“Won’t all this take time?” Connally asked.
“Absolutely. Too damned much time. It’ll take days just to get the first planes in. There weren’t that many serviceable air bases in Norway when all this started … it’ll be worse now that the Soviets have had a chance to bomb Out the runways they’ve still got. And that’s why we need the Jefferson in those waters now more than ever, Mr. President. Just by being there she’s a distraction the Soviets will have to deal with. And every day, every hour she delays the advance on Bergen by keeping the Russians occupied out at sea makes our intervention more viable.”
Connally looked around the table. His eyes found the “football” at its place next to him. “So no matter how hard we try, it comes down to all-out war,” he said quietly. “is Norway really worth the risk of a nuclear exchange?”
It was Scott who answered him. “If you’re going to ask that question, Mr. President, then you might as well be prepared to resign now and let the Soviets have the entire world. It’s easy to argue that a given country isn’t really worth all that much. Norway’s not that large or that rich. So let it fall. Then what happens? Will you risk a nuclear war over Germany? Or France? What about Great Britain? These days they aren’t even our close allies. Will you risk nuclear confrontation over our right to freedom of the seas? The Russians want to keep us out of the Norwegian Sea now. What if they renew their ties with Havana and try to restrict our access to the Caribbean next?” He pointed to the map. “The only place to draw the line is at the first victim, Mr. President. Whether you’re protecting oil in Kuwait or ice and snow in Norway. Because the only alternative is to abdicate our responsibility. Not as world policemen. As a free part of the world community. It’s too late to resist a tyrant when he’s knocking on your own door.”
Scott fell silent, and no one answered him. Finally Connally stood slowly. “Very well, you’ve made your point. Order DefCon Two, and begin drawing up a plan to support the Norwegians.” He paused. “And God help us.”
CHAPTER 12
“How could I predict what that fool Terekhov would do, Comrade Admiral?” Captain First Rank Fyodor Arturovich Glushko asked. He was uncomfortably aware of the note of pleading that had crept into his voice. “If he had obeyed his instructions-“
“The transcripts of the radio traffic with Misha show that he did obey those orders,” Admiral Khenkin said harshly. The heavyset, gray-haired fleet commander leaned across Glushko’s desk, his bluff peasant’s face flushed. “If you had spent more time reviewing them, or better yet actually listening to the transmissions as they occurred, you would be aware of this.”
Glushko stiffened, his face a studied blank that hid the churning emotions within him. It was almost unheard of for an admiral to seek out a subordinate in his own office, especially so early in the morning and with so few minutes left before a major mission briefing. But Khenkin had come to the air wing office today, and Glushko didn’t need the flag officer’s angry words to tell him that his career, maybe even his life, hung by a thread this morning.
It was not fair. For all of his adult life Glushko had played the game of Soviet Navy politics, and played it well. In the late Eighties he had commanded a squadron of Yak-38 V/STOL fighters operating from the Baku, but he had seen where the winds of change were leading the Navy and volunteered for training with the first wave of pilots at the flight deck mock-up at Saki airfield in the Crimea. Flying Su-27s off the deck of the fleet’s first true carrier back when it was still known as the Kuznetsov, he had been in an enviable position as one of the Union’s pioneer naval aviators, and that had stood Glushko in good stead.
Now he was commander of the air wing assigned to the Soyuz, and well-positioned to advance further. Operation Rurik’s Hammer offered him a superb chance to attract favorable notice, though as air wing commander he was relegated more to an administrative role than to the kind of combat duty that might really make his reputation. As a result he had focused his attention on winning over staff and political officers who could make sure that his name would receive prominent notice when the campaign was through. After all, once the Norwegians had been overcome and the conflict was over, there would be plenty of room at the top for deserving officers. General Vorobyev would see to that as he began to consolidate his domination of the new Russia.
Now all of Glushko’s efforts were threatened. He had not exactly neglected his responsibilities as air wing commander, but he had delegated much of the responsibility to juniors. Ordinarily it would have been perfectly acceptable … except for the horrible set of circumstances the day before that had culminated in the loss of a Tu-95 out of Olenegorsk and one of Soyuz’s MiG-29Ds. The other escort plane, flown by Captain Second Rank Terekhov, had broken off the engagement and returned to the carrier unmolested by the Americans.
It had been Terekhov’s fault, Glushko told himself again as he concentrated on a spot on the bulkhead above the admiral’s head. Surely they did not expect the air wing commander to monitor every routine patrol flight. But Khenkin evidently expected just that, and as a result held Glushko, not Terekhov, responsible for the incident.
The incident that might have drawn the Americans into a direct military involvement in the war in Scandinavia. That was a thought Glushko didn’t want to contemplate. “Admiral,” he said slowly, searching for the right words. “I have done my duty to the best of my ability. There was no way to predict what would happen to the patrol mission …”
“And you didn’t even try,” Khenkin finished bluntly. “That is no longer the principal concern. What has happened cannot be changed. What remains for us is to shape the future.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Glushko said.
“Shut up and let me finish!” Khenkin’s voice was loud now in the cramped office. “I have examined all of the plans submitted by your officers for the conduct of North Star. They make very interesting reading.” The admiral tapped a stack of file folders on the corner of Glushko’s desk. “Tell me, Glushko, what did you think of Captain Terekhov’s suggestions?”
“Terekhov?” Glushko almost spat the name. “Too rash. Too daring. He wants to use three full squadrons to escort the bombers … too many. It leaves but one squadron to mount CAP over Soyuz. You will find the plan I endorsed to be much more balanced in outlook-“
“Bah!” Khenkin exploded. “You would give only token escort to the bombers! This is not a time for half-measures. Why is it so difficult for you to comprehend this?”
“But, Admiral-“
“Spare me the protests.” Khenkin rose from his seat and jabbed a stubby finger at Glushko. “We will proceed on the basis of the plan Captain Terekhov submitted. You will pass orders to have the MiG squadrons readied. The mission briefing will be conducted accordingly. Do you understand?”
Glushko swallowed. “Yes, Admiral. Your orders will be carried out. To the letter.”
Inwardly he was caught between fear and anger. Plainly the admiral would be watching him very closely over the next few hours, and any mistakes Glushko made would only fuel Khenkin’s ill feelings. He would have to tread carefully.
There was a soft, almost tentative knock on the office door. “Come!” Khenkin barked.
Captain Second Rank Terekhov looked diffident as he entered. “Just a reminder, Admiral … Captain. The briefing is due to begin in ten minutes. All squadron commanders and executive officers are assembled as ordered.”