Ghortney flipped the cover open and looked it over, a single raised eyebrow registering surprise as he read. He finished and set the file on the table, covering it with his stripe festooned jacket cuff. Then he looked Leyman square in the eye.
“I was just handed a message trace file on that order, and it appears to be classified above top secret. That makes it an SCI file, so I am not at liberty to discuss it further unless everyone in this room has the necessary clearance.”
SCI files were those reserved for Sensitive Compartmentalized Information. In the labyrinth of security protocols it amounted to a “need to know” designation on the file, with access strictly limited to a select group of individuals. That alone was a surprise to Ghortney, for his designation as five star Fleet Admiral placed him at the top of the chain of command now for all naval matters. That any message should be sensitive enough to bypass his inbox before an order was issued made for some very uncomfortable feelings in the gut, particularly around a table like this, where decisions were about to be made that would affect the outcome of this rapidly developing conflict and the world that would be left when it was over. Ghortney wasn’t happy about the situation.
“I’m going to be frank here and say that if I sit down to a card table for a good hand of poker, I damn well want to see every card the dealer hands me. Now, I wasn’t born yesterday and I know there are segments of this government that are buried so deep you’d need an undertaker to show you the door, but this doesn’t work for me. I don’t care if you tattoo these orders with code words from Aardvark to UMBRA. This one here was coded Watchstander-1G, for what it’s worth. If I’m appointed theater commander, I want all tactical orders routed to me, and I call the shots. Clear?”
“I wish I knew what you were talking about, Admiral.”
Reed cleared his throat and intervened. “Excuse me, Mister Leyman. What the Admiral is saying is that this order was not cleared through his desk because of a security classification issue. It was most likely designated SI, that would be Special Intelligence, and the sources and methods that developed the information are highly classified, as well as the heads that information is disseminated through.
“If I’m in command then this head better be on that list,” Ghortney said pointedly. “Anybody wants to start pushing naval carrier battlegroups around on a map, then I want to know about it and approve—that’s what I’m saying.”
Leyman seemed surprised. “You mean to say these orders were withheld? You never saw or approved them?”
“Correct.”
Now it was Leyman’s turn to sit with that discomfort. Yes, the US Government was a deeply furrowed maze of convoluted byways, where information flowed through secret plumbing from wells of power that he could not even fathom. There was NSA, CIA, black projects originating in organizations like DARPA, and virtually every branch of the military. Even NASA held secrets that few were privy too—things seen in orbit, things found on the moon and Mars, things too secret to ever contemplate open discussion. Now here was the Admiral in charge filing a complaint in the White House Situation Room and claiming key intelligence had been denied him and battle orders were issued without his knowledge or consent. It was a most uncomfortable situation.
“I understand,” Leyman began. “Well I can look into this, Admiral Ghortney, and I can also tell you that we were as much in the dark about this as you were. What is this classification you spoke of?”
“Watchstander-1G. God only knows what it’s supposed to mean, but I’m issuing standing orders that no commander under my authority is to act on any order that does not originate from FLEETCOM-1—that’s me, gentlemen—a new designation for the command I now hold. I don’t want to sound arrogant, or even selfish, but that’s the way I play the game. The congress handed me this fifth star for a reason. I know the Executive Branch is fond of reminding us that the buck stops on that desk in the Oval Office, but unless the President wants to set up shop and start issuing fleet deployment and combat orders, I’d prefer to do the job myself.”
“You’ve got it,” said Leyman. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything of this Watchstander thing, but I can find out what happened here and see that it doesn’t happen again. General Lane, have you any light to shed on this?”
“I’m afraid not. If that attack order was deemed to be above the Admiral’s desk then they sure as hell wouldn’t send it to me.”
“Then we are agreed that no one in this room knew that this message, this flash traffic as you call it, was even sent.” Leyman scratched his head. This was the White House Situation Room!
“That appears to be the case,” said Ghortney. “And to put it bluntly, that stops now.”
