Gaspert watched the screen as the distance between his ship and the Russians increased. He should be feeling much better, but he wasn’t.
General Gorshenko reached Combat just a few steps behind Captain Bolshovick. Any question the general had about whether or not the general alarm was a drill was answered the moment he looked at the captain’s face. The navy captain’s normal expression of supreme confidence was gone.
Mistake, that. They should never see you show concern or alarm.
“Captain!” The young lieutenant’s voice was sharp. “A fire control radar has been detected. We are being targeted, sir!”
“What radar? From which platform?” the captain asked.
“The SPS-48 from the carrier, sir. In targeting mode for only a brief moment, but definitely a fire control radar locked on.”
“And now?”
“Normal search mode, sir.”
“That is exactly how they would fire a Harpoon,” the captain snapped. “A brief flash for targeting data, then launch the weapon. The missile has its own seeker head, complete with re-attack circuitry, and would need no further guidance.” Bolshovick paused for a moment as though considering his options.
Gorshenko swore quietly. “And nothing further? Just one radar sweep, no more? No additional aircraft in the air, no signs of targeting or manuevering?”
“None of that, General,” the lieutenant answered, steadying visibly in response to the general’s calm, no-nonsense tone.
“Irrelevant,” the navy captain said, clearly annoyed at the general’s interference. “Weapons officer, weapons release authority. One round, targeting the carrier.”
Before Bolshovich could foul things up further with his infernal grandstanding, Gorshenko reached his decision. “No.” His voice carried the unconscious assumption that he would be obeyed. The lieutenant froze. “There is no evidence they are attacking.”
“Captain?” the lieutenant asked. Gorshenko could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it was reflected in the faces of the rest of the men in Combat. The warrant officers and petty officers stared at the captain, aghast.
“If I wait until the missile is visible to our radar, it will be too late,” the captain said.
“They are not attacking,” the general said. “You, weapons person — do not fire.”
“We destroyed their satellite! Of course they are attacking!”
The lieutenant held his finger still poised over the button. He kept his gaze locked on his captain, ignoring the general except for the fact he had not yet fired. It was clear that if the captain so much as nodded, he would depress the button.
The damned fool. The Americans are not attacking, not unless something has gone terribly wrong. If Bolshovich only knew — no, I cannot tell him. He would not believe me now.
“There is much you do not know,” Gorshenko said, crossing the compartment in a few steps to stand beside the lieutenant’s console. “Captain, you must not shoot. I forbid it.”
“I am in command here,” the captain snapped, moving to Rotenyo’s other side. “Lieutenant, you will obey my orders.”
Gorshenko saw in the lieutenant’s face that the young officer had reached a decision. Before Rotenyo’s finger could twitch, the general slammed into him, smashing him out of the chair. By reflex, Rotenyo’s finger jabbed down at the fire control button, even as the general’s palm slapped down on the console keyboard in an effort to abort the attack.
When the laser had fired, there had been no indication inside the ship of its operation — no warning buzzer, no vibration, no sound, nothing. With the anti-ship missile, however, it was different. All personnel had been recalled inside the skin of the ship for the laser exercise and for general quarters. The entire forward part of the ship rumbled, and exhaust from the rocket billowed from the launch canister, sweeping across the deck. The rumble built for two seconds, then white fire ignited inside the cloud. The missile emerged from the fire, a thin, white pole, and seemed to hang in the air for a few moments, before it shot off toward the horizon.
On board the cruiser, Lieutenant Commander Alan Simms, the tactical action officer, or TAO, was double-checking a closest-point-of-approach solution showing his ship would pass well aft of the Montego Bay. He’d had the operations specialists work out the solution manually as well, figuring any opportunity for real live training shouldn’t be missed. All in all, it was a quiet night watch, and Simms figured they’d have plenty of time to work out the final preparations for the Kernel Blitz evolutions scheduled for the next day.
All that changed in an instant. As TAO, Simms had weapons release authority and full responsibility for protecting the ship when the captain was not in Combat. With the ships so close together there was no time to think, no time to call the captain or ask for a second opinion. The reflexes implanted by hours of training and countless drills kicked in.
At the very moment that Gorshenko was first realizing what Bolshovich had done, Simms flipped his fire control key to the launch position and sounded general quarters. As Gorshenko attempted to abort the launch, Simms ordered weapons free, and the chief manning the weapons console manually designated the launch cell from the vertical launch system. By the time the Russian general knocked the sailor out of his chair, the Lake Champlain had fired two anti-air missiles at the Russian missile already in the air. Once clear of the ship, the Champlain’s missiles locked on to the Russian missile and began boring in on it.
“You fool,” Gorshenko raged. “I did not authorize you to fire. Abort the missile — do it now!”
“You are the fool,” the captain responded. “I’m authorized to take such action to preserve the safety of the ship, even if you are in tactical command.”
“Captain!” Rotenyo stared at the screen in horror. “Sir, the missile is off course!”
Both the captain and the general spun around to check the large screen in the front of the compartment. The symbol for the missile, which had been inching toward the carrier, had changed direction. As they watched, the symbol for a hostile missile launch appeared next to the American cruiser, the arrowhead of the speed leader aimed directly for the Kurashov.
“You’re responsible for that,” the captain said, his voice soft and menacing. “When you hit the keyboard, you disrupted the programmed launch order. God knows where it’s going — and what it will hit.”
On the screen, the Russian missile changed course again. The American missile changed course also, tracking it. As they both veered north, Gorshenko saw that their trajectories put them directly overhead the SS Montego Bay.
Gorshenko stared at the screen in horror, his mind in turmoil. What had he done? What had he done?
FOUR
Most of the passengers were on the main deck or weatherdecks. A good portion had exercised their option of eating at the casual grill on the fantail, and even more lounged around the small jewel of a pool with hamburgers, club sandwiches, and a large selection of alcoholic beverages. Many of the passengers had been drinking steadily all day. On each cruise there were a couple of people who could not decide when it was time to quit.