0017 hours Zulu (0017 hours Zone)
Fulcrum Leader, Escort Mission Osa
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Khrahneetyehly, Khrahneetyehly, this is Osa. Guardian, this is Wasp. Do you copy?” Terekhov bit off a curse. What was happening? The An-74 wasn’t responding to his calls, and radio communications in general were suffering from heavy jamming.
“Osa, Gnyezdo.” Glushko was hard to make out against the interference. “Guardian is out of action. The Americans shot it down. What is your ETA?”
Terekhov didn’t respond. Pieces of a puzzle were falling into place. The Americans had launched their attack without taking even the most basic precautions against detection, flying with their Electronic Warfare aircraft hardly functioning and not even taking advantage of radar distortion at low altitudes. They had wanted their approach to be detected.
And now they no longer wanted the Soviets to track them. Otherwise why waste time pursuing the An-74 when there were many more valuable targets available? And their jamming was suddenly more efficient.
An observant American would have noted Glushko’s caution in covering Soyuz from attack. Would the enemy feint toward the carrier as a prelude to striking the amphibious force?
“Wasp, Wasp, this is Nest,” Glushko said urgently. Wasp, what is your ETA? The American bombers are not pressing their attack yet, and we can crush them if you can just get here and join the fighting.”
The American bombers were not pressing their attack …
“Wasp Flight, this is Wasp Leader,” Terekhov said crisply. “The attack on Soyuz is a fake. The real attack will be against the invasion fleet. We will return there.”
Banking sharply, Terekhov set his new course. The diversion had very nearly worked. But he still had time to get back and join the land-based planes in defending the transports.
Glushko would demand his head for this disobedience, but that didn’t matter any more. Terekhov knew right from wrong, knew what he had to do to save the campaign in the face of the American trickery.
0019 hours Zulu (0019 hours Zone)
CIC Air Ops module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Norwegian Sea
“No doubt about it, Commander,” Owens said glumly, pointing to the plotting board. “Those Russkie bastards have turned around. They didn’t take the bait after all.”
Magruder stared at the flashing symbols, a sinking feeling taking hold of his guts. This had always been possible, of course. But the Russians had seemed to fall for the trap. This sudden change of course could only mean that some Russian squadron leader was showing an unaccustomed amount of individual initiative. He should have expected something like that after seeing the reports on the well-conceived operation that had nearly wiped out the Vipers. There was at least one Russian out there who was too smart to be taken in.
It was down to a simple matter of mathematics. Strike Group Thor, heading for the invasion fleet, was slow, too slow. The MiGs had double their effective speed, and a lot less distance to travel to get back into position over their transports. And the planes in Thor wouldn’t be able to make much of a showing against determined opposition. True, the Hornets carried some air-to-air weaponry. The plan had called for each to release a Harpoon before closing in to deal with the reduced escorting aircraft. But they would be hard-pressed to outfight two full squadrons, both dedicated entirely to air-to-air operations. And the other planes in Thor had never been designed with dogfighting in mind.
There were no options left. They had to call off the attack, or watch twenty American planes go down in defeat to no good purpose.
With one daring move, that unknown Russian pilot had just saved his fleet and condemned the Americans to stand by and watch helplessly as Bergen fell and freedom was extinguished in Norway.
CHAPTER 24
Monday, 16 June, 1997
0020 hours Zulu (0020 hours Zone)
CIC Air Ops module, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
In the Norwegian Sea
Magruder reached for the microphone, feeling dead inside. They had come so close …
“Asgard, Asgard, this is Odin,” Coyote’s voice boomed from the speaker. “The Sukhois are on the run! I think they’ve had enough. Request instructions, over.”
Tombstone swallowed and studied the plotting board again. There was still a chance to stop those Russians … but only if the Vipers could get to them in time. If only he had gone up with them. He knew that he and Batman could have done it, just like at Wonsan and in the last wild fight of the Indian Ocean intervention …
He shook his head. He didn’t have to be up there. Coyote and Batman were two of the best, and the rest of the Vipers were as good as he had been three years back. It was time he realized that the torch had been passed on.
