by Joe Weber
Karns, recognizing an overshoot, pulled his throttles to idle and deployed his speed brakes. "I've got him . . . come on, lock up!"
"Shoot! Shoot!" Karns's backseater yelled. "The other two are * * * they're takin' us!"
Karns squeezed off an AIM-9 missile, slammed the throttles into afterburner, retracted the speed brakes, unloaded the aircraft, and dove for separation. "Fox Two!"
The VF-102 commanding officer caught a glimpse of the exploding MiG-25 as his Tomcat slashed by the cartwheeling fuselage at 670 knots. The lead MiG, minus sections of the wings, tumbled across the sky, exploded again, then spun straight into the Gulf of Mexico.
"Good hit! Good shot!" the RIO shouted as he checked the other two Foxbats. "They're pulling lead!"
"Skipper," the second section leader radioed, "break hard starboard, bring your nose up!"
Karns popped the Tomcat into knife-edged flight and snatched the stick into his stomach, groaning under the 6 1/2 g's. He saw why the section leader had called. Karns's wingman was in a perfect position to attack the two remaining MiGs.
"Two has . . . we're locked!" the wingman radioed as he fired a missile. "Fox Two!" The missile tracked straight to the second MiG, flew up the left tailpipe, and exploded in a mushrooming fireball.
"I'm in!" Karns radioed, pitching the F-14 to the left and rolling up into a high yo-yo. "Good shot!" He looked down just in time to see the cockpit of the Foxbat fly out of the fireball. No wings, no tail--just the cockpit. The canopy separated and the pilot ejected a second later, falling out of sight when his parachute failed to open.
"Come on, lock it up," Karns said, pulling through the top of his climb. He looked into the late afternoon sun, losing the MiG in the glare. "Sonuvabitch!"
"Skipper!" the section leader, who was calling the fight, radioed frantically. "The gomer reversed, coming inside your five o'clock."
"Okay," Karns groaned, twisting the F-14 through a displacement roll. "I've lost him!"
"Break hard starboard!" Karns's wingman called. "I can't get a shot into the sun!"
"He's firing!" the section leader yelled to the CO. "Get on him, Two!"
Karns, breaking right and up into the vertical, felt the thudding impact of the MiG's twin 23mm cannons. Red streaks flashed by the canopy as tracer rounds worked across the left wing, blasting access plates off the fighter. Karns whipped the stick over, snapping the Tomcat through three tight rolls, then unloaded the F-14, going for separation.
The MiG, flown with great expertise and wild abandon, pulled in behind Karns, leaving Diamond Two a difficult shot. If the missile missed the Foxbat, highly possible in combat, it might track to the Tomcat.
"Doug! Break, break!" the section leader radioed, flipping his armament switch to guns. "Three is engaged--gonna drag his ass off."
"Bring it on!" Karns groaned, jerking the accelerating Tomcat into a 6 1/2-g, neck-wrenching turn.
The section leader, turning inside the third MiG, placed the pip-per slightly ahead of the Foxbat and squeezed the trigger gently. The Vulcan cannon growled, pouring more than 100 shells a second into the Russian fighter. The pilot released the trigger a split second, then squeezed it again, causing the Tomcat to vibrate. He watched, fascinated, as the M-61 multibarrel cannon, spewing molten lead, knocked large pieces off the stricken MiG.
"Fox Two!" Karns's wingman shouted, punching off another Sidewinder. The missile tucked down, made a correction, and plowed into the MiG's right wing a millisecond after the pilot ejected.
The section leader, caught off guard, slammed his stick hard over in an attempt to miss the explosion and debris. Both F-14 crew members felt the thump when they collided with the MiG pilot's body.
"Good shot!" Karns said, elated. He scanned the milky sky quickly then called the Hawkeye. "Phoenix," Karns sucked pure oxygen, "Diamond flight with three splashes. Any more bandits?"
The Hawkeye controller, busy vectoring another flight of Tomcats, completed his radio call and acknowledged Karns. "Negative, Diamond One Zero Three." The controller checked his radarscope, leaving the mike keyed. "Nothing in your sector at this time. RTB for recycle. Rattler and Snake flights are inbound--comin' up your port side, ten o'clock high."
