by Joe Weber
Sixty miles north of Kitty Hawk, Comdr. Doug "Frogman" Karns, commanding officer of fighter squadron VF-102, led the first six F-14D Tomcats toward the carrier. His executive officer, ten miles in trail, led four more VF-102 Diamondback fighters.
Karns, a TOPGUN graduate, had been in command of the Diamondbacks less than two months. His reputation had preceded him and he was well respected by every member of his squadron.
The CO had been tagged with his peculiar nickname when he was a lieutenant (junior grade) nugget pilot--a new aviator, to the uninitiated. Karns had erred on a difficult terrain reconnaissance mission off the carrier Coral Sea, missed the rendezvous point with the "boat," ran out of fuel, and ditched five miles astern of the carrier. His fellow squadron pilots immediately began calling Karns "Frogman."
The VF-102, along with a second F-14D squadron--VF-41 Black Aces--would provide combat air patrol. Two F/A-18 Hornet squadrons would fly aboard later to provide additional fighter strength.
The Warhawks from VA-97 and the Marauders from VA-82 would fly SUCAP in their A-6E Intruder medium bombers. The surface patrol would be augmented by the Zappers of VAQ-130 in their EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare Intruders.
The Cyclops of VAW-123, flying the E-2C Hawkeye Hummer airborne early warning turboprop, would provide the eyes for the fleet. The Sea Wolves of VS-27 would support the antisubmarine warfare effort in their twin-jet S-3B Vikings.
Karns started a slow descent, keyed his radio mike, and waited for the scrambler to sync. "Wolfpack, Diamond One Oh Three inbound with a flight of six."
"Roger, Diamond flight," the controller said, watching his radarscope in the bowels of Kitty Hawk. "Squawk four-one-three-three."
"Forty-one-thirty-three," Karns acknowledged, reprogramming his transponder.
The controller watched the new code appear on his scope, then keyed his mike. "I have you at five-two DME, descending through three-three thousand." The Tomcats, passing through 33,000 feet, were fifty-two nautical miles from the carrier.
"That's affirm," Karns replied. "Diamond One Oh Four had a hydraulic pump go south on him. Request priority deck--he'll be a straight-in."
"Copy, Diamond One Zero Three." A short pause followed. "Diamond One Zero Four," the controller radioed, "is number one for the deck."
"Roger," Karns responded, steepening the descent. The sky under the high overcast was beginning to show signs of dawn. The fighter pilots would not have to make a night landing.
"Diamond One Oh Four," the F-14 jock replied, "number one on arrival."
"Diamond One Zero Three," the controller radioed with professional aplomb, "Wolfpack directs two Diamond aircraft to hit the tanker and BARCAP at seventy DME. The Hummer reports MiG activity at one-six-five degrees for two-four-zero, angels three-onezero."
Chapter Eighteen
THE WHITE HOUSE PRESSROOM
President Alton Jarrett, fresh and trim looking, stepped to the podium in the crowded, noisy room. A hush fell over the tightly packed press corps. This was the earliest that anyone could remember attending an unscheduled press briefing.
The president, setting the tone for his message, raised both hands, palms facing the crowd, to stop any questions until he had an opportunity to complete his opening statement.
"Good morning," the president said in a staid, perfunctory manner. "Before I take your questions, I want to bring you up to date on a couple of items." There was complete silence.
"First, the unfortunate encounter our navy pilots had last night, we believe, is tied to the disappearance of our Stealth bomber." He paused as a loud murmur swept through the crowd, with four people attempting to ask questions at the same time.
"Now, wait," the president said, holding his hands aloft again, "wait a second. Remember, we all agreed as to how we would handle these meetings. Let me finish. I can confirm that our missing B-2 bomber is in Cuba." No one said a word, listening intently and writing.
"Furthermore," Jarrett continued, "we have unequivocal proof of the exact location of the B-2, and," the president raised his hands again, seeing words form on the sea of faces, "we are taking diplomatic steps to have the aircraft and crew returned immediately.
"I intend to be candid with you," Jarrett said, "and explain the circumstances surrounding this bizarre and unprecedented situation. Our preliminary findings, based on CIA and FBI investigations, indicate that the B-2 was commandeered by a civilian technician recruited by the KGB." The audience erupted in turmoil.
