All it would take was one more success, and after the defeat of the Americans in Iceland and in the ambush over the Norwegian Sea this last success would be easy enough to obtain.
The Russians had kept an eye on the progress of the American carrier, of course, tracking the ships and planes from the An-74 AEW plane over the Soyuz battle group. The Americans had hung about at the fringe of the exclusion zone for three days, seemingly unable to depart and unwilling to advance. Terekhov had advocated launching a strike on the battle group early on, but orders from Moscow had required Soyuz to concentrate on preparing the battlefield south of the Sognefjord instead. When the Americans had started trying to jam Soviet radar and radio signals, there had been some concern, but the jamming effort had been clumsy at best. As long as the An-74 stayed on the job, there was little danger of an American surprise attack even if they were in any shape to launch one.
So one squadron of fighters at a time shared the duty of combat air patrol over the invasion fleet with a squadron of land-based MiGs out of Orland, while another of the carrier’s squadrons remained on standby to protect Soyuz, just in case. The other two were currently on the flight deck, where busy technicians were prepping them for action to support the landings in the morning. All four had been brought up to full strength the day before by replacements out of Murmansk and Archangel.
“Osa, Osa, this is Gnyezdo.” Glushko’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “You are ordered to return here at once. Repeat, return at once.”
What was the air wing commander playing at this time? Terekhov keyed in his transmitter and gave a curt reply. “Gnyezdo, Osa. Request clarification.”
“American aircraft have been detected approaching Soyuz. ETA now three minutes. Your squadron is needed to reinforce the defense. The admiral has ordered it. Comply immediately.”
Terekhov cursed under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he hoped this was another of Glushko’s paranoid delusions or not. If it wasn’t, the Americans would regret falling in with Terekhov’s squadron a second time. “Acknowledged, Gnyezdo. On our way.”
Terekhov shifted uneasily in his seat and changed frequencies to report to the other escort commander. Just when everything had looked so right …
0006 hours Zulu (0006 hours Zone)
Tomcat 203, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“They’re painting us six ways from Sunday, Skipper. They’ve got so much radar coverage out there we’re likely to end up looking like a microwave dinner.”
Coyote smiled under his mask at John-Boy’s hyperbole, but he knew how the RIO felt. Flying exposed like this, clearly in view for the entire approach to the target, went against every instinct he had. The fact that the Prowler accompanying the attack was deliberately keeping its jamming selective and largely ineffective was no comfort either. He hoped they would be able to switch over to a more useful mode when the time came for action.
“Don’t sweat it, John-Boy. But keep your eye on that scope. If they start shooting, I want to know about it.”
“Trust me, Skipper, you’ll know. They’ll know back on the Jeff. Maybe back in Washington if I scream loud enough and the wind’s right.”
“Odin Leader, this is Asgard.” That was Magruder calling. He sounded tense. Was he still reacting to the pressures on him because of his new position, or was he worried over the fate of the Vipers? Coyote suspected that he’d been unhappy at the thought of sending his old squadron into the killing ground understrength, but it was the only division of responsibility that made sense. The special operation Coyote had proposed wouldn’t take a full Tomcat squadron … but BARCAP over the Jefferson absolutely demanded one. That made the choice for this phase of the operation inevitable. “Status?”
Coyote’s reply was curt. “Unchanged.” He paused, then continued. “Still nothing from the bad guys. Looks like they’ve pulled in their horns and plan to defend right over their battle group.”
“Makes sense,” Magruder said. “The closer in you get, the more of a target you make for ship-launched SAMs. As long as they’re confident of taking out anything you throw at them from long range, they’re sitting pretty.”
“Yeah.” Grant didn’t find the words encouraging. He hesitated before going on. “Look, Stoney … I let a lot of petty shit make me crazy. If I don’t come back …”
“You’ll be back, Coyote,” Magruder interrupted. “You’re indestructible.”
