“Spies?” another reporter asked.
The admiral shook his head. “If you must know, the magazine Scientific American. That and Popular Mechanics contain a great deal of useful information.” He winked and shook a finger at them, looking remarkably like a Santa Claus. “I am divulging state secrets by telling you this.”
“If we can assume for a moment that it was indeed a laser, perhaps we can continue,” the public information officer said. He clicked his controller again, and the picture changed, zooming in on the three ships. “I have eliminated the escorts for clarity’s sake. This is the point at which the Americans launched their weapon. This occurred approximately ninety seconds after we were targeted by the fire control radar. The missile appeared to be headed in our direction, as you can see.” He fell silent while the missile symbol inched its way across the screen, apparently headed directly for the Russian amphibious transport. “Immediately following the launch of the missile, we retaliated.” The graphics showed a missile launching from his ship, targeted on the American vessel. “As you can see, there is little doubt of the sequence of events.”
The room was utterly silent. It might be blue and red symbols projected onto a white screen, but every person in the room understood that they were about to watch the death of more than two hundred people.
As they watched, the American missile changed course slightly. It continued on, and then broke radically away from the Russian ship. “Dear god,” Drake heard someone murmur. “No.”
This isn’t real time. It already happened. There’s nothing you can do about it. Despite reminding herself of the unreality of it, Pamela felt a cold fear and an urgent need to do something, anything, surge through her. It was like a bad dream, running from a monster and feeling like you were running through molasses.
Without fanfare, without additional graphics, the symbol for the American missile intercepted the symbol for Montego Bay. There was silence.
The Russian missile continued on, then disintegrated when it was halfway between the American ship and the Russian ship. “One of your Tomcats,” the public information officer observed. “A very difficult target, yet he hit it. Under different circumstances, we would convey our compliments to the pilot.”
“So you’re saying it was an American missile that hit Montego Bay and a Tomcat took your own missile out,” Pamela said. “But all the reports so far say that Montego Bay was hit from your side. How do explain the missile coming in on the right side when the carrier was to her left?”
“Missiles are very versatile, Miss Drake,” he said. “Right or left — it makes no difference. With the re-targeting capability of some missiles, they can loiter overhead for hours, waiting for the perfect target angle. Based on the trajectory, it appears that there was a flaw in the American missile guidance system. It went into re-attack mode, and found Montego Bay.”
“What sort of programming error?” someone behind Drake demanded.
The public information officer looked to the admiral, who shrugged. “It is speculation only, but the laser — perhaps it interfered with the missile. Such has been known to happen.”
“And your own experiments?” Drake asked.
The admiral smiled briefly. “You’ll understand if I do not answer in detail. But yes, it is well known that lasers and missiles do not mix. There can be mutual interference of this sort.”
“I’m passing out briefing packages,” the public information officer continued, after a nod from the admiral. “In those, you’ll find all the supporting data, including printouts of all of the critical moments you have just seen in this presentation. Flight schedules, watch schedules — it is all there. We understand that your intelligence people will no doubt want copies of all of this and we encourage you to provide them. Once you have studied the data, you’ll understand that there cannot be any other interpretation of what happened. The American cruiser committed a hostile act by targeting our ship with their fire control radar. When we responded, the cruiser launched the missile that hit the Montego Bay. America must take the responsibility for this unnecessary waste of life.”
Silence, as the reporters digested the information. Pamela glanced around the room and could see the war taking place inside each one of them.
Yes, they were reporters, dedicated to uncovering facts and breaking news. They saw themselves as hardheaded and unemotional, and above the political machinations of governments. Yet the vast majority of the reporters in that room were American by birth, American by education, and uniquely American in outlook. At some level, perhaps below conscious thought, they were fiercely protective of their country, and deeply resented the Russian’s conclusion that the Americans were at fault. But even as they dealt with that resentment, they had to face the facts. If they did not report the truth, the four European journalists would. And by not reporting it, they would be subjected to allegations of a cover-up.
“I will answer some questions,” the admiral said, stepping forward. “I remind you, if you need a translation, ask. I will do the same if I do not understand your question.”
“Admiral, could you compare to status of the Russian and American laser defense systems? Do you think the Americans have moved too quickly, taking chances they shouldn’t that resulted in this tragedy?” one reporter asked.
The admiral appeared to consider this for a moment. “The development, I cannot tell you. But moving too fast — yes, I think that is the case. My own people assure me that there is much benchmark testing and simulation prior to an actual firing. We have devoted a great deal of time and effort to studying the problem, and we are not yet ready to test our system at sea. Now, you may have heard that our engineers are simply not as good as the American engineers. This is not true. But we’re taking reasonable precautions to make sure that our system is dependable and controllable prior to deploying it at sea.
“Furthermore,” he continued, his accent growing stronger, “there are many who have doubts about your system. Some believe deployment will destabilize the entire balance of power between your country and mine. Again, we have not undertaken this of our own, but simply respond to America’s actions.”
Drake could hear the sincerity in his voice. The questions around her became more insisted, more probing. More and more often, the admiral sidestepped the question, citing security reasons. After ten minutes, the public information officer stepped to the podium and said, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you, Admiral. Now, if you’ll follow your escort, there is time for a brief tour of our combat center and the flight deck before your return here for a meal and to meet some of our people. If you have any questions or any needs, please do not hesitate to ask.”
The reporters, acting on reflex at the familiar cue, gathered up their gear. The Russian escorts promptly rounded up their charges and eased them out of the room, half of the group heading for Combat, the other half to the flight deck.
Pamela’s own escort approached her and said, “Miss Drake, I suspect you have seen many combat centers and many flight decks. The admiral would like to provide a private tour for you — an exclusive, if you will.” The public information officer appeared behind him, nodding. “If you would come this way.”
“Thank you. Come on, Jeff,” she said, motioning to her cameraman, who fell into step behind her. The public information officer held up one hand.
“No pictures without my express approval. Agreed?”
“Of course. We’re used to covering military operations, Commander. We understand the game rules.”