Magruder’s fingers closed around the mike and he spoke with sudden animation and urgency. “Odin, this is Asgard. New orders. Proceed toward Target Thor, repeat Target Thor. Use any means available to support Thor Strike against enemy aircraft. Do you copy, Odin?”
“Odin copies,” Coyote came back, sounding cool and calm, more like his old self than he’d been for a long time now. “We’re on our way, Stoney!”
He bit his lip, deep in thought. It was an unplanned diversion of the Tomcats, and that could play havoc with the logistical side of the operation. The Vipers were as fast as the enemy MiGs, so they should be able to close the range before Thor Group arrived on the scene. But by the time they finished those F-14s would be flying on fumes. He would have to send a Texaco to rendezvous with them.
There was something else he could do too to turn up the pressure on the enemy. If they wouldn’t respond to a threat, perhaps they would react better to something stronger. He raised the microphone again, and now he was smiling.
0021 hours Zulu (0021 hours Zone)
Intruder 507, Loki Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“All Lokis, all Lokis, stand by for new orders.”
Bannon cocked his head as Magruder’s voice came from the radio. Was Jefferson ordering a recall already? It was early for that, according to the mission timetable … unless something had gone seriously wrong.
“Loki Flight, primary target is now designated active. Repeat, active. Commence attack runs.”
The words sent a thrill through Bannon. This was what he had been waiting for! He felt his grip on the yoke tightening. “You heard the man, Gordo. Time to send them a little something to remember us by!”
Quinn formed them up into two waves of four Intruders each, with the Hornets thrown out ahead in case any more interceptors tried to block the attack. Bannon was part of the second wave, holding back from the battle until the first four planes had taken their shot at the Soviet carrier.
“Tighten up your formation,” he heard Quinn order as the Intruders dipped low over the ocean and started their run. “Watch those SAMs …”
“They’ve got a lock on me!” another pilot shouted.
“Climb! Climb! Drop some chaff and climb!”
The radio crackled once. Then Quinn announced somberly, “They got Hoops.” That would be Lieutenant Commander Jack “Hoops” Wilson.
“Firing,” another voice announced calmly. Seconds passed. “Shit! Defensive fire’s too damned heavy!”
Then Quinn again, sounding disgusted. “Second wave, take your shots. We didn’t even scratch ‘em.”
Bannon pushed the throttles ahead and swooped down, ready to start his attack.
0023 hours Zulu (0023 hours Zone)
Tomcat 203, Odin Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
“Range?” Coyote demanded.
“One hundred fifty miles,” John-Boy replied. “Still closing … one-thirty now.”
Coyote flipped the selector switch to the Phoenix setting. “All right, Vipers, let’s get some value for the taxpayers’ dollars. Make every one count.”
“Don’t I always?” Batman interjected. Somebody else, probably Malibu, was chuck
ling.
“Minds on the job, boys,” Coyote admonished. “Batman, you’ll just have to pretend.”
“One hundred ten miles,” John-Boy announced. That was the maximum range of a Phoenix, but Coyote didn’t want any slipups.
There were just four of them left, Coyote and Batman, and Sheridan and Lieutenant Joe Travers, running name “Shorty.” The other Tomcat had gone down during the brief struggle with the Sukhois, about the same time as Powers. Seven Phoenixes — all the reduced squadron had left — wouldn’t account for all of the defenders by any means, but they would surely disrupt the Russians. And the Vipers still had a few Sidewinders and Sparrows ready for when they closed the range.
“Ninety-five miles, Coyote. I’ve got one in my sights.”
He held his fire a few seconds longer, then hit the stud. “Fox three! Fox three!” The Phoenix dropped from its hard-point and ignited, driving across the darkening twilit sky.
The others joined the cry in chorus. “Fox three!”
