of about seventy thousand tons and an overall length of one thousand feet, which puts her in Jefferson’s class.

  “Kreml carries a wing of approximately sixty-five to seventy aircraft.

  You can see some of them lined up here, starboard side aft. These here, as you can see, are Yak-38MP Forgers. Nothing new there. They appear to be identical to the V/STOL aircraft carried aboard the smaller Kiev-class carriers in both fighter and strike roles. Four wing pylons.

  The usual combat configuration is two external tanks and two Aphid missiles. Actually, the Forger has about a twenty-five percent payload advantage over the AV-8B Harrier, but it is generally considered to be an inferior aircraft.” Neil cracked a rare smile. “if it’s any indication, the Indian navy turned down a chance to buy some of these babies a few years ago and bought the Harrier instead.”

  The pointer moved to a cluster of aircraft lining the side of the flight deck, wings tightly folded. “These are Russia’s naval version of the Su-27 Flanker. It is highly maneuverable and is probably roughly comparable to the American F-15 Eagle. It has the same track-while-scan radar as the Mig-29, has look-down/shoot-down capability, and can handle all-weather operation. Armament for the fighter version is eight AA-10 Alamo missiles. The Russians are supposed to be working on a strike version, but we have no information on that at this time, and we don’t know whether any might be aboard the Kreml. Originally, the Flanker appeared with a variable-geometry wing like our Tomcat. We have to assume they ran into some problems with it, though, because current production models have been strictly fixed-wing. Next.”

  The slide projector chunked. The image on the screen captured an aircraft just off the Soviet carrier’s ski-jump bow. The detail was sharp enough that the viewers could make out Russian crewmen frozen in various mid-action positions about the deck. There was an audible intake of breath from several corners of the room. The aircraft, its red stars sharp on wings and tail, looked remarkably like an American F/A-18 Hornet.

  “This baby’s their prize,” Neil said. “Mig-29, naval version. Jane’s calls it the first completely new generation of Soviet fighters. For air-to-air it carries six missiles, AA-8 or AA-9. Look-down/shoot-down, all-weather capability. Track-while-scan. Improved HUD. This is the best Soviet plane in service. Maybe the best in the world.”

  “Bullshit,” someone said near the front of the room.

  “Helicopter roles, rescue and ASW, are filled by the Ka-27 Helix, the successor to the Ka-25 Hormone. We think that Kreml carries four of them.”

  “You know, Commander,” Vaughn interrupted again. “I notice your briefing is filled with a hell of a lot of ‘maybes’ and ‘we thinks.’ is there anything about the Russkies you’re sure of?”

  “Intelligence work is largely guesswork, Admiral,” Neil said stiffly.

  “Educated guesswork, to be sure, but still guesswork. OZ Div has assembled the best picture they can from various-“

  “Guesses, huh? Well I guess that tells us something about our intelligence department, eh, boys?”

  There were subdued chuckles from the front row of chairs, but the rest of CVIC remained cold and silent. Neil ran a hand through his short red hair and decided to press ahead.

  “We have tentatively identified the other ships of the Soviet squadron.

  An Oscar-class nuclear attack sub, no known name. A second Kotlin-class DD, the Vliyatelnyy. Two Krivak I-class ASW frigates, Letushiy and Svirepyy. Washington’s assessment of SOVINDRON is that it is a tight, well-run, highly disciplined squadron,” he said. “The Soviet frigates do not have the range or sensitivity of our ASW ships, and they lack helicopter capability. However, they are probably the most heavily armed frigates afloat, with SA-N-4 Gecko missiles and large torpedo and gun batteries. They are highly versatile and could be deployed in an antiair role as well as for ASW.”

  Vaughn snorted with open contempt. Neil paused, then plunged ahead, wondering if Vaughn was going to let him complete the briefing.

  “The destroyers are old designs — mid-fifties — but have been partly converted to missile configurations. The cruiser will be a definite asset to the battle group. He, excuse me, she mounts a twin launcher for the SA-N-3 Goblet, and two quad launchers for SS-N-14 Silex antisub missiles. Both weapons can double in an antiship role. I … sir?”

  Admiral Vaughn was standing. “Commander, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I think we all know that the Russkies aren’t going to pull their own weight out here, not if it comes to a stand-up fight. Let’s hear what the Indians have.”

  Neil swallowed his anger. “Yes, sir. Phil? Let’s go to number twelve.” It took a moment for the projectionist to skip ahead several slides and find the first one dealing with Indian ships. As he waited, Neil summarized the Indian forces.