“If I don’t come back, just know I still think you’re the best. And I think you’re going to make a pretty good CAG someday too.”
Magruder didn’t respond for a long moment, and when he did his tone had changed. “Tango Six-fiver just spotted a squadron heading your way from the invasion fleet,” he said. “Time to turn out the lights out there, Coyote. Phase Two … Execute.”
Coyote changed radio channels. “All Odins, all Odins, this is Odin Leader. Phase Two.”
“Roger that,” Batman replied, and the rest of the diminished squadron, four more planes, followed suit. Coyote pulled back on his joystick and rammed his throttles forward. The Tomcats surged skyward, climbing high above the rest of the strike force and leaving them far behind.
0009 hours Zulu (0009 hours Zone)
CIC Air Ops module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Norwegian Sea
“Loki Leader, this is Asgard,” Magruder said, striving for the kind of calm Stramaglia had always been able to muster. “Phase Two commences now. Start the symphony and launch your attack.”
He could hardly contain his nervousness, his impatience. Magruder had never realized how hard it would be to have to sit out the fighting back in Air Ops, surrounded by constant reminders of the situation facing the men in the air but without the means to take direct action. It was a frustrating experience.
Of course, he might have gone up with one of those squadrons. Stramaglia had given in to the urge. At least he had gone out fighting.
But his new responsibilities as CAG held Magruder back. His job was now the coordination of multiple efforts, not only each of the components of the Alpha Strike but also of the Tomcats flying BARCAP over the battle group and the helos conducting ASW searches. Just as a modern general couldn’t indulge in leading infantry charges in the field anymore, so he had moved beyond the realm where he could take part in an air battle in good conscience. It was too easy when you were up there to lose track of everything but your own immediate problems. Losing Gridley because of his impatience to deal with a different crisis altogether had shown him that much.
For now, he knew, he had to be in CIC. But knowing that simple fact didn’t make the decision to stay put any easier.
“Asgard, Loki Leader,” Bigfoot Henderson replied. “Acknowledged. We’re going in.”
0010 hours Zulu (0010 hours Zone)
Air Ops, Soviet Aircraft Carrier Soyuz
In the Norwegian Sea
“Captain! Enemy radar jamming has just intensified. It is as if they suddenly flipped a switch and turned up their power tenfold.” Glushko crossed to the radar technician and peered over his shoulder at the screen, which was fuzzy with streaks and static. “Compensate!” he growled.
“Captain, I cannot,” the technician protested. “Perhaps the feed from the An-74 will be better, but the equipment I have here-“
“Then patch in to the AEW,” Glushko shouted. “Do it! Before they start their attack run!” They needed effective radars to track the American attack. He hoped the SAM batteries in the fleet wouldn’t be too seriously hampered by this sudden change in the enemy jamming technique. If it turned out that the surface ships would not be able to bring their firepower to bear, his decision to let the Americans come all the way in would turn out to be a disaster.
The image on the main plotting board jumped and danced, then suddenly became clearer. The An-74, looking down on the battleground, was in a better position to penetrate the American jamming.
Glushko studied the board for a moment, then pointed
to a pattern of dots that had broken away from the other American aircraft. “What are these?” he demanded.
An aide peered at the symbols. “American interceptors. F-14 type.” He paused, looking uncertain. “They are gaining altitude and heading north, away from us.” Sudden understanding flooded over his features. “Heading for the AEW plane, Comrade Captain! They carry the American Phoenix missile. The An-74 will be in their range in a matter of seconds!”
“Warn the AEW plane!” he barked. “And order our CAP to engage them. Now!”
“But that will uncover the ships, Comrade Captain.”
“Do it!”
0012 hours Zulu (0012 hours Zone)
Tomcat 204, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“We’ve got company coming, Batman. Sukhois … looks like a whole squadron!”
“Watch them,” Wayne ordered. “Two-oh-three, this is Two-oh-four. You copy, Coyote?”