“Your pardon, sir,” said Reed. “That may require some rather high lever intervention. Anything coded SI-GAMMA-UMBRA would take an Executive Order to inhibit or restrict dissemination. In fact, and no offense here Mister Leyman, the President may get a daily intelligence briefing, but there are lists out there that will not even have his name on it, and that’s just the fact of the matter.”
“I see…” Leyman looked concerned. “Well if that’s what it takes—an Executive Order—then I’ll raise the matter with the President. In the meantime, before I take this to the old man himself, can you paint me a picture of what we’re going to do about this situation in the Pacific? I understand your position entirely, Admiral Ghortney. If we stand you up in front of the tiller then the ship is yours. I’ll tell you right now that I’ll do everything possible to see your decisions are final.”
“Much obliged,” said Ghortney. “As to our intentions at this point, I can brief you on that right now. General Lane here has his assets in theater ready to go now. The two Missiles North Korea tried to lob at Guam were successfully intercepted and he has a number of strategic assets now in place for deep strike missions. It’s time we begin offensive operations. General Lane?”
“Sir, I have Bones, Bats and Buffs in theater now, and I can put missiles and heavy metal wherever you need it.”
“Bones and Bats?” Leyman looked at Reed.
“That will be B-1B Lancers, B-2 Spirit stealth bombers, and our older B-52s, Mister Leyman.”
“Buffs? Where do you guys come up with this stuff?”
“It stands for Big Ugly Fat Fellow, sir. A term of endearment among the air corps.
“Correct,” said Lane. “We’ve cued up that X-51C WaveRider strike Mission and it’s ready to go. The first thing we have to do is take out their ability to access space and prevent any further attempt to hit our satellites.”
“You’re talking about hitting the Chinese?” Leyman wanted to know what he had to take to the President.
“That’s right, the Chinese…But the Russians are on my short list now as well. We may have to hit their primary Cosmodromes and other key launch sites if we want to do this right.”
“You’re talking about a strategic attack on Russian soil?”
“With conventional bombers and ordnance. No nukes.”
“Yes, but will the Russians see these bombers coming? Might they interpret this as a nuclear attack?”
“Sir, if we wanted to launch a surprise nuclear attack we wouldn’t start with the bomber leg of the triad. We’d lead with ICBMs and sea launched missiles. So yes, they might be able to detect the incoming strike package, even if we use the B-2s, but we think they would correctly interpret the attack as conventional.”
“Well I’m glad you’re confident about that, General, because it’s making me just a little bit nervous when we start sending strategic bombers over enemy airspace. Is there any way we can limit our operations to the areas presently involved in the conflict?”
“You mean Taiwan and the North Pacific? STRATCOM is the wrong tool for that job, sir. We’re here for deep strike missions. Admiral Ghortney?” Lane wanted support.
“I agree with General Lane,” the Admiral put in quickly. “We have two carrier battlegroups mustered now, and CVBG Washington will be able to hand off its viable assets t
o either one to strengthen those groups. These are the tools, to use the general’s word, that we’ll use to beat the Chinese over the head with a hammer to settle this Taiwan business. The Strike Warfare Commanders and working with the Air Tasking Orders for Taiwan now. There was no way I was going to send the Eisenhower in to the South China Sea on its own after we saw what happened to Tanner on Big George. This time we will group our naval assets and use them in close coordination with one another. The Chinese have demonstrated some interesting and formidable capabilities. If we’re going to settle this matter, we’ll need everything we have in theater.”
“What about the Russian fleet?” Leyman was looking at his latest briefing on the matter.
“We think they’re down for the count—nothing we need concern ourselves with in the short run, except for the boomers. Those are the SLBM subs capable of launching missiles at the US from off shore. Thus far this business hasn’t escalated to an all out war at sea, but that’s where it’s headed. If this thing winds up any tighter, they’ll be after our boomers, and we’ll be after theirs, and I mean all over the globe.”
“The President is hoping we can limit this to the Pacific—to Taiwan and the Chinese.”
