Which means we have a little more time. We’re talking about eight hours, maybe less if they push it.
“I’ve been warned by CINCPAC to be extremely careful about taking any action against the Russians. If they shoot first, we are authorized to return fire in kind if one of our aircraft or ships is in deadly peril.” The admiral let out a long sigh, picked up a much-chewed cigar, and clamped it in his mouth. He didn’t light it. “‘Shoot and scoot,” yeah, I like that. Hell of a good way of doing this business. Only we can’t, not on this one.” He looked at Murdock, who suddenly had a whole new perspective on this level of command. “You have any more ideas on this fucking island?”
“Forget Japanese sensitivities and drop a pair of missiles on the command headquarters, then go in and mop up and airlift out any living Japanese, and leave the place to the Russians by the time they drop anchor off the town.”
The admiral laughed. “Don’t I wish I could. CINCPAC would have me by the balls before I could radio in an after-action report. I’d be retired in Coronado before you could flick your Bic.”
A phone on the desk beeped twice. The admiral picked it up and listened. “Yes, I’m coming down. Tell those young men to keep their cool.”
The admiral stood, his game face back in place. “I’ve got to get down to TFCC. You might want to tag along.”
Murdock hurried forward to follow the admiral.
The TFCC is the Tactical Flag Command Center. It contained tactical display screens showing what ships and planes were where in his command.
A short walk later, the admiral and Murdock stepped inside the center, and both stared at the display screen.
“How close?” Admiral Kenner asked Captain Olson, the CAG.
The Carrier Air Wing Commander checked the screen. “Two bogies, sir, probably from the Russian carrier still out about eighty miles from the tip of Hokkaido. Their course seems to be set just to miss the Japanese island. Estimated speed about seven hundred knots. We have two Tomcats on an intercept course with contact somewhere past the point of Hokkaido in approximately twelve minutes.”
“Get them on tactical,” the admiral said.
Ten seconds later the call went out. “Red Tomboy, this is Home Base.”
The response came at once.
“Home Base, yeah. We’ve got those two bogies on a hot meet. What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
Admiral Kenner took the hand mike. “Red Tomboy, this is Admiral Kenner. Do not initiate any action. Do not lock on with radar. Make it a fly-by-and-wave. Absolutely do not engage.”
“That’s a Roger, Home Base. No engagement. Should we turn and bird-dog them?”
“Red Tomboy, maintain loose contact, don’t attempt to escort or influence their flight direction.”
“Roger, Home Base. Out.”
Admiral Kenner handed the set back to Captain Olson. The admiral again studied the screen that showed his ship placement.
“All our units in their proper locations?”
“Right, sir,” the watch officer said. “Everyone in the specified protection screen.”
“Good. That task force could have a Russian Boomer along with it, We’ve got to be especially alert. What’s our ETA on the island?”
“Less than three hours now, sir. We’ve sent out signals for the spread of our ships. We’ll be four miles off shore.”
I’ll wait for the intercept, Captain Olson,” the admiral said.
It was a sit-down room with all the video screens at chest height, and a shelf for work areas below them. Murdock had never seen this part of a carrier in action. He watched the lines on the screen start to converge.
Suddenly he was glad he was just a lieutenant commander, without the responsibility for the carrier task force and the lives and welfare of ten thousand men and a billion dollars worth of hardware that the admiral had.
The lines on the screen almost met; then both veered slightly until they were parallel but looked almost on top of each other.
“Can’t be separated by more than maybe a hundred feet, sir,” the radar specialist said.
Admiral Kenner grunted.
The lines continued in a straight line.
“Heading is still directly for the northernmost point of Hokkaido,” a second tech said.
The admiral turned to another console. “Let’s try to bounce a signal off our ELINT and try to raise the commander of the Russian task force. It’s time we had a talk. Don’t we have an xpert Russian translator on board?”
The watch officer frowned. “Yes, sir. I’ll round him up. A Chief Johnson, as I recall.” He turned and talked to another operator, who left his station and hurried out of the TFCC.
Three minutes later, the translator was there, looking at the message the admiral had written out. He went over it four times, then nodded at the console operator.
The chief spoke in Russian: “Hailing the Russian task force now steaming up the Sea of Japan toward Hokkaido. This is Admiral Kenner of the USS Monroe, CVN 81. We urgently request that you respond to our call so we can have a conversation about our mutual problem.” The chief released the mike switch. Everyone in the TFCC waited. The dead air time stretched out.
“A minute,” the chief said. He looked at the watch commander, who held up his finger in a wait sign.
“It’s been two minutes,” Admiral Kenner said. “Repeat the message, word for word.”
“Admiral, we’re on an international hailing frequency,” the chief said. “I’m almost certain they monitor that frequency. We should be able to raise them on it. They may need some time to decide how to respond.”
“Do it again,” Kenner said.
The translator again spoke in Russian into the microphone. When he ended the message they waited.
A minute later the speaker came to life. The words were in English. “Admiral Kenner. May I offer my compliments on your seamanship. This is Admiral Vladimir Rostow, leader of Task Force Twelve now moving toward Kuril Islands. I see no need for us to talk.
This is a Russian problem, not one for the United States. It is our island that has been invaded. We have given the renegades seven days to leave the island or face total annihilation. There is no room for negotiations, only the total withdrawal of the invaders by our deadline.
I trust this makes our position clear.”
The men in the TFCC looked at one another as if the Russian admiral’s words were about what they expected.
Admiral Kenner pointed at the chief to continue. He picked up the hand microphone and went on reading in Russian from the prepared statement:
“Admiral Rostow. I appreciate your position, but now is the time for words and not bullets. We are now off the coast of Kunashir Island, and will shortly be in communication with General Nishikawa. I understand your concern. This is a minute force led by a highly emotional traditionalist Japanese. I feel there is a strong probability that we can talk him out of his position so your military men on the site can re-establish Russian control. We look forward to working with you on this delicate problem. Thank you.”
There was a moment of silence; then another Voice came back in English. “Admiral Rostow requests that this channel be kept open and monitored twenty-four hours a day for any emergency. Signing off.”
The admiral lowered his brows and firmed his jaw. He turned, and looked at the screen showing the four aircraft.
“Sir, the aircraft are approaching the islands. They were north of Hokkaido, then swung south toward the first Kuril island.”
14
Murdock settled into an out-of-the-way spot in the Tactical Flag Command Center and watched developments. He checked the screen on the tactical display. Each ship and plane in the fleet was shown, and evidently all was going according to plan. The big carrier was nearing the top end of the northernmost Japanese island of Hokkaido.