"Roger," Karns responded, looking for his executive officer in Snake One. He caught a glint of sunlight off a canopy as the XO rocked his wings. "I have a tally."
"Skipper," Karns's RIO said over the intercom, "check fuel."
Karns glanced at the fuel gauge, surprised by the amount the thirsty Tomcat had consumed during the combat engagement. He was down to 5,900 pounds of fuel--enough to reach the carrier if he conserved the precious fluid.
"Diamonds, let's go max conserve and join up," Karns ordered, easing back the twin throttles. "Call fuel states."
The other three pilots acknowledged, giving their respective fuel loads, as Karns slowed the Tomcat. As the F-14 decelerated through 0.72 Mach, Karns felt a strange sensation. Something was definitely wrong. The Tomcat wobbled unsteadily.
"Skipper, we've got a control problem." Karns glanced back over his right shoulder, swearing to himself. The wings, swept back to the full aft position, had not reprogrammed forward. Karns tried the wing-sweep button, emergency handle, and circuit breakers. Nothing worked.
"Diamond Two," Karns radioed, reviewing his pocket checklist, "come aboard and check me over. My wings are frozen in the full aft position."
"Roger, movin' up."
Karns waited, cursing his luck, while his wingman rendezvoused on the starboard side. Karns knew he could not land aboard the carrier with full wing sweep; the engagement speed would be close to 200 miles an hour. It was prohibited, even during a time of war.
If the emergency developed during Blue Water operations-in the middle of an ocean-the pilot and RIO would have to fly by the carrier and make a controlled ejection. In this case, Karns prepared to divert to Key West Naval Air Station, the closest field with the arresting equipment he needed.
The Diamondback CO watched his wingman's Tomcat slide up to his wounded fighter. He could see the rivets, the oil streaks, and the pilot's eyes. Karns waited patiently while his wingman slid under the Tomcat, appearing on the other side.
"Okay, skipper," the pilot radioed, knowing they had only one option, "we're going to have to go to Key Worst."
"Yeah," Karns replied calmly. "What does it look like?"
"You've got hydraulic fluid pouring down the port side of the aircraft." The wingman moved in closer. "Skipper, you took some rounds. Looks like the area around the wing sweep actuator is shot up."
SAN JULIAN
Gennadi Levchenko checked on the bomber assembly and walked into the communications center.
"Comrade director," the chief communications officer said in a hesitant voice, "Castro has attacked an American aircraft carrier."
Levchenko's thick neck muscles bulged, distorting his craggy face. "That goddamned idiot!" Levchenko raged savagely. "When?"
"Earlier today, comrade dir-"
"And you just heard about it?" Levchenko yanked a cigarette pack from his pocket. He had a momentary thought that the communications chief might be the double agent. The officer had been off duty at the time the guard had been attacked. "What the hell is wrong here? Why didn't Moscow contact us?"
The officer recoiled, feeling the sting of Levchenko's wrath. "I don't know, comrade director."
"Get KGB operations on the scrambler, NOW!"
Levchenko slumped into the seat next to the Moscow lines, discouraged and angry. His perilous situation had degenerated even further. "Moscow is going to have to stop Castro," Levchenko said to himself as the communications specialist nervously contacted KGB headquarters.
Steve Wickham, hearing his stomach growl, crawled to the small opening in the crumbling foundation. He peered out cautiously, noting the long shadows of late afternoon, then he slid around to the other side, taking in the hangars and flight line area.
The agent was surprised by the amount of activit
y on the air base. He counted eleven antiaircraft guns and four tanks, along with hundreds of soldiers digging in around the outer boundaries of the field.
He rolled over and leaned against the cool cement support. He felt exhausted but forced himself to stay alert. His only chance for survival was to attempt a daring escape during the early morning hours.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE WHITE HOUSE
The Joint Chiefs of Staff, secretary of defense, and director of the CIA stood when the president entered the room, followed by the vice president, secretary of state, and national security adviser.
"Be seated, gentlemen," Jarrett said somberly, then sat down between Bernard Kerchner and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The president adjusted his glasses before addressing the assemblage. "As you know, the skipper of the Wasp has confirmed sixty-one casualties, with four sailors and one marine missing.
