by Jeff Edwards
Fire Controlman Second Class Bruce Gordon nodded. “Will do, Chief. And the next time we get a satellite window for Internet access, I’ll log onto Navy Knowledge Online and post a note on the troubleshooting forum for SPY. It’s possible that somebody has seen this particular casualty before, and there might already be a fix for it.”
“Good idea,” the chief said. “All right guys, you’ve got your marching orders. I don’t need to tell you how serious this is. If we were joyriding off the coast of Southern California, this kind of casualty wouldn’t be much more than an inconvenience. Unfortunately, this is the Arabian Gulf, and the natives out here don’t run around in rollerblades and thong bikinis. There are an awful lot of people out here who would love to stick a cruise missile up our ass while we’re not looking. We can’t afford to have our primary sensor go blind at a critical moment.”
The three technicians all nodded.
“Right,” the chief said. “Now, let’s go find this bug and kill it, before it kills us.”
CHAPTER 18
ALASKAN AIR CORRIDOR
MONDAY; 14 MAY
2319 hours (11:19 PM)
TIME ZONE-9 ‘VICTOR’
The flight from Narita, Japan, to Alaska was nearly sixteen hours long, and there was still an hour of it left to endure. Then, after a quick refueling, it would be back into the air for another six hours on the final leg to DC. The very thought of it made Secretary of State Elizabeth Whelkin want to bang her head against the window.
The Air Force 747 was a nice enough plane, and she and her staff had the VIP section all to themselves, but she was tired. She was sick of flying, and she was feeling cranky as hell—far too cranky to handle the kind of delicate phone call that she was about to make.
Roger Couric, her chief aide, was on the phone now, wading through the intricate barrier of political flunkies that shielded the president of Egypt from the outside world. Elizabeth had been watching Roger work the phone for nearly forty minutes. He was good at it, shifting smoothly from English to Arabic, and back again as he climbed steadily up the chain of command of the Egyptian government. Even so, from the look on his face, things were not going well.
After a while, Roger appeared to hit an impasse. Chances were, President Bin-Saud’ knew why Elizabeth was calling and had instructed his staff to deflect the call.
Elizabeth yawned and stretched, the seat belt pulling tight across her well-padded stomach. Plump rather than fat, she looked like Hollywood’s idea of the perfect maiden auntie. Her tightly curled hair was an aggregation of silver gray and Clairol’s Born Blonde, but her bright blue eyes were pure steel.
Eventually, Roger covered the mouthpiece of the satellite phone and whispered, “Prime Minister. That’s the best I can do. The big man is absolutely not talking today.”
Elizabeth sighed and held her hand out for the phone. She had to endure two minutes of hold-music before it was picked up again on the other end.
“Prime Minister Amman.”
“Good evening, Prime Minister,” she said. “This is Elizabeth Whelkin.”
“Ah, Madam Secretary,” the Egyptian prime minister replied. “It is an honor to hear your voice again. Peace be unto you.” His voice carried a note of well-disguised condescension.
Egyptian men were inimical toward women on the best of days, and—polite conversation aside—their distaste for having to treat female political leaders as equals was never very far beneath the surface.
“And unto you,” Elizabeth said, trying very hard to keep the weariness out of her own voice. Exhaustion was a form of weakness, and weakness could be exploited.
“May the blessings of the one true God be upon your home, and upon your children, and upon your children’s children,” the prime minister said.
“And unto you and your family, blessings,” said Elizabeth Whelkin. “May the Lord God protect you and keep you safe from harm.”
“Are you enjoying your stay in Beijing?” the prime minister asked.
“So kind of you to ask,” Elizabeth said. “I didn’t get a chance to spend much time in Beijing. But I did enjoy what little I saw of it. I have concluded my visit, and now I’m flying back to Washington.”
“I trust that your business in China was brought to a satisfactory conclusion?”
“I believe that we made some progress. It is, of course, a bit too early to tell how much.”
“A pity that you could not have stayed a few extra days to enjoy the local culture. I’m told that the water-silks produced in the Xi’an province are particularly fine this year.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and massaged her right temple. The Arabic system of conversation was built around elaborate layers of small talk. Face-to-face meetings were practically rituals, nurtured carefully—never rushed—and fueled by a seemingly endless stream of thimble-sized cups of hot Arabic coffee. Luckily, the telephone version was much abbreviated. Even so, it was considered rude to attempt to arrive at the point of the conversation without first exchanging an extensive series of irrelevant pleasantries.