“Those hopes have already gone up in smoke, Mister Leyman.” Ghortney was not one to mince words. “The Russian 58th Army crossed the border into Kazakhstan this morning. They’re already operating to seize the oil fields in that region, and with the Persian Gulf up in arms, that matters. There’s also been an incident in the Black Sea involving British ships, not to mention that sucker punch in the Gulf of Mexico when they took a pot shot at that oil platform.”
“Thunder Horse? Yes, that one hurt us.”
“At least we got the damn sub, so they paid for that attack. The point I’m making is that the gloves are coming off. The Chinese have already gone after our satellites. The Russians and their proxies like Iran have hit strategic energy infrastructure that we rely on wherever they can find it. This is no longer a gentleman’s war. It’s time we get serious and let them know what they’re up against. It’s time we pushed back—and hard.”
“Very well….” Leyman looked from Ghortney to Lane. “Just what do you propose we do?”
“Hardkill SEAD will begin the operation,” said Ghortney. “We’ll use the Tomahawk Land Attack Cruise Missile and other similar assets off both surface and subsurface naval units, and from aircraft as well.”
“Seed?”
Ghortney spelled it for Leyman. “Suppression of Enemy Air Defense,” he explained. “We hit their known SAM sites and radars. That clears the airspace for the second wave that General Lane will be sending.”
“My bombers are ready,” Lane said quickly. “We lead with the B-2 strike and take out their satellite launching facilities. The B-1s can then be tasked against the airfields they are now using to support operations against Taiwan. We can pound them with more cruise missiles, smart bombs, and take those fields down in 24 hours. Then Admiral Ghortney might have something further to say about things.”
Ghortney nodded. “The next task would be establishing air superiority over Taiwan. CVBG Washington is down for the count at the moment, but I’ve got Nimitz and Eisenhower ready to move west, and we’ll hold Tanner’s remaining assets in the Washington group as a reserve until Third fleet reinforces us. CVBG Bush is already heading for Pearl Harbor. That will give us sufficient naval air power to restore order in the skies over Taiwan, and once we do that, the Chinese will think twice about the troops and equipment they’re loading on their amphibious shipping. We need to move quickly, and hit hard if they begin cross channel operations.”
Reed cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Admiral, but what about the DF-21s?”
“What about them?”
“The Chinese know their trump card is the ballistic missile. Look how they went to it right at the outset when they tangled with the Japanese. You move those carriers west and you might be looking at DF-21’s trying to make a clam chowder out of your operational zone.”
Reed had put his finger on the strategic crux of the matter. The aircraft carrier had reigned supreme in naval strategy since it proved itself in the Second World War. Now, for the first time, the threat of ballistic missiles was posing a grave challenge to carrier dominance. Just as the capabilities of carrier launched planes had ushered in the demise of the battleship, now ballistic missiles threatened to dethrone the carrier.”
“Well, Mister Reed,” Ghortney put it as straight as he could. “We’ll just have to see about that, wont we. We’ll just have to pound those missile sites to dust as well.”
Chapter 18
“The KA-226 is reporting in now, sir,” said Rodenko. “We have good long range radar returns on the American battlegroups to the south. It appears that they are bringing up another large flotilla.”
“Show me.” Karpov leaned heavily on the rim of the radar panel as Rodenko pointed out the contacts.
“I’ll have the data transferred to the tactical board, sir. This looks like yet another carrier task force—at least ten capital ships, and communications has intercepted ship-to-ship radio traffic. Nikolin believes Admiral Halsey is commanding.”
“That would agree with Fedorov’s books,” said Karpov.
“Yes, well I’m reading 34 additional ships in this group. Add those to the units we are already tracking and we are now facing no less than 60 enemy warships of various types.”
“Nine carriers, four battleships and three heavy cruisers,” said Karpov matter of factly. “That is if the historical data is accurate. The rest are light cruisers and destroyers.”
“We have 62 SSMs, sir.” Rodenko’s eyes conveyed the obvious admonition. “That is not enough conventional weaponry to effectively oppose a force of this size. And those carriers will likely have hundreds of aircraft available.”
