“That’ll be up to Washington, Steve,” Admiral Brandt replied. “The transfer of control to the UN didn’t legally take place this morning. Washington might want to take that as an excuse to back out now. On the other hand, we could get a directive anytime telling us to start bombing Sevastopol until the bastards yell uncle.
“In any case, our first priority, after the security of the battle group and MEU, of course, is to get our people off the beach.” Brandt looked at Coyote. “You said you’ve been discussing this with CA-with Tombstone.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve discussed several possibilities. One urgent note. We need to get the wounded out, including Admiral Tarrant. Stoney was wondering about subs, or a quick helicopter in-and-out.”
“I don’t want to send our subs that close inshore. Not in Ivan’s backyard.” Brandt looked at Marusko. “How about it, Captain? Can you get them off with your helos?”
“If Coyote’s people could give us air superiority, both over the beach at Yalta and in a secure corridor all the way back to the battle group, certainly. A piece of cake. If not, well…” He shrugged. “We all know what happens when helicopters tangle with interceptors.”
The attempted joke fell flat in the room, eliciting no more than a forced chuckle or two.
Brandt looked at Coyote. “How about it, CAG? Can you deliver on that air superiority?”
“Well, sir, we’re not going to manage it without a fight. While they’ve been probing our defenses, we’ve been probing theirs, seeing how close we could get to the beach. Every time we get within, oh, forty, fifty miles of the coast, though, we find ourselves facing Migs. Lots of them. It’s kind of a standoff right now, you see. If they try to force our defenses, we open fire and we’re in a shooting war. Same for us, if we try to force our way through to the beach. And until we get clear orders from Washington…”
Brandt nodded. “I think we’re all aware of that particular handicap. I had quite a long session with Admiral Scott this afternoon. He tells me there’s a special briefing of the President’s advisory staff scheduled for this morning, Washington time, and they’ll be going over their alternatives. But he also told me that the atmosphere back there is a bit panicky. No one in the administration wants to get into a fight with the Russians. At least, no one wants the responsibility of being the one who gives the order. We may be on our own out here for quite a while.”
Brandt paused for a moment, as though gauging the feelings and attitudes of each of the men standing around the Flag Plot table.
“I do not happen to believe, however, that we should be sitting around on our hands just because Washington is. I want each department represented here to begin working up a list of working options, based on the possibility ― no, belay that, the probability ― that we’re going to have to fight to get ourselves out of this damned mess… and to evacuate our people ashore.”
“Getting out of this,” Commander Jeffries, the senior Air Ops officer, said thoughtfully, “could require something other than fighting Russians.”
“Who’d you have in mind, Bill?” someone asked, and the others laughed nervously.
“The Turks, actually, since they’re the ones who aren’t letting us into their waters or airspace. Has anybody considered the possibility of putting the MEU-25 Marines ashore at the mouth of the Bosporus?”
“Write it up,” Brandt told him. “All of you, I want a major brainstorming session out of each man here. Let’s see exactly what our options are.”
“I vote we dig a canal through Turkey,” Lieutenant Commander Arthur Lee, the head of the CAG Department intelligence team, said.
“Nah,” Barnes said, arms folded, shaking his head. He nodded toward the chart. “Dig it through the southeast corner of Bulgaria and that little bit of northeastern Greece. Shorter distance. We’re out sooner.”
The others laughed, and some contributed their own outrageous suggestions, including sinking the entire Crimea to remove that peninsula as a source of conflict. They’re not licked yet, Coyote thought with a flash of pride. Not if they can still joke about it.
They were going to need a sense of humor to sustain them for these next few days. Nothing, not defeat, not fear, not the threat of an enemy attack, sapped a unit’s morale like being left hanging in the breeze by one’s own superiors in the chain of command.
What the hell are they thinking about in Washington? he wondered.
CHAPTER 21
In silence, the men and women at the table watched the screen, where the hard, drawn-looking face of Vice-Admiral Dmitriev was looking back. He was sitting in a somewhat shabby-looking office, his hands carefully folded on the desk in front of him. He was speaking English ― very good English, with only a trace of an accent ― and he was speaking deliberately and with evident precision.
“Accordingly,” he was saying, “I am assuming command of the Crimean Military District. General Boychenko has been declared an enemy of the state and will be arrested as a traitor as soon as he can be found.
“American forces in the Black Sea area of operations, specifically the aircraft carrier Thomas Jefferson and the battle group with it, have been neutralized. This was necessary because they had already established contact with the traitor Boychenko and were intervening in Russian internal and security affairs.”
Admiral Thomas Magruder listened to the tape, like the others, with no outward show of emotions, but he felt a sharp pang of worry. His nephew, the last he’d heard, had gone ashore with a party of Navy and UN personnel to prepare the way for Admiral Tarrant to receive the surrender of the Crimea and, as far as he knew, they were still ashore, trapped by Dmitriev’s coup.
Within twenty-four hours of the attack on the Bosporus bridge, this tape had been delivered to the White House by the Russian embassy in Washington. The President had seen it. His advisory group was reviewing it, looking for answers to seemingly unanswerable questions.
“We wish to stress that we have not intentionally fired upon American ships,” Dmitriev’s image continued. “The tanker sunk during the attack on the Bosporus bridge was attacked by accident… much as happened to the American helicopter in Georgia a few days ago. We apologize for that incident. We have also just recently learned that one of your helicopters was destroyed on the ground near Yalta. Again, that was a case of mistaken identity. We regret these attacks and stress that they were accidents, the products of the well-known fog of water.
“At the same time, however, we must stress our resolve. These are dangerous times for our government, for the safety of our people, our land. We cannot allow foreign powers to hinder our great purpose or to intervene in our internal affairs.”
“Watch it,” Herb Waring said, speaking quickly as the figure on the screen paused to draw breath. “Here it comes.”
“But we do… have a proposition for you,” Dmitriev continued. “One that we hope you will be inclined to accept, Mr. President, as a means for both of us to resolve this unfortunate and unnecessary confrontation in which we find ourselves. Boychenko’s mistake, his treason, was in handing over sovereign Russian territory to foreigners, hoping that they would guarantee the Crimea’s security. This, you must understand, is no different a situation than if one of your generals turned, say, Florida over to Russian forces for safekeeping.
“But we can work together. We should work together, in the interests of world peace. In fact, we would welcome your help fighting against the Ukrainian invasion when it comes. There is an excellent possibility, Mr. President, that simply the presence of your carrier battle group in our waters, coupled with your declaration to stand by the rightful, popularly elected government of the Crimea, will be enough to discourage Ukrainian aggression.