“Read you. You see our new friends?”
“That’s affirmative, Coyote. How you want to handle these guys?”
“Tyrone and I will stay on the target. You take the rest and keep those guys off our backs.”
“Roger that, Coyote,” Batman told him. “Heads up, gang. Follow me!”
He stood the Tomcat on its wing in a tight turn, banking right and shedding altitude fast. Three more F-14s followed.
“Go to Sparrows,” Coyote ordered. “Save your Phoenixes until we nail the target.”
“Roger,” Batman said. He thumbed his selector switch to choose the medium-range radar-homing missiles. The targeting diamond bracketed a tiny dot on his HUD display and flashed red. “I’m locked on … taking the shot. Fox one! Fox one!” The Sparrow roared off its launch rail.
0012 hours Zulu (0012 hours Zone)
Tomcat 204, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Lock. I’ve got target lock. Go for it, Coyote!”
His finger tightened on the firing stud and the Phoenix spouted flame and leapt from the Tomcat’s wing. At a range of ninety miles, the Antonov An-74 AEW aircraft, code-named Madcap in NATO parlance, was beyond the reach of most air-to-air missiles, but still well within the reach of Phoenix. The oversized missiles rode a semi-active radar beam to the target, switching to an active beam in the terminal approach.
Seconds passed slowly, with John-Boy reciting the distance between missile and target in the same tone he might have used to read off baseball scores.
“Twelve miles, closing … ten … eight … five and still closing … Bingo! That’s a hit, by God! You nailed him, Coyote!”
“All right!” Grant said. The exhilaration of battle had taken hold, and suddenly there was nothing left but the Tomcat and the fight raging below them. “Tyrone, let’s get into the game. Follow my lead!”
0015 hours Zulu (0015 hours Zone)
CIC Air Ops module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Norwegian Sea
“It’s a hit! The Madcap’s been hit!”
A cheer went up from the controllers in the Air Ops module, and Magruder found himself joining in. Coyote had managed it just as he’d promised in the briefing. Now, with their AEW plane out of action and the heavy jamming from the Prowlers, the Russians would find their command and communications seriously disrupted. And that was precisely what the American plan required to be successful.
He grasped a microphone. “Thor, Thor, this is Asgard. Commence Phase Three. Repeating, commence Phase three. Acknowledge, please.”
Benton, the flamboyant Texan Hornet pilot, replied promptly, “Asgard, this is Thor, and we’re on our way! Just let us at ‘em!”
Magruder put the mike aside with a faint smile. All the pieces were in motion now. As long as the Hornets and Intruders of the strike group designated Loki could hold the Russians’ attention for another half hour, the attack just might work out as planned.
0015 hours Zulu (0015 hours Zone)
Intruder 507, Loki Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Break off, Banshee. Break off!”
Bannon cursed and obeyed the order from Commander Ralph Quinn, turning away from the Soviet battle group but keeping the Intruder right down on the deck. Ever since they had entered Harpoon range, the aircraft of Loki Flight had been skirmishing with their Russian opponents. The Hornets, armed for air-to-air operations, had seen their fair share of the action. Each time another plane rose from the Soviet carrier’s deck, one of Henderson’s Fighting Hornets would swoop in to engage, spreading a trail of chaff and flares in their wakes and dodging SAM fire from the ships.
But the Intruders, so far, had spent all their time setting up attack runs that they weren’t allowed to press home. It was all part of the original plan, of course, to harass the Soviets by continually threatening to attack. If they ever actually released their Harpoon missiles, the Intruders would pose no further threat, and that could undo the whole plan to draw the enemy planes away from the critical target to the east.
Knowing it was part of the plan didn’t make it any easier to keep breaking off, though. Since most of the Sukhoiz on BARCAP had been sent after Viper Squadron, the Soviets were open to a quick stroke now. It was just possible that they might actually inflict damage on the Russian carrier, and turn the diversion into a genuine triumph.
