The thought still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
For eight years he’d taught the best of the best, the top one percent of the Navy’s fighter pilots. It had started as a privilege, an honor bestowed on him for his excellent performance. But each time he’d set out to apply for a new duty station he’d let someone talk him out of it, appealing to pride or duty or vanity to persuade him to put in a little more time as an instructor.
And before he’d realized it eight years were gone, and with them the best chance for a real career. He’d missed out on Desert Storm right off the bat, but the F-14s hadn’t seen much action over Iraq anyway. But he’d still been training others while Matthew Magruder was becoming America’s latest naval hero.
Now it was too late. He’d finally wangled command of an air wing by pulling every string he could think of. But the chances of rising any higher were slim now. The Navy’s program for promoting officers to command slots was getting more and more rigid, and with all the defense cutbacks lately it was getting so there were a dozen or more top candidates for every position. That was especially true with carriers. Fourteen flattops were all there were. Even the chance of commanding a Naval Air Station rated somewhere between slim and none.
Too senior to fly, but without the record to advance any further … Stramaglia knew he’d been letting his own bitterness hamper him in dealing with his subordinates, especially Magruder, but sometimes it just didn’t seem fair.
Lee sat down next to him. “Looks like this is the big one, doesn’t it, sir?” he said. The prospect seemed to excite him. “Did you see the morning news?”
“Yeah,” Stramaglia said shortly. Both of Jefferson’s television stations carried news programs, a mix of shipboard information and world news picked up by satellite.
“I didn’t,” Magruder put in. “What happened?”
Lee looked at him. “You must be Commander Magruder,” he said, sticking out his hand. “Welcome aboard. I’m Lee … Arthur Lee. Staff Intelligence man. I’ve heard a hell of a lot about you. Some of it was even good.” He grinned as they shook hands. “The UN vote finally went down last night. Twelve to two, with China abstaining.”
“And it wasn’t worth a damned thing because of the Russian veto,” Magruder finished for him grimly.
“So much for the ‘New World Order,’” Owens put in. “That’s what comes of letting the bad guys have veto power.”
Stramaglia stayed out of their conversation, but inwardly he knew how they felt. While the Russians cut through Norway’s defenses, President Connally had been stalling American reaction until the United Nations could act. It was as if he’d learned all the wrong lessons from the conflict with Iraq, where America had mobilized UN support only after guaranteeing assistance for Saudi Arabia. Resolution 782, calling for a peaceful solution to the Scandinavian crisis and condemning the USSR for its aggression, had gone exactly nowhere. And in the interim nearly a week of precious time had been lost. Connally could claim now that he’d exhausted every peaceful means before turning to a military response, but in the process he might just have given the Russians everything they needed to make their attack on Norway stick.
For nearly a decade Stramaglia had been regarded as a bit of a dinosaur where the Russians were concerned. Hotshot youngsters at Miramar had been fond of claiming that future conflicts would follow the pattern set down by Operation Desert Storm: small, outclassed opponents facing the overwhelming air superiority of American technology. But Joseph Stramaglia had never entirely counted the Russians out, not even after Yeltsin had emerged as the leader of the new Russian Commonwealth. There had been too many unknowns, to Stramaglia’s way of thinking. Too many factions, like the hard-liners in the military, who hadn’t been heard from.
And now it looked like he’d been right after all.
“Attention on deck!” a junior officer called out as Admiral Tarrant strode into Civic. Every man in the briefing room came to his feet in response.
“As you were,” he said quickly, strolling purposefully toward the podium at the far end of the long room.
As Tarrant reached the podium he scanned the lines of seated officers. Brandt was sitting near the front, with his Exec, Commander Parker, and several members of Tarrant’s Flag Staff. As he studied their faces, he wondered what they were thinking.
He saw Captain Stramaglia and other officers from Jefferson’s Air Wing at the back of the room. Most of the striking power of the battle group was contained in the carrier’s air complement, and their role in the next few days would be crucial. Tarrant hoped they would be up to the challenge. Stramaglia had a good reputation, but he hadn’t been at sea for over a decade. Did he still have the edge?
And then there was Captain Vic Gates of the Shiloh, the battle group’s Aegis cruiser. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. His ship, with its powerful radar systems and missile defenses, would be a key player if they faced a major attack. In the Indian Ocean two years back Jefferson had come through with minor damage, but her Aegis cruiser escort had been all but crippled. Maybe Gates was thinking about that.
But they’d all have their parts to play, the DDGs Lawrence Kearny and John A. Winslow; the battle group’s three frigates, Gridley, Esek Hopkins, and Stephen Decatur, and the two 688-class submarines, Galveston and Bangor. A carrier battle group was more than just the carrier itself. It was a balanced task force in which each ship, each aircraft, each man had a vital role to play.
Tarrant cleared his throat and stepped behind the podium. It was time to let them know the score.
“Gentlemen,” he said formally. “You all know what’s been going on in Norway. We’ve been watching the Russians overrun the country for close to a week, and I’m sure most of you have been wondering what the United States plans to do about it. Well, some recent developments have finally shaped our course. We received orders from CINCLANT late last night, and I felt you should all be brought into the picture. Commander Aiken will bring us up to date on the military picture first. Commander?”
Commander Paul Aiken was head of OZ Division, the Intelligence branch of Jefferson’s Operations Department. A small, precise man with a dry manner and a face that betrayed no emotion, Aiken was responsible for coordinating all information gathered by a variety of means and making it available to the carrier’s command, air, and flag staffs. He advanced to the podium carrying a bundle of papers under one arm. The lights dimmed as one of his officers switched on the projector.
“The situation in Scandinavia has, quite frankly, developed in a totally unexpected manner,” Aiken began. He gestured to the screen behind him, where a map of the region had appeared. “During the Cold War it was always assumed that any attack into Norway could be delayed by local forces long enough to allow NATO reinforcement before the Soviets could make significant territorial gains. The entire defensive posture of the country was predicated on this assessment.”
He checked his notes before going on. “The Norwegians have a long tradition of avoiding European entanglements, and they were somewhat reluctant to get involved in NATO at all. However, the experience of Nazi occupation in World War II showed them that it was necessary to seek protection from stronger powers. Northern Norway guards the main approaches to the bases of Russia’s Red Banner Northern Fleet in the White and Barents Sea areas, and this has made the country both a strategic prize for the Russians and a critical strongpoint for the West. Land-based aircraft operating from Norwegian air bases could play havoc with any Soviet fleet sorties, and in addition could protect our own ships making incursions into their waters. Because the Northern Fleet also contains the bulk of the Soviet ballistic missile submarine force, the defense of which takes top priority in Russian naval thinking, the threat of a NATO strike has made it certain that the Russians would seek to neutralize Norway as part of any larger war in Europe.”