"We are embarking on an ominous, challenging struggle with an unpredictable foe-an adversary who will not hesitate to use every weapon available to him, as we have tragically witnessed. You have read the CIA reports and seen the afternoon news. Fidel Castro, for whatever reason, has turned into an Hispanic Ayatollah Khomeini. Secretary Kerchner has just received a report confirming that the submarine was sunk. The flotsam, along with the bodies that surfaced, indicate clearly that the submarine was operated by the Cubans."
Jarrett removed his glasses. "I want to be perfectly clear in regard to my position. I will not tolerate a long, protracted operation. We have to ensure that we use the correct weapons, and enough of them, to accomplish the objective in one or two strikes. The stakes are high and we cannot afford any tactical blunders, or we could find ourselves defending our southern shores."
Jarrett looked around the table, reading the response, before continuing. "We have telegraphed our intentions to Castro, as you well know, so our strike will have to be a maximum effort. I will contact President Ignatyev minutes before the first strike aircraft reach their targets. The Soviets will be on notice not to interfere on behalf of their nationals. If they do become involved, which is a grave possibility, we will not hesitate to destroy them."
The president swallowed a sip of water, glancing around the polished mahogany table. "We will go on global alert five minutes before our first attack aircraft reach Cuban soil." Jarrett replaced his glasses. "Are there any questions, gentlemen?"
The national security adviser cleared his throat. "Mister President, what is your feeling about the B-2? Do you intend to destroy the aircraft, or retrieve it?"
"Brian," the president began slowly, catching the disdainful look on the vice president's face, "we are about to engage Cuba militarily. At this point, we don't have the luxury of recovering the B-2 intact."
The secretary of defense knew, as did the other men in the room, that Brian Gaines had been a disappointment as the national security adviser. Kerchner faced the red-headed attorney. "The airfield--San Julian--where the B-2 is concealed, will be heavily bombed, so that may solve the problem for us."
Jarrett opened his briefing folder, prompting the group to join him. "Bernie," the president said, turning to his defense secretary, "let's look at the entire operation."
"Yes, sir," Kerchner replied, standing to walk to a map of Cuba and the Gulf of Mexico. He picked up an expandable metal pointer. "We intend to use three carriers--Kitty Hawk, America, and Abraham Lincoln, with the Lexington as a spare deck--supplemented by eighteen B-lBs and three attack submarines."
Kerchner pointed to the highly detailed planning chart. "Kitty Hawk and her battle group," he made a small circle with the tipped pointer, "will be located here--about one hundred forty miles northwest of San Julian. Her group will be solely responsible for San Julian and any surface vessels in the vicinity. They will also suppress radar and GCI sites, then provide close air support when the Marines hit the beach."
The secretary of state caught Kerchner's attention. "Yes, Sam." "At what point will the Marines go ashore?"
Kerchner paused a moment, glancing at the marine commandant. "We will make that decision after the first air strike. We may have to go back in and soften up the area, depending on what kind of resistance Castro puts up. At any rate, Sam, the Marines will have plenty of close air support when they take the beach."
Gardner, chewing on his unlighted pipe, acknowledged the explanation silently.
"Satellite photos," Kerchner continued, "indicate that a number of SAM sites have been installed around San Julian, along with a variety of triple A guns. They also have a number of ZSU-X motorized antiaircraft guns, so we can anticipate heavy fire from around San Julian."
Kerchner looked back at the chart. "America will be here, eighty miles northeast of Havana. Her mission is to attack radar and GCI sites, then clobber the military airfields around Havana, including Mariel, Playa Baracoa, Ciudad Libertad, San Pedro, San Antonio de Los Banos, Managua, and San Jose de Las Lajas. The carrier will also supply air defense for Kitty Hawk, the tanker aircraft, and the Hawkeyes."
Kerchner moved the pointer over to a circle by the Great Bahama Bank. "Lincoln will be one hundred ten miles southeast of Andros Island . . . right here." The defense secretary tapped the map, then looked at the president. "Her responsibility will be to bomb Santa Clara airfield and provide air cover for the Marine KC-130 cargo planes going into Guantanamo Bay--to extract the Marines marooned there."
Jarrett nodded his approval and wrote a lengthy note on his folder.