"Let me finish," Jarrett said, somewhat irritated. "I'll take your questions in a minute. There have been reports and rumors that our pilots defected, and that they are seeking political asylum in Cuba. This is not correct, and we deny any accusation to that effect. Our fine pilots categorically did not defect. I do not know the condition of the crew, but we hold the Soviet Union, and Premier Castro, responsible for their safety and well-being.
"I have just had a conversation with Minister Aksenhov," the president said, adjusting his glasses. "He hinted at the existence of factions, probably of the KGB operating outside the jurisdiction of the Kremlin, but this does not absolve them of all responsibility. We expect to hear from President Ignatyev soon, and no, we have not ruled out a military intervention.
"I will take your questions now," Jarrett said, pointing to a woman in the first row, "in an orderly fashion." The noise intensity increased in the room.
"Mister President," the tall reporter said, ignoring the clicking cameras, "exactly what measures do you intend to take if the B-2 isn't returned? Are you saying that the U. S. is prepared to invade Cuba?"
"I am not going to discuss what our intentions are at this point, nor am I going to reveal our intelligence sources," Jarrett answered, as he pointed to an NBC network representative.
"Can you confirm that the Cuban MiGs were flown by Soviet pilots?"
"I can only say," Jarrett looked at Kerchner, "that the MiG fighter that crashed close to our base at Guantanamo was flown by a Soviet Air Force captain."
A reporter shouted over the group. "Has Castro been involved in the negotiations? Where does he stand?"
Jarrett gave the television reporter a stern look. "Premier Castro has been notified of our position and intent. He obviously is a partner in this violation of international law, and I hold him accountable--as I do the Soviets--for the well-being of our crew.
"Margaret," the president said, gesturing at a newspaper reporter.
"Mister President," an attractive woman stood, "reports have it that you are positioning aircraft carriers in the Gulf of Mexico. What action are you prepared to take if the Stealth bomber is not returned, and what time frame are you talking about?"
"I am not in a position to discuss any military matters," Jarrett answered, "nor can I tell you our time frame. Suffice it to say, we will make decisions based on the reply we receive from Moscow. It's that simple. We have placed President Ignatyev on notice, and I will respond accordingly when we receive his answer.
"One more question," Jarrett said, motioning toward an old friend, "and then I have to leave. Secretary Kerchner and Secretary Gardner will answer further questions."
"Sir," the respected journalist said, "are you prepared to confront the Cubans . . . militarily?"
Jarrett set his jaw, paused and inhaled, then addressed the entire group. "I am prepared to do what is necessary to preserve our fundamental rights, and protect international law."
USS AMERICA (CV-66)
The Norfolk, Virginia--based carrier, powered by four Westinghouse steam turbines, cruised thirty miles southwest of Plantation Key, Florida. Her combined energy of 280,000 shaft horsepower propelled the mammoth ship through the pristine waters at twenty-nine knots. America could achieve thirty-three knots at flank speed.
The carrier and her battle group would rendezvous with an attack submarine, the Los Angeles--class USS Baton Rouge (SSN 689), sixty-five miles southwest of Key West, Florida.
The carrier air wing assigned to America had fl
own aboard five hours after the ship left home port. America, originally scheduled to depart the following day for a routine deployment, had her entire crew aboard.
Two F/A-18 Hornet squadrons, including the Silver Eagles of VMFA-1 15, were sharing CAP duties with two F-14D Tomcat squadrons. The marine fighter/attack pilots of VMFA-115 thoroughly enjoyed having the opportunity to hone their skills aboard the huge carrier.
Forty-five miles south of the ship, Marine Maj. Vince Cangemi, along with his wingman, Capt. Chuck Bellvue, orbited at 22,000 feet. The two fighter pilots had been assigned to Barrier Combat Air Patrol with two navy pilots flying F-14Ds. The Tomcat pilots were twenty miles west and two thousand feet higher than the Marine F/A-18 Hornets. The McDonnell-Douglas F/A-18s, powered by twin General Electric F404 afterburning turbofans, were capable of reaching speeds in excess of 1.8 Mach.
The combination fighter/attack aircraft sported the powerful liquid-cooled Hughes APG-65 radar, along with a nose-mounted 20mm M-61 cannon containing 570 rounds. The Hornets also had two advanced AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles slung under the wings and an AIM-9 mounted on each wing tip.
Cangemi was checking his three multifunction displays, which replaced most of the conventional cockpit instruments, when he heard the E-2C Hawkeye call.
