Flight operations had been suspended for the time being, of course, and Jefferson’s roof was strangely quiet and still as Vaughn marched those long twenty yards to where the Helix was parked. He was conscious of the eyes on him. Vulture’s Row, the railed open area high atop Jefferson’s island below the billboard tangle of radar antennae and masts, was crowded with those sailors who’d managed to jockey a ringside seat for themselves. Others watched silently from the walkways around the flight deck’s borders, from the catwalks set along the island’s sides, from vantage points on and under the A-6 Intruders and F-14 Tomcats parked wing by folded wing along the edge of the roof. Vaughn stopped six feet from Kontr-Admiral Dmitriev and stood there stiffly, uncertain of what to do next. The Russian admiral gave him a wintry smile and raised one hand to the gold-heavy bill of his peaked cap.
“Permission to come aboard, Admiral,” he said.
The Russian’s English was quite good, Vaughn thought as he returned the salute, though the man rolled the word “admiral” about his mouth in a rather odd way. “Permission granted. Welcome aboard the Thomas Jefferson, Admiral Dmitriev.”
“I think, Admiral Vaughn, that this must be historic day.” Dmitriev extended his hand. “Closest I have been to American nuclear carrier before today was reconnaissance photos taken by one of our Tupolev bombers.”
Damn right it’s a historic day, you gold-braid son of a bitch, Vaughn thought as he reluctantly took Dmitriev’s hand and shook it. The phrase “a day that shall live in infamy” ran through his mind. “If you would care to come with me, please?” he said. “You can sample the hospitality of our wardroom.”
“Spasebah,” the Russian replied. “Thank you. However, it is my wish that we spend no time on ceremony procedures. Our reconnaissance satellites have detected evidence of massive activity at Indian coastal bases. Is possible Indians are planning air strike against our forces.”
“Our satellites are watching those bases as well, Admiral.”
He’d seen the latest TENCAP images of Jamnagar and Uttarlai only a few minutes earlier. He wondered how recent the Russians’ military intelligence was. TENCAP — Tactical Exploitation of National CAPABILITIES — was a new military communications system that allowed U.S. commanders in the field to tap photo intelligence data directly off American reconnaissance satellites, and Vaughn doubted that the Russians, with their historic emphasis on centralized command and control, had anything similar.
The photos Vaughn had seen that morning had been worrisome. Jamnagar, an Indian military air base on the Gulf of Kutch, was a hive of activity as military aircraft of every size and description assembled there from other airfields deeper in the Indian subcontinent. Satellite photos from Jaisaimer and Uttarlai, bases three hundred miles to the north, showed similar buildups of IAF forces. Surveillance of the Soviet-American task force had been intensifying over the past ten hours, mostly from Indian Bear-F and Illyushin-38 “May” naval aircraft, and the Indian navy appeared to be assembling a major task force at Bombay, centered on both of their carriers, plus a Kresta-II cruiser and numerous smaller vessels. That air and sea armada might be assembling to support further Indian operations against Pakistan, but the possibility that they had American targets in mind could not be dismissed.
“Then you are aware of seriousness of our position,” Dmitriev said, responding to Vaughn’s blunt statement. The Russian turned and gestured toward the three high-ranking officers who stood stiffly at parade rest behind him. “I have brought men who will serve as Soviet liaisons aboard your Aegis command ship. Admiral Vaughn, may I present Kapitan Pervogo Ranga Sharov, my Chief of Staff. Kapitan Viorogo Ranga Besedin, my Tactical Officer. Kapitan Tretyego Ranga Pokrovsky, of Kreml Air Department. All are excellent officers and have my complete confidence and respect. All speak English good as me.”
Each Russian officer saluted as he was introduced. Vaughn merely nodded to each in turn. Surely the dictates of formal military courtesy did not require him to return the salutes of these … these spies.
Vaughn had no doubt at all that the three men had had ties with the former Soviet military intelligence, the infamous GRU.
“Preparations are not yet complete aboard the Vicksburg,” Vaughn replied. It would help, he thought, if he could stall the Russians here for a time, while the Aegis cruiser’s people prepared for these unwelcome visitors. “I assure you that we are carefully monitoring Indian air and sea activities, and that we will have ample time to board Vicksburg if they make a hostile move. We might as well wait here until they are ready for us over there.”
The Russians did not seem pleased and grumbled among themselves in Russian. Vaughn had given them no choice, however. They could only scowl, shrug, and nod. “Very well, Admiral,” Dmitriev said. “Lead way, if you please.”
Vaughn turned and strode back toward the island, the thump of each footstep muffled by the red carpet on the deck. What had the President been thinking when he dreamed this one up? The world might be a different place, the Russians might no longer be the threat they once had been … but so far as Vaughn was concerned, they still presented a greater threat to America and her interests than any ten Indias. Hell, Moscow had provided the Indians with their Migs and Kresta IIS, their Bear reconnaissance aircraft and Fox-Trot submarines in the first place.
They were the enemy.
CHAPTER 14
Tombstone sat in the folding metal chair with arms crossed, listening as Commander Neil gave the latest rundown on Indian forces along the coast.
Using a large-scale map of the area, with crisp colored symbols marked onto a transparent overlay, he’d already covered the Indian naval squadron now gathering some three hundred miles to the southeast. Now he was using a slide projector to present TENCAP photos showing SAM sites and mobile antiaircraft batteries along the beaches and inland between Karachi and the Gulf of Cambay. The lighting was set midway between fully light and completely dark, so that the speaker could refer back and forth between the maps and the slides projected on the screen.
The personnel in attendance included all of CVW-20’s squadron skippers and XOS, though the briefing was obviously tailored primarily for the Hornet and Intruder COS. While all of Jefferson’s aircraft would have parts to play in the upcoming operation, it would be the strike aircraft, two squadrons of A-6 Intruders and two squadrons of F/A-18 Hornets, that would deliver the bombs and missiles to targets on the ground in Pakistan and India. Tombstone was sitting in even though he would not be flying. As a squadron liaison officer in CIC, he would need to know the overall tactical plan, call signs, and code designations to be used during the operation. He felt out of place, though, knowing that these men would be flying their missions while he remained safe on board the carrier.
It was strange having the Russian admiral and his three officers in the Strike Ops briefing room with them. Past sessions in the compartment had discussed hypothetical strikes on Russian targets, both at shore and at sea. Tombstone could remember one practice run directed at a hypothetical target: the newest Soviet aircraft carrier, Kreml, and her escort.
Looking at the faces of the other Americans in the room, Tombstone knew they were thinking the same thing. It would have been amusing if it had not been so serious.
That seriousness was underscored by the fact that the Russians were being permitted to see TENCAP intelligence material. He was sure that the OZ people had screened it all before the briefing, but he knew that Intelligence was always leery of letting the Soviets see just how good American spy-sat capabilities were.