“I hadn’t heard,” she said. “But now that I know, I will certainly look for silk the next time I’m in China. Xi’an province, did you say? Please excuse me for a second, while I write that down.” She closed her eyes for a moment and made no move to write anything at all. “There,” she said after a short pause. “Now I’ll be certain to remember. Thank you for the suggestion, Prime Minister.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said. “It is always my pleasure to be of assistance to a lady.”
Thank God, an opening at last …
“So kind of you,” she said. “In fact, that’s the very reason I called: to ask for your assistance.”
“Ah,” said the prime minister. “And how may I help you?”
Elizabeth paused for a second. How should she phrase it? “We have reason to believe that four German submarines will attempt to transit the Suez Canal within the next day or so.”
“How unusual,” the prime minister said. “Ships of that country frequently travel our canal, but I cannot recall the last time that we were visited by German submarines. And now, four at once you say?”
Elizabeth massaged her temple again. “We believe so, yes.”
“Am I to assume that your reason for calling has to do with these four submarines? Or, more specifically, with their transit through our national waterway?”
“Yes, Prime Minister, it does. My government has reason to believe that the submarines are in route to the Arabian Gulf for delivery to the Siraji Navy.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. When Amman finally spoke, he did so slowly, as though choosing his words carefully. “You are prepared to accuse the Federal Republic of Germany of violating international law?”
“I understand that this is a serious allegation,” Elizabeth said. “But our intelligence sources are virtually certain that Germany intends to sell military hardware to Siraj.”
“I see,” Amman said. “You are asking me to close the canal to these submarines, are you not?”
“Yes, Prime Minister, that is exactly what I’m asking. My president requests formal assurances from your government that the submarines will not be allowed to travel through the Suez Canal.”
Amman paused for an even longer time before speaking again. “Madam Secretary, perhaps you are aware of my country’s previous attempts to close the canal? On several occasions in the last century, we undertook to deny use of the canal to ships of Israel, who was—at that time—considered an enemy of Egypt. If I recall correctly, the United States government led an international movement to force us to open the canal, even to nations that had proven hostile to our country.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. I am quite familiar with my country’s dealings in your region during the latter half of the twentieth century. But these are extraordinary circumstances; we believe they justify an exception to ordinary policy.”
“I do not believe that I can agree,” Amman said. “
Not unless you can provide me with some compelling evidence of hostility on the part of the Federal Republic of Germany.”
Elizabeth grimaced; she had hoped to avoid the path this conversation was taking. “There have been hostilities,” she said. “The day before yesterday, two British warships were attacked by a squadron of German fighter jets in the Strait of Gibraltar. One of the ships, HMS York, went down with a loss of nearly all hands. The other ship, HMS Chatham, was severely damaged. At least four of the fighters were shot down.”
“Why would the Germans do such a thing?” Amman asked. “Are they not allied with the United Kingdom? Or, at the very least, peaceful neighbors?”
“The British ships were attempting to blockade the strait, to prevent the submarines from entering the Mediterranean Sea.”
“Ah,” said the prime minister. “Then it would be safe to assume that the German government did not consider the blockade a friendly act.”
“Apparently not.”
Amman said, “I am not certain that I can blame them. I would not take well to having the Strait of Gibraltar blocked to the military vessels of Egypt’s navy either. I do not believe that it would be proper for my government to impose restrictions on other nations that we would not like to have imposed upon ourselves.”
“I understand your reasoning,” Elizabeth said. “But, if those submarines do reach Siraj, the repercussions could destabilize the Gulf region for years to come.”
“If that is so,” Amman said, “then this matter would best be decided by the United Nations. If there is an international ruling on the matter, my country will certainly abide by it.”
Elizabeth fought to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Those submarines are moving now. By the time we petition the UN for a ruling, the subs will be through the canal and gone.”
“Inshallah, Madam Secretary,” said the prime minister, and he hung up the phone.
Elizabeth hung up the phone and looked at Roger. Inshallah … Roughly translated, it meant: If such is the will of Allah.
