The picture displayed on the map was fairly complete. The basic information was fed to the admiral’s plot from the Combat Information Center, which obtained its information from the radar sightings of all ships in the fleet, as well as the Luftwaffe aircraft flying cover.
Extending a collapsible pointer, Froelich aimed it at a group of red blips northwest of North Cape, Norway. The Soviet ships out of Archangel continue to move at cruise speed. The group has been joined by three stragglers.”
“It is how large, now?”
“Fourteen vessels, headed by the rocket cruiser Kirov. There are several Kotlin Sam class destroyers and two troop carriers. The balance appear to be service and supply ships.”
“And the other group?”
The pointer slipped across the screen to a spot 300 kilometers due east of Daneborg, Greenland.
“The American and British task force still contains seventeen ships, Admiral. They have not moved farther north in the last eight hours, but appear to be on track to meet the Soviet group.”
“Operation Whale, they are calling it?”
“It was advertised as such in the newspapers. A joint naval exercise.”
“But no more details since that announcement?”
“No, Herr Admiral.”
“I do not like the presence of the two salvage ships in the Anglo force,” Gerhard Schmidt said. “Nor do I like seeing the Tarawa… ”
The Tarawa was an amphibious assault ship, with a capability of landing 1,800 soldiers by helicopter and landing craft. The reconnaissance flights had detected no large contingents of troops aboard the ship, but they could easily be kept below decks.
“Tell me, Rolf. What is your estimate for the minimum amount of time it would take either of those task forces to reach us?”
“The slowest of the ships can make eighteen knots, Admiral. It would take about fifteen hours for the British-American force, nineteen hours for the Soviet group.”
They were much closer than Schmidt liked. He also did not care to be outnumbered almost two-to-one, even if some of the ships were merely noncombatants.
“The aircraft?” he asked.
The pointer flew over the map. “Colonel Weismann has just two aircraft up at the moment, here and here. He continues to insist upon using his strength at night. One of the Eurofighters detected an airborne warning craft here, over the eastern coast of Greenland. It is probably supporting the British-American task force. Both task forces have helicopters up, ranging in front of them. Antisubmarine warfare craft, probably.”
“If we stopped the fifth battle group right where they are, the Americans and Soviets would intercept them sometime tomorrow,” Schmidt said.
“Do you want to do that, Admiral?”
“No. I want them here, so that we have three battle groups on the southern side of the well field. All right, Rolf, thank you.”
As soon as the Kapitän left, Schmidt said, “Lieutenant, locate General Eisenach for me. I believe he is still on Platform One.”
Five minutes passed before the telephone at his side buzzed. He picked up the receiver.
“Felix,” Schmidt said, “I want to bring you up to date on those task forces.”
It took him two minutes.
And as he had in their last two conversations, Eisenach brushed them off, like he would a fly. “You worry too much, Gerhard. It is simply a show of force. The Americans could not breach our security with their airplanes, so now they will march across our front door with their ships. I am not frightened. Are you frightened?”
“Yes, Felix, I am. Amphibious assault ships scare me. Salvage ships scare me.”
“Why?” the general asked. “It is only a pitiful armada, assembled with vessels that were close by at the time they needed them.”
He partially agreed with the general. If Gerhard Schmidt wanted to put together a show of force, he would do it with seven or eight warships, not seventeen ships that included unarmed vessels.
“Nonetheless, Felix, I believe you should talk to the High Command. I want permission to unleash my guns, and my submarines, against hostile vessels if I need to do so.”
“Then you have it, Gerhard.”
Schmidt wondered when Eisenach had obtained that kind of authority, the authority to start a war.
“I want it in writing.”
“Then you shall have it in writing. You will not need it, however.”
“I hope you are right,” he said.
“I know I am right. This afternoon, this evening at the latest, Ghost I is to be placed on its launch pad.”
Eisenach sounded almost gleeful.
With as many setbacks as the Gespenst program had suffered, and with as many aircraft as the 20.S.A.G. had lost, Gerhard Schmidt thought that it was up to him to prepare for battle.
The GUARDIAN PROJECT commander’s frame of mind, Schmidt thought, was not conducive to such planning, so he must take it upon himself.
“Now, Lieutenant, find Colonel Albert Weismann for me.”
Daniel Goldstein was standing outside the doorway to his own office.
Weismann told him, “Shut the door, Goldstein.”
The Jew reached inside and pulled the door shut.
Weismann uncovered the mouthpiece of the telephone. “All right, Admiral. Yes, I am aware of the ships.”
“Are you also aware of the makeup of each flotilla?”
“Yes. Cruisers, destroyers, salvage ships”
“Do you know what that means?”
“General Eisenach says a show of force.”
“And do you believe that?”
Weismann did not. “I think they’re standing by in case of an accident. A blowout.”
“Caused by?” Schmidt asked.
“An error in judgment or aiming. I think the Americans may try to torpedo the cables under the wells.”
“Do you, now? I had not thought of that, Colonel. I am preparing for an infiltration of the offshore platforms by submarine and frogmen.”
That was a surprise to Weismann. “The defense planning group has not mentioned the possibility.”
“They wouldn’t. They’re all air force.”
Weismann knew of the admiral’s disenchantment with the air force. Worse, having lost four aircraft, and having had Zeigman and Metzenbaum abandon coverage to chase decoy Soviets, his disenchantment had some foundation.
“Perhaps, Admiral, they will do both.”
“We should prepare for the eventuality, Weismann.”
“When, do you think?”
“If it were me planning operations for the other side, I would pick tonight. The weather is projected to be better than it has been for several days, though there will still be a high overcast.”
“I will alert my squadrons.”
“Tell them not to go running after specters, will you?”
Weismann depressed the telephone bar, then dialed New Amsterdam. As normal, it took a while to run down Zeigman, but he was discovered asleep in his quarters.
“Colonel?” with a yawn.
“Mac, what do you have planned for tonight?”
“Give me a minute to wake up. Let me see. We’re running two Eurofighters directly over the wells. They, as well as the ships, are an inducement to attack. I have scheduled six Tornadoes for the overhead coverage. The first aircraft go at eleven o’clock. There will be two changes of the guard.”
“We are going to send them all,” Weismann said.
“Are you crazy? Herr Colonel.”
“I think not. We will keep four tankers aloft through the night, replacing them as needed. You may keep your two low-flying decoys, but all of the rest, including the aircraft on loan from the Sixteenth Fighter Wing are to be deployed over the wells.”
“Throughout the night?”
“Yes.”