“Correct.” Karpov was pacing now, thinking and considering his situation. It was shaping up very much like those last frantic moments off the coast of Newfoundland when the ship was faced with multiple enemy task groups. The weapons tally was no more favorable then, and he had determined that stronger measures were necessary. Why was he hesitating now?
“How long before those ships might threaten us with another air strike?”
“The Sprague group has been loitering about a hundred kilometers due east of Shikotan Island, Captain. They could launch now, but radar returns show only modest combat air patrols over that group. I believe they are waiting for the Halsey group, which should reach strike position in about ninety minutes if we proceed on our present course and speed. If we were to hold in place, make that three hours.”
Karpov’s eyes narrowed. “Helm, port fifteen. Mister Nikolin, signal the flotilla to match our movements. We will circle in place.”
“Aye, sir.”
The order seemed to ease the tension a bit on the bridge, and Rodenko was relieved that the Captain seemed to want to buy himself a little more time to consider the situation. Karpov appeared ill at ease, however, as if the weight of the decision was heavy on him now.
“They are not making the mistake Captain Tanner did in 2021,” said Karpov.
“Sir?”
“Tanner tried to take us on single handedly. The Americans had another carrier approaching, the Nimitz, named for the Admiral commanding their fleet in this timeframe. Tanner came in alone and he paid for it, just as this Sprague group would have paid a high price if they pressed that last attack against us.”
“But they called that attack off and consolidated,” said Rodenko. “Now they present us with a much stronger force.”
Karpov was pacing. “Get hold of Orlan and Golovko,” he said to Nikolin again. “Ask Yeltsin and Ryakhin if they can join me for a conference in thirty minutes aboard Kirov.” Then he turned to sonar. “Mister Tasarov—keep a sharp ear. I want the KA-40 up on ASW patrol and coordinating with Golovko. No surprises please.”
“Aye, sir. Our immediate zone of operations is clear and I am moni
toring the situation closely.”
“Good man… Rodenko, you have the bridge.”
Karpov stepped toward the aft hatch, his eye catching the red emergency lighting and manual lock switch as he did so, and a thrum of anxiety rose in his stomach. The memory of that moment when he had opened the hatch and saw the dull gleam of that light on the barrel of an assault rifle pointed at his chest returned to him. The stalwart figure of Sergeant Troyak standing in the hatch opening… the cold, emotionless eyes of the Siberian Marine, the feel of his hand like iron on his own when Troyak took his missile key…The humiliation that followed seared him again as he recalled what happened. The image of Orlov’s face as he looked at him, a quiet sneer of disgust in his eyes, and the last words the Chief spoke to him… “Consequences, Karpov. Consequences…” And all the while the sound of Kirov’s deck guns cracked in the air like a snapping whip, salvo after salvo. Then the sight of that distant mushroom cloud blossoming up on the horizon, and with it the realization of what he had done.
Karpov lowered his head, stepping quickly through the hatch, his face clouded and troubled.
“Captain off the bridge!”
He was down the ladder and heading aft, his footsteps leading him on past the officer’s mess, where another memory clawed at him. Orlov…He remembered how the big Chief had deliberately spilled coffee on his table, and his surprise in seeing him there as he left the officer’s mess. It was the last time he had spoken to Orlov, and his hand moved involuntarily to his side where the Chief had buried a fist in his gut.
Hot anger colored the Captain’s cheeks as he walked, quickly turning right to reach his quarters. He closed the door with a hard shove, taking off his Captain’s hat and wiping the damp sheen of perspiration from his forehead. Without thinking he went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of Vodka and a shot glass, sitting down at his desk with a hard thump as he hit the chair.
A dejected cold feeling surrounded him. He took a sip and then tipped the shot quickly down, breathing hard with the fire of the liquor on his throat. The taste of the Vodka triggered yet another memory of that drink he had with Admiral Volsky in the brig. He had been sullen and disrespectful, calling the Admiral an old man to his face and prompting him to fist the table top in anger. He could hear Volsky’s anger, well justified…
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