CHAPTER 19
//SSSSSSSSSS//
//SECRET//
//FLASH//FLASH//FLASH//
//161228Z MAY//
FM CHIEF OF NAVAL OPERATIONS//
TO COMPACFLEET//
COMFIFTHFLEET//
USS KITTY HAWK//
USS CHANCELLORSVILLE//
USS FORT PULASKI//
USS BOLLINGER//
USS TRIPPLER//
USS WALLINGFORD//
INFO CTF FIVE ZERO//
SUBJ/USW TASKING/IMMEDIATE EXECUTE//
REF/A/RMG/CNO/150744Z MAY//
NARR/REF A IS MY TACTICAL SUMMARY OF LIVE-FIRE HOSTILITIES BETWEEN UNITED KINGDOM ROYAL NAVY WARSHIPS AND FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY (LUFTWAFFE) AIRCRAFT APPROX 13MAY//
1. (UNCL) AS OUTLINED IN REF A, TWO RN WARSHIPS, HMS YORK AND HMS CHATHAM, ENGAGED IN AN EXTENDED MISSILE/GUN BATTLE WITH APPROX SIX LUFTWAFFE AIRCRAFT. HMS YORK WAS SUNK WITH A LOSS OF NEARLY ALL HANDS. HMS CHATHAM WAS HEAVILY DAMAGED AND SUFFERED HIGH PERSONNEL CASUALTIES. AT LEAST FOUR (4) LUFTWAFFE AIRCRAFT KNOWN DESTROYED WITH PROBABLE DAMAGE TO A FIFTH. REF A REFERS.
2. (CONF) EARLY REVIEW OF LUFTWAFFE AIRCRAFT PERFORMANCE CHARACTERISTICS INDICATE THEY WERE PROBABLY EF-2000S EUROSTRIKE-FIGHTERS. REF A REFERS.
3. (CONF) AT U.S. REQUEST, RN SHIPS WERE ATTEMPTING TO BLOCKADE PASSAGE OF FOUR (4) DEUTSCHE MARINE TYPE 212B DIESEL SUBMARINES THROUGH GIBRALTAR STRAIT. INTELLIGENCE SOURCES BELIEVE DM IS ATTEMPTING TO DELIVER SUBS TO SIRAJ IN VIOLATION OF STANDING UN RESOLUTIONS.
4. (CONF) INITIAL REPORTS INDICATE THAT AIRCRAFT INITIATED HOSTILITIES, POSSIBLY TO FORCE AN OPENING THROUGH BLOCKADE FOR DM SUBMARINES.
5. (CONF) DIPLOMATIC ATTEMPTS TO CLOSE SUEZ CANAL TO SUBMARINES UNSUCCESSFUL. BELIEVE SUBS STILL IN ROUTE ARABIAN GULF FOR DELIVERY TO SIRAJ.
6. (SECR) USS KITTY HAWK AND ESCORTS DIRECTED TO DEPART SOUTHERN ARABIAN GULF IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE. PROCEED AT MAXIMUM AVAILABLE SPEED TO ENTRANCE TO RED SEA (LATITUDE 1322N LONGITUDE 04406E) TO INTERCEPT DEUTSCHE MARINE SUBMARINES.
7. (SECR) U.S. IS NOT, REPEAT NOT IN A STATE OF WAR WITH FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY. WEAPONS CONDITION FREEZE IS IN EFFECT. NO U.S. SHIP OR AIRCRAFT IS TO FIRE ON ANY VESSEL OR AIRCRAFT OF THE REPUBLIC OF GERMANY WITHOUT SPECIFIC ORDERS, OR EXCEPT IN THE LAST POSSIBLE EXTREMIS OF SELF DEFENSE.
8. (SECR) KITTY HAWK CARRIER STRIKE GROUP IS TO BLOCKADE RED SEA AGAINST PASSAGE OF SUBMARINES WITHOUT INITIATING HOSTILITIES. RECOMMEND YOU UTILIZE ACTIVE SURFACE SHIP SONAR, ACTIVE SONOBUOYS, RADAR FLOODING, AND HELO HOLD-DOWN TACTICS TO HERD SUBS AWAY FROM CHOKE POINT.
9. (UNCL) I KNOW THIS IS A DIFFICULT ASSIGNMENT, AND THAT IT REQUIRES SUBTLETY AND RESTRAINT ON THE PART OF THE MEN AND WOMEN UNDER YOUR COMMAND. I AM CONFIDENT THAT YOU CAN HANDLE IT; THAT S WHY I CALLED IN THE BEST. GOOD LUCK. ADMIRAL CASEY SENDS.