0024 hours Zulu (0024 hours Zone)
Intruder 507, Loki Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
Bannon squinted into the dim sky, picking out the shape of the lead Intruder up ahead. Hacker Hackenberg was flying her, having traded his LSO job for the pilot’s seat tonight. The thought brought an unpleasant reminder of things best forgotten. The last time he’d spoken directly to Hacker, it had been over the radio, ending in shouts of “Wave off!”
Now Hackenberg’s voice was tightly controlled. “Firing now,” he said. One of the two Harpoons slung under his wings ignited and sped into the distance. A moment later a flash lit up the sky. “No good,” Hacker said. “They’re knocking everything down when we fire from out here. I’m getting closer … if I have to ram it right down their throats.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Lieutenant,” Quinn broke in. “You won’t have a chance dodging that crap. It’s like the night sky over Baghdad in there!”
“We didn’t lose that much over Baghdad!” Hacker said. His Intruder surged forward, jinking back and forth to dodge missile and cannon fire erupting from the decks of an Udaloy-class DDG.
Bannon let the range open. Hackenberg was right, they would never get a missile in past all those defenses unless they could close the range and let go at the last possible moment. But it took guts to drive in past all that SAM and Triple-A fire. He wasn’t sure he was up to that.
“Ready … ready … Not yet …” a voice chanted. Bannon thought it must be Hacker’s Bombardier/Navigator, but he wasn’t sure.
“She’s coming up!” Hackenberg shouted. “Coming up fast! This is it-“
Another flash, farther off this time, lit the sky like a flare. It was right on the line Hackenberg had taken. “I’m hit!” Hacker said, as if to confirm his thoughts. “I’m hit. Can’t hold her …” Then came the brightest explosion of all.
0025 hours Zulu (0025 hours Zone)
Air Ops, Soviet Aircraft Carrier Soyuz
In the Norwegian Sea
The impact made Glushko stagger. “We’ve been hit!” someone shouted. Smoke was billowing from a bank of radar screens, acrid, tangy. Glushko bent over, coughing.
“Fucking Yankee rammed us,” someone said, hacking on the smoke. “Crashed right on the flight deck.”
The Air Operations center was buried deep in the shelter of the island, but even here they weren’t safe from collateral damage from the fiery impact. The ventilator fans whirred, but they weren’t adequate for the job.
Eyes tearing, Glushko pushed open the watertight hatch and staggered into the corridor outside. He was still coughing, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. Fresh air … he had to get some fresh air.
A tiny voice of conscience protested that he should stay at his post, help fight the fire. If the admiral found out he had deserted Air Ops, his career would be over.
Gasping, wheezing, he started up the nearest ladder. Glushko was past caring about career or duty anymore.
0026 hours Zulu (0026 hours Zone)
Intruder 507, Loki Flight
Over the Norwegian Sea
Even this far out, Bannon could see the flames rising from Soyuz where Hackenberg had plowed his Intruder into her flight deck. It brought back his own crash in a flood of images and memories, but Bannon clenched his teeth and denied them all.
Hacker had shown the way … and his sacrifice was sure to distract some of the defenders for a few moments at least. Now was the time to follow up that explosion with a missile attack that would compound the damage to the Russian carrier.
“Get ready, Gordo,” he warned. “We’re going in.”
“We’re what?” The B/N looked incredulous. “Didn’t you see what just happened, man?”
“We’re going in,” he repeated. “Hold on!”
The Intruder plunged into the maelstrom.
Time seemed to move in slow motion as they weaved through the defensive fire, skimming almost at wavetop height. After his first protest Gordon was quiet, his face set in a grim frown of concentration as he prepared to hit the release button.
The Intruder seemed to stagger as something exploded just ahead, but Bannon fought her, kept the ungainly bomber on course. We can make it, he told himself. We can make it …
And for a disconcerting instant he thought he heard Jolly Green answering him. You can do it, kid. Take her in … make me proud …
“Firing!” Gordon shouted, triggering one of the Harpoons.
“Give ‘em both barrels, Gordo!” Bannon urged, trying to hold the Intruder steady.