"We have three attack submarines," Kerchner continued, facing the president, "Albuquerque, Jacksonville, and Baton Rouge, operating with the carrier battle groups . . . one to a ship. Two of the submarines will have designated shore targets--military barracks, supply depots, and naval ports, including any ships in port. They will use conventional Tomahawk cruise missiles."
Kerchner stopped when he saw the president indicate that he had a question. "Yes, sir."
"Bernie, how comfortable are we with one submarine to protect each carrier? I mean, we can't afford another tragedy, and possibly lose a carrier."
Kerchner inhaled deeply. "Mister President, we--the Joint Chiefs and I--feel comfortable with one submarine each, since Cuba has lost one third of her submarine force. As you mentioned, two ASW helicopters confirmed surface debris, including bodies, from the submarine that torpedoed Wasp."
"What about the suspected submarines," Jarrett asked, looking at the chief of naval operations, then back to Kerchner, "that are operating with the Soviet aircraft carrier? Where is the carrier--the Russian one?"
Kerchner moved the end of the pointer to a spot thirty miles south of the western tip of Cuba. "The Novorossiysk has moved to a position between the two Soviet task forces. Mister President," Kerchner continued confidently, "we have doubled our ASW coverage, and I feel comfortable with our protection."
"I want to be absolutely certain, Bernie," Jarrett replied, grim faced. "I want overkill built into everything we do from now on." Jarrett paused for emphasis. "Can we get two more submarines into place before morning?"
Kerchner paused, contemplating the logistics. "We can add one submarine, but not two, by early morning. Sir, we don't have the time, unless we delay the operation."
"No, we can't afford to delay our strike," the president said, pleased with the additional submarine coverage. "Let's get the other attack submarine on station as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir," the defense secretary responded, facing the chief of naval operations (CNO). "Admiral, will you take care of that and rejoin us?"
"Yes, Mister Secretary."
Kerchner waited until the CNO shut the door before he resumed the briefing. "Our B-1 Bs will stage out of Barksdale," Kerchner said, pointing out their route of flight across the Gulf of Mexico, "flying high over the Yucatan Peninsula, then drop down south of Cuba. They'll split into three groups and make supersonic, low-level penetrations--one group going to San Julian and the other two flights hitting military installations in the Havana area."
>
Kerchner turned to face the president. "We believe it's best if the bombers approach from the south, drop their ordnance, and depart straight ahead--no turning while coming off the targets."
Kirk Truesdell indicated that he had a question. "Mister Vice President?" Kerchner asked, compressing his pointer.
"Bernie, I have a couple of questions in regard to coordination. First, it appears to me as if we're going to have a lot of aircraft converging over the same targets at the same time, not to mention the Cuban fighters."
Truesdell looked at his briefing folder, tapping his pen lightly on the paper. "Another thought I had-a concern actually--what kind of protection will the B-1s have going into the target?"
Kerchner waited to answer when he saw the CNO step back into the room.
"The Birmingham will be in the Gulf," the admiral reported, sitting down, "by oh-four-hundred, Mister President."
"Very well, admiral," Jarrett responded. "Please continue, Bernie."
"The B-1 strike force, fourteen aircraft, will follow the initial carrier-based strikes by four minutes. We'll have two B-1 spares airborne and two on alert at Barksdale."
Kerchner drew a breath. "The skies over Cuba, especially the Havana area, will be saturated with aircraft. All the strike aircraft have precise routes of ingress and egress, but we have no way of telling how many enemy aircraft will be airborne."
"I understand that," Truesdell responded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "But it sure looks like a gaggle ripe for disaster."
Kerchner caught two of the Joint Chiefs bristle openly, working hard to contain their comments.
"Sir," the defense secretary said, "our crews are highly qualified and extremely well trained. I have every confidence in our military leadership and their planning--and no doubt about the outcome of this mission."
Truesdell showed a tinge of embarrassment. "I apologize, Bernie. I didn't mean to question anyone's competency. It just appears as if the skies over Cuba are going to be very crowded."
"No offense taken, sir," Kerchner responded, glancing at the Joint Chiefs. "And you're right, we will have a large number of aircraft in and off the targets in a compressed period of time. We want to hit Castro hard and be gone in seconds.
