“Yes, sir,” Jenkins responded, placing a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “The best.”
The radioman quietly interrupted the two grieving officers. “Captain, Seahawk Thirty-eight is back. They’re picking up someone now.”
“What?” Simpson looked toward the starboard side of his damaged ship. “Okay. Stand by to bring them aboard.”
The Virginia’s skipper was glad to have the helicopter back. It would be impossible to put a small boat over the side in heavy seas. The helo was the only hope for the survivors in the frigid, churning ocean.
“What a goddamned nightmare,” Simpson said quietly to himself as the lights of the LAMPS helicopter came into sight. An F-14 roared low over the ship, creating a rolling thunder, as the Virginia’s captain tried to piece together what had happened in the last seven and a half minutes.
Chapter Five
The new Boeing executive-configured 747 was cruising at 41,000 feet, experiencing light turbulence, when Grant Wilkinson, carrying a Flash Message, rushed into the president’s private dining room.
“Mister President,” Wilkinson paused a second and continued, “Sir, the Russians attacked one of our ships. The Virginia is—”
“SON-OF-A-BITCH!” The president dropped his utensils in his plate, the early breakfast forgotten, as the color drained from his face.
“When?”
“Approximately twenty minutes ago. The Virginia is badly damaged but afloat.”
Wilkinson looked at the message in his hand, then subconsciously crushed the paper. “Sub got them and shot down an antisub plane from the Eisenhower.”
“What about the sub?” the president asked, clearly agitated. He quickly wiped his mouth, then threw the linen napkin on the table.
“The Virginia sunk it, sir. Another ASW plane confirmed the sinking.”
“How many casualties, Grant?” The president was intense.
“Too early to tell, sir. Fourteen aboard the Virginia estimated killed. They have aircrews in the water and rescue operations are continuing.”
“What are our total losses?” the president asked, standing up from his table.
“Two fighters, a tanker plane, and the antisub aircraft are confirmed at this time.”
“How the hell did we lose that many aircraft?”
“Sir, the Russians had fighters up, came out of nowhere. They shot down two of our Tomcats and the tanker aircraft before our pilots had a—”
“Did we get any of their fighters?”
“Yessir, three.” Wilkinson had never seen his friend this violently mad. “One limped to the coast, may have bailed out over land.”
“How the hell did they get fighters out there without being detected?”
“No one knows for sure, sir.” Wilkinson paused, choosing his words carefully. “Our airborne radar plane reported the Russians popped out from a commercial airline track, possibly being camouflaged by a transport plane. There was an Aeroflot aircraft in the area at the time of the attack.”
“What do you think, Grant?”
“Obviously deliberate.” Wilkinson sighed. “An insane move on the eve of your meeting with Zhilinkhov. Just beyond comprehension.”
“Agree.” The president paused, mulling over various responses to the attack. “I agree wholeheartedly, Grant.”
The president was regaining his composure. “How do you think I should approach Zhilinkhov and his staff?”
Wilkinson did not hesitate. “Sir, you’re going to have to take the gloves off with this guy.”
Wilkinson watched as the president, formulating a decision, lightly tapped his fingers on the edge of the table.
“You’re absolutely correct, as usual.” The president looked straight into the eyes of his chief of staff. “Order DEFCON-Two and notify Lajes that I demand to see Zhilinkhov immediately on arrival.”
“Yessir,” Wilkinson replied as he opened the cabin door.
The president, assimilating the unprovoked attack by the Soviets, attempted to analyze what Zhilinkhov was trying to accomplish with these blatant assaults on the Americans.
The commander-in-chief realized there were too many possibilities to contend with at this juncture. He nibbled absently on a piece of cold dry wheat toast.
The president knew the Soviets well. They would become serious and willing to talk only when threatened by systems that effectively neutralized their own forces. He thought about the new Stealth bombers and fighters.
These new weapons, along with early deployment of the basic Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) satellites, had apparently unnerved the Soviet leaders.
The Russians had continued to exercise power by brute force, while their political system had become moribund and perfunctory. Soviet technology, while excellent in many areas, lagged far behind the United States. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, encompassing an area of 8,649,490 square miles and 266 million inhabitants, would not be a superpower without their arsenal of intercontinental ballistic missiles and space-related capabilities.
The Russians had every reason to be concerned, considering the technological advances in American military defense systems over the past four years. The Soviets were now facing the rapid deployment of these weapons.
The president had thoroughly studied the Soviet theories and aims that constituted their political, social, and economic aspirations. The Kremlin leadership simply did not subscribe to the thesis that a nuclear war cannot be won.
All Russian command and control systems had been increasingly hardened. They had constructed extensive relocation facilities and virtually impregnable underground bunkers for their political hierarchy.
The Soviets had continued to deploy widely dispersed mobile nuclear weapons, along with an ever growing submarine force, to augment the massive Russian army.
The enormous cost of such an undertaking sent a very clear message to the United States government. The Soviet leaders were prepared to engage in, and expected to survive, a nuclear conflict with the Americans and their allies.
A polite knock at the president’s cabin door interrupted his thoughts as Wilkinson reentered to brief his boss.
“Mister President, DEFCON-Two has been initiated and Lajes Command is relaying your demand, er, request to Zhilinkhov. We should be on the ground a couple of minutes before his arrival.”
“Excellent, Grant.” The president reached for the phone connecting him with the flight deck of the mammoth jet.
“We need to be there even earlier,” the president said to Wilkinson as he waited for the aircraft commander to respond.
“Colonel Boyd, sir.”
“Colonel, I’d like to arrive in Lajes ahead of our schedule. Think we can do that?”
“Yes, sir. No problem. We’ll put another man on the coal shovel.”
The president chuckled, thinking about the dry sense of humor Col. Donald Boyd, the commander of Air Force One, continually displayed.
“By the way, Colonel, you may inform the crew that we are now in DEFCON-Two status.”
“I know, Mister President. We have been informed that we’ll have a fighter escort from the carrier Eisenhower in approximately fifty minutes. They’re airborne and tanking at this time, sir.”
“Okay, Don. I want to beat the Soviet contingent to the ramp, if possible, by at least fifteen minutes.”
“Yessir, we’ve got ’er up to Mach-knocker now.”
“Very good,” replied the president as he replaced the handset and turned to his chief of staff.