The second Harpoon followed smoothly in the trail of the first, and Bannon banked left, climbing, climbing …
“Radar lock! They’ve got lock!” Gordon’s voice rose an octave. “Evasive-“
The SAM struck them amidships, and Intruder 507 vanished in a ball of raw heat and light.
0028 hours Zulu (0028 hours Zone)
Flight deck, Soviet Aircraft Carrier Soyuz
In the Norwegian Sea
With an effort Glushko threw open the hatch and emerged into the dim twilight of the deck, gulping down clean air. He leaned against the hatch frame, still coughing a little. Finally he straightened, chest heaving, and looked up.
The first Harpoon smashed into the side of the island directly above him. He never saw the second missile. Captain First Rank Fyodor Arturovich Glushko was already dead.
0030 hours Zulu (0030 hours Zone)
Fulcrum Lead, Escort Mission Osa
Near Cape Bremanger, Norway
Even over the static, Terekhov could hear the confusion that surrounded the hits on the carrier. It was plain that Soyuz had come under genuine attack this time. And he had turned his back on him in the crisis.
Sergei Sergeivich Terekhov raged inwardly. The Americans had caught him neatly between two equal threats, and tonight they had been the ones to earn the victory. Even his gesture in returning to the invasion fleet had gone wrong. He knew that now with the same certainty that he knew it would be almost impossible to evade the incoming wave of American AIM-54 missiles. They were the most dangerous weapon in the enemy arsenal, hard to evade, harder to stop, and though he went through all the motions Terekhov knew it would be useless in the long run.
Seconds before impact he pulled the ejection lever. The canopy blew clear, and a second later he had the sensation of having his seat slam upward into his spine.
Terekhov was well clear, his parachute deploying, when the Phoenix hit his MiG. In the end, it seemed, the Americans had retained the edge, in technology and in strategy. The Rodina could claim to be a superpower, but with inferior men and machines, that claim would continue to be a hollow one.
0035 hours Zulu (0035 hours Zone)
Viking 701, Thor Flight
Near Cape Bremanger, Norway
The Tomcats from Viper Squadron had already broken up the defending squadrons, first with long-range Phoenix missiles, then with shorter-range weapons, before Thor Group reached their target.
Their attack had plainly rattled the Soviets, who put up no more than a token defense before fleeing northeast.
The Hornets made the first attack run, launching a wave of Harpoons toward the Soviet escorts. Lacking the central control of the American Aegis system, without an AEW aircraft to sort through threats, and hampered by jamming from the Prowler accompanying Thor Flight, the Russian ships were hard-pressed to defend themselves, much less extend their protection to the ill-assorted fleet of transports in their care.
That was the moment Commander Max Harrison had been waiting for. All ten S-3Bs had been pressed into service as attack planes under Magruder’s plan. Harrison had opposed it from the start. A Viking was a sub-hunter, not a poor man’s Intruder, and he hadn’t believed it possible to open up the enemy defenses far enough for the slow, ill-armed Vikings to actually challenge the Soviet Red Banner Fleet.
But it fell into place as Magruder had predicted, and by the time the twenty Harpoons were on their way it was almost an anticlimax. The Vikings turned for home, but behind them rippling flashes of light marked the end of the Soviet amphibious force … and perhaps of Russian hopes for completing the conquest of Norway.
0105 hours Zulu (0105 hours Zone)
Flag Plot, Soviet Aircraft Carrier Soyuz
In the Norwegian Sea
Admiral Khenkin slumped in his seat, overwhelmed by the reports streaming in from all sides. Soyuz was on fire, with half her complement of aircraft destroyed or fled and most of the rest trapped useless on deck or in her hangars. The ship’s captain had requested permission to turn him about and withdraw to the north, farther from the Americans, in case they planned to rearm and launch a follow-up strike.
And the invasion ships were scattered or destroyed. There would be no hope of supporting the paratroops at Brekke now, no hope of the quick breakthrough that would carry the Soviets to victory. The only good news in any of it was the recovery of some of the pilots lost off Cape Bremanger. Fortunately the captain of the Kiev had deployed helicopters to carry out search and rescue as soon as he had seen the air battle develop.
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