//161228Z MAY//
//FLASH//FLASH//FLASH//
//SECRET//
//SSSSSSSSSS//
ARABIAN SEA (SOUTH OF OMAN)
WEDNESDAY; 16 MAY
1604 hours (4:04 PM)
TIME ZONE +4 ‘DELTA’
Had it been a little larger, Flag Plot aboard USS Kitty Hawk could have easily doubled as a movie set for the infamous War Room. The dimly lit compartment was crammed floor to ceiling with electronic equipment. Four large-screen tactical displays dominated the forward and starboard bulkheads. Each of the six-foot–square screens was speckled with cryptic-looking tactical symbols representing ships, submarines, aircraft, and shore installations within the carrier’s area of responsibility. The symbols were color-coded: blue for friendly, red for hostile, and white for neutral.
The remaining two bulkheads were lined with computer terminals, automated status boards, radio comm panels, and radar repeaters, all designed to provide the admiral and his staff with the information required to effectively manage the aircraft carrier and her attendant strike group.
Despite the nearly continuous flurry of activity, the room was quiet. The equipment operators spoke to each other in low tones, using hands-free communications headsets very much like those used by astronauts.
Slouched in his raised chair at the center of the room, Admiral Curtiss Joiner read the closing lines of the CNO’s message for about the seventh time. “What a crock of shit,” he said under his breath.
The admiral’s chief of staff, Commander Ernesto Ortiz, was standing next to his chair. “Pardon me, sir?”
Admiral Joiner looked up. “What? Oh, sorry, Ernie. It’s just this message. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve been asked … no—we’ve been ordered … to haul ass to the Gulf of Aden and bottle up a pack of German subs before they can sneak out of the Red Sea.”
Ortiz nodded slowly. “Is this the same four diesel boats that gave Abraham Lincoln the slip over in the Med, sir?”
“It’s the same guys all right,” the admiral said.
“They made LANTFLEET look like idiots,” Commander Ortiz said. “Now I guess it’s PACFLEET’s turn in the barrel.”
The admiral shook his head. “I’m an old man, Ernie, too old to worry about looking like a fool. But if I’m going to pull my pants down in public, I’d like to have some degree of confidence that nobody’s going to shoot me in the ass.”
Ortiz frowned. “You think that’s a real danger here, sir?”
“They sure as hell didn’t have any compunctions about shooting the Brits,” Admiral Joiner said. He waved the message printout like a fan. “It says right here that the Germans are almost certainly trying to sell those subs to Siraj. As far as I’m concerned, that makes them proven hostiles. But we’re being ordered to turn their submarines around with a kind word and a smile.”
“They wouldn’t be stupid enough to take on a carrier strike group, would they, sir?”
“Probably not,” the admiral said, looking up at the tactical display screens again. “But I’d sure hate to guess wrong.” He stopped himself before he spoke the next words on his mind: History was written in the
blood of thousands of poor bastards who had underestimated their opponents. Instead, he said, “Turn the formation around, Ernie, and crank it up to flank speed. We’ve got a date with some submarines.”
* * *
The carrier strike group tore across the water, heedless of the noise it was making. Six ships, all racing through the morning sun at thirty knots, their propellers churning up frothy wakes that stood out against the dark blue waves like vibrant stripes.
Stealth would come later, when they arrived on station. Until then, speed was more vital than silence. If the submarines made it through the choke point and out of the Red Sea before the admiral’s blockading force arrived, the mission would be a failure before it had even begun.
At the center of the formation was the aircraft carrier USS Kitty Hawk. Stationed around her in a protective screen were two frigates, two destroyers, and a cruiser. The positioning of each ship was carefully calculated to provide the maximum possible amount of sensor and weapons coverage overlap.
Even the order of the ships was important. For the moment, submarines were rated as the highest potential threat, so the frigates, USS Wallingford and USS Trippler, which had been built primarily for Undersea Warfare, composed the leading edge of the formation. On the carrier’s flanks ran the destroyers, USS Fort Pulaski and USS Bollinger, multi-mission ships that were also highly effective USW platforms. The cruiser USS Chancellorsville comprised the trailing edge of the formation, protecting the carrier from air attack along the axis that led back toward the Arabian Gulf—where the majority of potentially hostile aircraft in the region were based.
The layered screen defense concept had been around since the Cold War. Its longevity could be attributed to two simple words: it worked. Or at least it had worked against every naval threat encountered in nearly fifty years. But, despite its impressive track record, the screen concept was not flawless. To provide effective protection, a screen formation required seven or eight escort ships per carrier. Anything less left gaps in the screen, exposing the carrier to attack. But the U.S. Navy no longer had enough ships to provide that kind of coverage.