  “As I’m sure you’re all aware, India has designs on being the number-one power in the Indian Ocean littoral. They have the third largest standing army in the world, the fifth largest air force, and the eighth largest navy. While we will be primarily concerned with their naval capability, we have to keep in mind that the Indians will be able to support their naval operations against us with a sizable fraction of their ground-based air force. All together, the IAF maintains some 960 combat aircraft. The Indian navy consists of at least sixty combat aircraft, including twenty-six attack helicopters. Of course, these one-thousand-plus aircraft are spread out over the whole Indian subcontinent, and the majority are already tied down in action against Pakistan. Our best guess …” He hesitated. “Our best approximation is that the Indians can deploy between one and two hundred aircraft of various types against us here at Turban Station.”

  Another aircraft carrier flashed on the screen behind him, an odd-looking ship with a long island and a massive, up-swept hump at the bow end of her flight deck.

  “Okay. Here we go. India currently has two aircraft carriers, gentlemen,” Neil said. “This is their latest, the Viraat. The name means “Mighty’ in Hindi. Her displacement is almost 24,000 tons. She has an illustrious history. Originally, she was the British Hermes, one of the two Brit carriers that supported the Royal task force in the Falklands campaign. The British sold her to the Indians in ‘86.

  “For a while, the Indians operated her as a commando carrier and later used her for ASW. That ski jump you see forward lets her handle Sea Harrier V/STOL aircraft. Until recently, she carried one six-plane Sea Harrier squadron, plus a number of helicopters, but Intelligence believes the Indians have been upgrading her capabilities. Last year they completed purchase of thirty additional Sea Harriers from the British, and many of tho
se are probably destined for the Viraat. She also still has provisions for 750 troops and carries four landing barges to facilitate landing operations. Next.” A new slide appeared on the screen.

  “The other Indian carrier is the Vikrant. She started off as a World War II-era Glory-class carrier, the HMS Hercules. She was purchased by India in 1957. She’s smaller than Viraat — only 15,700 tons — but she carries six Sea Harriers. Vikrant is scheduled to be replaced by a 40,000-ton, Indian-built carrier sometime later in the late nineties, but that one’s not off the drawing board yet.”

  Neil went on with a rundown of the Indian navy, concentrating on the warships known to be operating out of Arabian Sea ports. There was one nuclear sub, the Chakra — a Charlie I-class vessel on loan from the Soviet Union, but it was unlikely that the Indians would be in the mood to trust the Soviet technicians aboard her during the current crisis.

  There was a new Soviet Kresta-II cruiser, the Kalikata, recently arrived at Bombay. All together, the Indian navy included over fifty capital ships, plus numerous missile and patrol boats, auxiliaries, and the like.

  As he continued speaking, he was distracted by the sight of Admiral Vaughn leaning over to the captain at his side, apparently in deep conversation.

  Just what the hell was going on with the flag staff today anyway? It was as though Vaughn simply didn’t care … or at least felt that the information was superfluous. It was impossible not to make comparisons with Admiral Magruder. That man might not always have agreed with OZ assessments, but at least he listened. And his questions had always been good ones, sharp and to the point.

  Vaughn’s indifference sent an icy tingle down Neil’s spine, and he could sense that it was affecting the other officers in CVIC as well. Did he simply distrust his own intelligence department? Or was this something more than that, something deeper?

  Neil didn’t know, but he knew that Vaughn’s attitude was being marked by the others, and that it could be deadly to the mission, to the men.

  Deadlier, perhaps, than a third Indian carrier.

  CHAPTER 11

  1400 hours, 25 March

  Headquarters, Indian Defense Ministry

  Defense Minister Kuldip Sundai was a small, mustached man with rimless glasses that caught the fluorescent light from overhead and flashed it back at the generals and admirals sitting at the table. Rear Admiral Ramesh watched as he took a sip of water, then smiled at the assembly of high-ranking military officers arrayed about the conference room table.

  “Gentlemen,” he said without other preamble. “I thank you for your invitation to meet with you today. I bring the compliments of the Prime Minister, who is proud and pleased with your prosecution of the war thus far. The Political Affairs Committee has asked me to express their complete confidence in you and your good efforts.”

  Ramesh stifled a twinge of impatience. He didn’t like Sundarji, though he understood the man’s obsequious manner and politician’s smile.

  The political situation within the Indian Federation was, as always, an extremely delicate one, as was the balance between the civilian government and the military. The Indian Constitution vested command of the armed forces with the President, but defacto control lay with the Prime Minister and his cabinet. The cabinet’s Political Affairs Committee, chaired by the Prime Minister, was responsible for all high-level decisions on defense matters. The Minister of Defense was the only true liaison between the Indian government and its military, and there was a tendency for the armed forces to become isolated from government decision making.

  By the same token, though, the government tended to leave military decisions to the military in a live-and-let-live arrangement that both sides found politically useful. As the public clamored for an end to Pakistani border aggressions, the government could truthfully say that the matter was in the army’s hands. And the service chiefs could count on a certain amount of noninterference from New Delhi when they sat down to plan their strategies.

  Of course, that put a terrific responsibility on Kuldip Sundarji. The Defense Minister had to juggle two agendas — the government’s and the military’s — and make them come out to the common advantage.

