"The boys over at NPIC say they'll be able to bring up more detail with computer enhancement," the DCI added. "Maybe even manage an ID on the faces. But I think what we have here is conclusive."
The President looked away from the photo. "Just what the hell do you mean by conclusive, Victor? Do they have all our people here, or just these? We have to know!"
"No way to tell, Mr. President," the CIA chief said. "We can see those eight. We can suppose they have more in one or more of those buildings. But…" He shrugged.
"Well, I don't know how we can even consider a military option, Mr. President," the Secretary of State said. "Especially when we Could hear from the Chinese at any time now."
Schellenberg had met with the Chinese ambassador that afternoon and again during the evening. An hour earlier he'd left Deputy Secretary of State Frank Rogers at the Chinese embassy and returned to the White House, there to wait as electronic messages bounced from Earth to satellite and back to Earth again, bridging the distances between Washington, Beijing, and P'yongyang.
"if the Chinese come through, I'll be delighted," the President said. "But we have to be ready if things go the other way." He examined the picture again. "Okay, so they have eight of our people in… where the hell is it?"
"Nyongch'on, Mr. President."
"Yeah, right. So… Winged Talon. Can that do it for us, do you think?"
"It'll show the bastards we mean business," Caldwell said. "Go in hard and fast-"
"And risk lighting off the Korean Police Action, Round Two," Schellenberg said. He shook his head. "With all respect, Mr. President, we can't cowboy this one!"
"Come off it, Jim," Admiral Grimes said. "Hell, they're already mad at us. We can't make them much madder."
"We'd be backing ourselves into an indefensible position," Schellenberg insisted. "Look, what if they start shooting our people one at a time until we call off our planes? How could we respond to something like that from a position of strength? Isn't it better to talk first, see where things are going?"
"You can't talk with barbarians," Grimes said.
"And maybe it's time we tried! Besides, if our people are scattered all over, we might hit some of them."
"And wouldn't that look grand on page one of the Washington Post?" Phillip Buchalter said. The Presidential advisor chuckled. "'Hostages killed by U.S. air attack." Hell, we need to have people left alive before we can get them out!"
"There's no better intel than this," Marlowe said, jerking a thumb at the screen. "Not without HUMINT sources on the ground."
"Could be we already have some of those on the way in," Grimes said. HUMINT ― Human Intelligence ― normally meant agents in place in a foreign country. But there were alternatives. "We've got SEALs out there now."
Marlowe frowned. "Maybe. Risky, though."
"I'd recommend against a covert op like that," Caldwell said. An old Army man, Amos Caldwell had always resented the concept of elite special forces ― Rangers, Green Berets, even the Marines ― units which stole funding from the Army's share of each military appropriations bill. "I don't care how stealthy they are, Occidentals are going to stand out over there like bugs on a plate. No place to hide, y'know?"
"Not SEALS, General Caldwell," the CNO said coldly. "Not SEALS."
Schellenberg pursed his lips. "if our people are caught in North Korean territory-"
"That's just the point, Mr. Secretary," Grimes continued. "We need intelligence from the ground. If anybody can get it without being caught, SEALs can."
The President nodded slowly. He remembered a briefing in this same room years before, when Reagan decided to launch an air strike on Libya. SEALs had been on the ground in that one too, using laser designators to help American F-111s target their smart bombs. And then there'd been the SEAL raids in the Gulf…
"When will they be in position, Fletch?"
Grimes glanced at one of the clocks on the wall. "They should be on board Jefferson now, Mr. President. Give them time for last-minute planning and preparation… they could go in tonight."
"Our ace in the hole, Fletcher," the President said quietly. "If the North Koreans don't yell uncle as soon as we send in our planes, we're going to need hard intel fast. It looks to me like your SEALs are the best way to do it." The CNO's face broke into a wintry smile. "I would have to agree, Mr. President."
CHAPTER 13
"That should do it, gentlemen." CAG's face grinned at them from the television screen. "Good luck, and God bless you all!"
"Let's saddle up!" Tombstone's voice came from across the ready room. The Vipers were already rigged out in their pressure suits. Outside, on the flight deck, their aircraft were waiting. The squadron pilots and their RIOs began filing through the door.
Batman Wayne rose from the leatherette chair and cocked a grin at Malibu. "Oh, what a thrill…" he began.
Malibu joined him in the chorus. "Gonna get us a kill!" Their hands collided in a high-five. "Batman!"
"Yo!" He turned and saw Tombstone approaching. Adrenaline was boiling in his blood. He felt as though he were riding a billowing, thundering wave of excitement. Combat! "You called, oh fearless leader?"
"You guys stick tight this time, right? No hot-dogging."
Batman swallowed his irritation. Nothing was going to spoil this for him! "Sure thing, Skipper. Strictly steak-and-potatoes."
Tombstone had already given the two of them a dressing down for hot-dogging with the Bear. Further reprimands, Batman thought, were uncalled for.
"Hey, Skip," Malibu said, grinning. "You wouldn't be just the least little bit afraid that the Batman here's gonna beat your one kill, would you?"
"I just want to know he's going to be where I want him, when I want him," Tombstone replied. The expression on his face was unreadable, a mask.
Batman gave Tombstone a tight salute. "Yes, sir, squadron leader sir!"
Tombstone looked worried. Well, Batman thought as he pulled on his helmet, why wouldn't he be? The squadron ― hell, Jefferson's entire air wing ― was being flung against the North Koreans with almost indecent haste. The final orders had come through only hours before. Tombstone's work on the squadron's op orders must have put him up against the old problem faced by every military commander since Nimrod: Good men are going to die today, and I wrote the orders that killed them.
Batman liked Tombstone, though he couldn't claim to know him all that well. The guy was a real pro, steady, quiet, always certain about his next move. Batman especially appreciated the fact that Tombstone never made a big deal about having been to Top Gun school. You had to listen close to his lectures even to pick up the fact that he'd been to Fightertown. He had the righteous stuff, no question.
Batman didn't want to lose him.
They filed through the passageway, emerging from the base of the carrier's island onto the flight deck. The entire deck was a maze of aircraft and men, alive with motion and bustling activity.
A major carrier launch was a complex process, the arming, the fueling, the movement of aircraft between hangar deck and flight deck ― a colossal ballet of men and machines. The Deck Handler ― the Mangler, as he was called ― would be at his table just off the flight deck, shifting cutouts about on a scale model of the carrier in order to orchestrate each movement as planes were shuffled about preparatory to launch, or brought topside on one of Jefferson's four huge deck elevators. Everywhere, men in color-coded jackets moved with purpose and skill. Yellow shirts were directing aircraft, one after another, into line behind the catapult blast screens forward. Close by the island, purple shirts ― "grapes" in carrier parlance ― were clustered about a line of F/A-18 Hornets attaching fuel hoses to their bellies, while red-shirted ordnancemen checked through the racks of bombs and missiles slung from wing pylons.