"Animal flight, Phoenix," the airborne warning and control officer said. "We hold multiple bogies at your three o'clock, forty-five miles, climbing out of eight thousand."
"Roger the bogies," Cangemi radioed, squinting into the early morning sun. "Bullet flight, Animal."
The F-14D pilots, orbiting in a lazy circle, were on the same radio frequency. "Go, Animal," the navy flight leader replied.
Cangemi keyed his mike. "Care to come on down here?"
"We're comin' starboard," the deep voice responded. "Be there in a minute."
"Ah . . . negative, Bullets," Phoenix ordered. "You have three bogies thirty right for forty-seven. CAP aircraft Warning Yellow, Weapons Hold."
"Animals copy," Cangemi radioed at the same instant his Hughes radar locked onto the four aircraft approaching his flight. "I have four on the scope," Cangemi said. "Animals, go combat spread."
"Roger," Bellvue replied as he moved out to the right and up 1,000 feet.
"Bullet Two Oh Two has a lock," the navy flight leader reported. "Copy Yellow, Weapons Hold."
Both CAP flights attempted to maneuver to place themselves in advantageous positions. Each move was countered by the approaching Cuban MiGs. The Hawkeye controller, watching the four flights close on each other, ordered the Ready Two CAP pilots to launch from America. After the acknowledgment, Phoenix called the BARCAP fighter crews.
"They have good GCI [ground control intercept]. Countering every move you make. Bullets, come starboard sixty--we need more separation."
"Comin' right sixty," the VF-2 squadron executive officer replied, then called his wingman. "Barry, step up another three grand and cover me."
"Movin' up, boss."
Cangemi watched on the heads up display (HUD) the four radar targets rapidly approaching. The MiGs were straight off the Hornet's nose, closing at 700 knots. "Animals go burner, now," Cangemi ordered, shoving his twin throttles into afterburner.
"Two," Bellvue replied as he checked his radar. "I've got 'em locked."
Seven seconds later, Cangemi and his wingman saw the MiG-25 Foxbats silhouetted against a puffy cumulonimbus cloud. "Tally," Cangemi radioed. "They're Foxbats--State Iron Works twenty-fives."
"Bullet has a tally," the navy pilot radioed. "We've got three Foxbats, one o'clock low, comin' up."
Cangemi started to raise his F/A-18's nose when two of the MiGs launched missiles. "Hard port!" Cangemi shouted as he slammed the stick to the left. "They fired--MiGs launched missiles!" he gasped in the 8 1/2-g turn. He felt his tight g suit inflate, squeezing his legs and stomach in a vise grip.
"Weapons Hot!" the Hawkeye controller ordered. "CAP flights engage! Repeat, CAP flights engage!"
Bellvue reacted immediately, breaking hard left to get on the tail of the lead Foxbat. He snapped down his tinted helmet visor, selected heat, and waited a second for the lock-on tone. Cangemi saw a missile flash past his canopy, then snapped hard over to track the last MiG.
The Foxbats split into two sections, providing excellent coverage for each flight. It was obvious that the Cuban MiG-25s were being flown by well-trained fighter pilots.
Cangemi got into a turning fight with the leader of the second section, then noticed a MiG slipping behind him for the kill. The marine aviator unloaded his Hornet, throwing the number two bandit off a split second, then snatched the stick back. The F/A-18 slashed between the Foxbats as Cangemi searched frantically for his wing-man.
"Chuck," Cangemi groaned, feeling the effects of grayout as he saw Belivue twisting through the sky, "break hard starboard, now!"
Cangemi watched as his wingman wrapped the Hornet into a gut-wrenching, vapor-producing right turn. A second later, Cangemi heard a rasping sound in his headset, indicating that the selected AIM-9 Sidewinder missile was tracking the infrared signature of the lead MiG.
"Fox Two!" Cangemi said as he pulled the trigger.
The heat-seeking missile rocketed straight at the Foxbat, colliding with the right tailpipe of the twin-engine fighter. The impact blew off the entire aft section of the aircraft in a black pulsing explosion.
The MiG's nose yawed to the right, then tucked under, sending the fighter tumbling out of control through the sky. Cangemi glimpsed the canopy separate from the crippled aircraft, but he never saw the pilot eject. Cangemi whipped the stick to the right to avoid debris, then pulled into the vertical. He rolled the Hornet slowly, scanning the hazy sky.