His Bombardier/Navigator, seated beside him, was looking at Bannon with an unhappy expression. “C’mon, Banshee,” Lieutenant j.g. Scott Gordon protested. “Ease up a little. You don’t have to make it look so damned realistic!”
“You want to end up on the wrong end of one of their SAMs, Gordo?” he shot back. “You just sit and think nice thoughts. I’ll do the flying, thank you very much!”
Maybe if he’d taken that attitude with Jolly Greene right from the start the accident might not have happened. He should never have let the man in the B/N position rattle him, no matter how big a hero he was or how important his position aboard Jefferson had been. There was only room for one pilot in an attack plane.
“Okay, Death Dealers, circle back for another run,” Quinn ordered. “Let’s see if we can get close enough this time to smell the borscht!”
Smiling for the first time in days, Banshee Bannon swung his Intruder into formation and started plotting his next run.
0015 hours Zulu (0015 hours Zone)
Tomcat 203, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Talk to me, John-Boy,” Coyote said. “Find me a playmate.”
“Bearing zero-four-two,” the RIO replied laconically. “He’s closing fast.”
Coyote banked right and thumbed his selector switch to the Sparrow setting. The targeting reticule flashed almost immediately, and he opened fire. “Fox one! Fox one!”
The missile lanced toward the target, but veered off suddenly and dropped toward the ocean below. The AIM-7 Sparrow was probably the least reliable weapon in the naval aviator’s arsenal, which was one reason why they were generally unloaded earlier in a dogfight. Their weight was another factor, since a Tomcat without Sparrows slung under the wings performed slightly better in tight maneuvers. That didn’t count today, though. He still had a Phoenix, and those were a lot bulkier and heavier than a Sparrow.
“Coyote! Watch your six!” John-Boy warned.
He twisted to look over his shoulder and saw the Sukhoi dropping into place behind his tail. “Damn,” he swore, throwing the Tomcat into a sharp turn. His adversary clung to him, and Coyote swore again.
“Tyrone! Tyrone! Get this bastard off me!”
The threat alert screamed a warning as the enemy targeting radar locked on.
0016 hours Zulu (0016 hours Zone)
Tomcat 211, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“On my way!” Powers said, wrenching his joystick forward and to the left with a violent motion. He had let himself get distracted by a pair of Sukhois weaving a complex pattern around Sheridan’s Tomcat, and he wasn’t in the best position to save his wi
ngman.
“Whoa, there, Tyrone!” Ears Cavanaugh protested. “Pass the Dramamine, for God’s sake!”
Powers ignored him as the Tomcat dropped like a stone toward the dueling planes. He rammed the throttles full forward and rolled to the right. The acceleration pressed him back into his seat, blurring his vision.
The two planes flashed on either side of the cockpit as he plunged between them.
0016 hours Zulu (0016 hours Zone)
Tomcat 203, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Good God!” Coyote exclaimed. “What the hell was that, Tyrone?”
The other Tomcat had flashed past almost faster than Coyote could react, right through the gap between pursued and pursuer. The sudden appearance of Tyrone’s plane must have startled the Russian pilot even more. The Sukhoi rolled left, losing its radar lock as he tried to dodge the crazy American.
Coyote banked sharply, trying to turn and line up a quick shot on the enemy plane. But by the time he finished the maneuver the Sukhoi was already chasing new prey.
It was Powers.
The Tomcat juked and weaved like a mad thing, but the Soviet pilot matched Powers move for move. “I can’t shake him! I can’t shake him!” the young lieutenant was shouting.
Coyote switched to Sidewinders and accelerated. It seemed to take forever to get the tone in his earphones that announced a lock-on. Finally he heard it, and his finger tightened convulsively. “Fox two! Fox two!” he called. “Hang in there, kid. You can-“
At that moment a missile jumped from the Russian’s wing. Tomcat and Sukhoi exploded at almost the same instant.
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