  He was, therefore, a master politician. Ramesh distrusted such people.

  “General Dhanaraj,” the Defense Minister said grandly. “Would you be so kind as to brief us on the First Corps situation?”

  General Sanjeev Dhanaraj scraped his chair back, rose, and walked to the wall map at the head of the table. Unit positions, movements, and defense lines were marked onto a transparent overlay that showed the broad scope and thrust of the war’s first three days.

  “Overall, we have every reason to be pleased with the accomplishments of the past sixty hours,” he said. “Intelligence estimates that better than seventy percent of the Pakistani air force has been destroyed or grounded. We have reason to be concerned that a number of F-16 strike fighters, which are, of course, nuclear-capable, are still being held in reserve. Efforts are underway to locate and destroy them.”

  He indicated a cluster of marks in the south, a few hundred miles from the sea. “Operation Cobra commenced at 0300 hours this morning.

  Following massive artillery and air bombardments, a full division is attacking here, at Naya Chor, on the highway from the border to Hyderabad. Two more divisions are in reserve. Our diversionary attacks in the Punjab appear to have successfully pulled Pakistani attention to the Lahore-Islamabad region. Our armor has reported a major breakthrough and is now moving west at a rapid pace. Lead elements have reached the Nara River, and pioneer units are preparing to effect a crossing. Success there will bring us to Hyderabad.”

  The general turned from the map. “Coupled with the planned naval blockade and commando landings along Karachi’s waterfront itself, it is the Senior Staff’s belief that we will control the Sindh within another three days. Pakistani resistance can be expected to crumble shortly after that.”

  Dhanaraj thanked the group for their attention and returned to his seat.

  The Defense Minister took his place. “Thank you, General.” He paused, hands on hips. “Well, I needn’t remind you, gentlemen, of the serious threat posed by Pakistan’s detonation of a nuclear device. It is the government’s opinion that only an extremely swift and decisive victory in the field can end this campaign before Islamabad resolves to use such weapons against us.”

  Ramesh nodded. This was certainly the real reason the Defense Minister was here. The government was worried about Pakistan’s bomb.

  “Based on our own experience with atomic weapons, Intelligence believes that the Pakistanis have not yet succeeded in assembling nuclear warheads small enough to deliver as bombs, but their technicians are certain to be working on the problem.

  “In addition, the government wishes to emphasize that growing pressure in the world community is working against us. Sooner or later, the UN will move to force an end to hostilities in this region. We must achieve our territorial and political goals first. We therefore have two reasons to see this affair through to a swift conclusion.

  “Everything, everything depends on a rapid and successful drive to Karachi. With the country’s major port in our hands, the Pakistanis will be cut off from outside aid and forced to capitulate. While we are taking seriously their threats to use nuclear weapons as a last resort, it is our considered opinion that they will refrain from doing so, at least for the time being. Use of such weapons would create a bad image for them in the world at large and could jeopardize their trade relationship with the United States. Nor will they be eager to detonate nuclear weapons on their own soil. We must beat them before they decide that such consequences are less important than their own survival, that, in fact, their very survival is at stake. We cannot afford to have our attacks become stalled or slowed by unexpected resistance.

  “And this, my friends, brings us to the principal subject of our meeting today. The Americans.”

  Ramesh leaned forward, suddenly intent. What was the gover
nment going to do about the American threat?

  “I need not remind you, gentlemen,” Sundarji continued, “of American interference in this region during our war with Pakistan in 1971. At that time they stationed another of their nuclear carriers, the Enterprise, in the Bay of Bengal. This was a constant threat we could not ignore throughout our operations in Bangladesh.

  “Since that time, they have commissioned their installation at Diego Garcia, stationed carrier battle groups in the Arabian Sea, and organized their rapid-deployment force for intervention in our part of the world. Now they have positioned a nuclear carrier battle group only a hundred miles from our shores. With their in-flight refueling capabilities, they are within easy range of Operation Cobra’s supply lines. They can interdict our activities anywhere from Bombay to Baluchistan.

  “The government is concerned that the Americans might interfere with our naval blockade of Pakistan, sever our supply lines with the Persian Gulf, or both. In the event of hostilities, our supply lines across the Thar Desert would be especially vulnerable.

  “If we are to have a free hand in our operation in Pakistan, the American threat in our waters must be eliminated.”

  Rear Admiral Ramesh stirred in his seat, then raised a hand. The Defense Minister looked down at him with owlish eyes. “Admiral?”

  “Your pardon, sir … but does this mean we are declaring war against the Americans?” He felt a fierce, inner surge of emotion. The events of the past days seemed to have gone beyond any one government’s control, an explosion of encounters, blunders, and headlong stumbles toward the abyss of war. Was the Prime Minister actually choosing to ride events toward what seemed to be their predestined end … to take control and anticipate that war?