"Chuck," Cangemi radioed, hanging in his straps as he pulled the F/A-18 through the horizon, "check your six-you've got a gomer settin' up."
"Goin' for knots," Bellvue replied as he forced the Hornet into an 8-g "Bat Turn," followed by a zero-g unload. The fighter accelerated downward, then snapped straight up when Bellvue sighted two of the Foxbats attempting to turn inside his leader.
"Vince!" Bellvue shouted. "Break left now! Fox Two!"
Bellvue waited a second, then fired two of his Sidewinder missiles in a head-on pass at the two MiGs. The advanced air-to-air weapons, three seconds apart, slammed into the first Foxbat. The doomed fighter emerged from the orange fireball trailing debris, smoke, and blazing jet fuel.
The second MiG popped up instantly to miss the colossal explosion and raining debris. The pilot caught the upper edge of the black cloud, disintegrating his right engine with foreign object damage. The MiG, turning tight, unloaded and raced for Cuban airspace.
"Reverse, Chuck!" Cangemi ordered, working the remaining MiG into a vertical scissors. "Set him up--I'm going to disengage. Call it!"
"Stay on him a couple of seconds," Bellvue responded, rechecking heat while he rolled into a firing position. He searched the sky quickly for other bandits, then heard his AIM-9 missiles track the MiG-25. "Turn him loose!"
Cangemi snatched the stick back violently, then rolled the agile Hornet 180 degrees and unloaded the g forces. Going supersonic, Cangemi snapped into the vertical again and watched both of Bellvue's missiles miss the Foxbat. He stared, transfixed, as both heat-seeking missiles tracked straight at the blazing sun low on the horizon.
"Shit!" Bellvue said, selecting his 20mm M-61 cannon. "I'm guns!"
"Wrap him up," Cangemi shouted, watching Bellvue close inside the tight-turning MiG.
Suddenly the Foxbat snapped out of the punishing turn, allowing the Hornet pilot to fall into trail--a perfect firing solution.
Cangemi's mind sounded a warning a split second before the Soviet missile erupted from under the MiG's tail. "Break, break!" Cangemi radioed as he watched the Hornet explode into a million flaming pieces. His eyes witnessed the carnage, but it took his brain a second to record the blazing image.
"Chuck!" Cangemi shouted, flashing by the black puff, "get out! Eject! Eject!"
&nb
sp; Three seconds passed as Cangemi looked frantically for the Foxbat. He spotted the MiG turning tight and diving toward the water. "Sonuvabitch!" Cangemi swore to himself, realizing that his wingman was part of the smoking wreckage falling toward the ocean.
The MiG had disengaged and was running for home. Cangemi eased the Hornet's nose slightly in front of the Foxbat, selected another missile, waited for it to lock on, then squeezed the trigger gently.
"Fox Two!" Cangemi radioed as he watched the missile undulate toward the bastard who had killed his friend. "Go . . . go . . . be there . . ."
The heat-seeking weapon missed the MiG's twin exhausts, hitting the left wing root. The wing separated from the fuselage, sending the Foxbat spinning out of control. Cangemi watched the MiG pilot eject as he heard a Mayday call from one of the F-14 pilots. Stunned and absorbed in the drama, Cangemi made an age-old mistake. He allowed his F/A-18 to fly through the debris of his kill.
SAN JULIAN
Seven armed guards surrounded the partially dismantled Stealth bomber. All activity had ceased in the hangar while everyone involved in the secret operation was interrogated by the KGB director.
The technicians, scientists, and KGB personnel were sequestered in two adjoining rooms. Gennadi Levchenko, sitting in his small office, was questioning each man individually.
Natanoly Obukhov, the assistant KGB director, approached Levchenko's door.
"Have you found the infiltrator?" Levchenko barked. "Comrade director," Obukhov bowed slightly in a highly respectful manner, "our men are scouring the base and surrounding area. We have three helicopters and two spotter planes in the air, and we are-"
"Don't give me long-winded reports," Levchenko spat. "Give me results."
"Yes, comrade director," Obukhov replied, averting his eyes to the colorless concrete walls in the spartan office. He always felt apprehension when his eyes crossed the Mongolian features of Levchenko's face.
"What did the guard see?" Levchenko asked, dismissing a technician with a wave of his arm.
