The operator turned to the supervisor. “You can let the powers that be know that it worked like a champ,” he said.
The supervisor grinned. “Good, because the next step is going to give them fits.”
“Sir, I have lost signal from another satellite. This one is a communications satellite number 1842.”
Colonel Michael Kerotin looked up from his station. “Is it a malfunction, or has it been attacked?” he asked.
“It looks like a malfunction. I am receiving a carrier signal, but nothing else.”
“How long has that one been up?”
“Since 1997, Colonel.”
“That’s a long time for a satellite. Switch to the backup,” he ordered.
Making some changes, the operator reported, “Communications returned, sir.”
“Good. I’ll report it up the line,” the Colonel said.
“I’ve lost a satellite too, Colonel,” shouted another operator.
“Weather satellite is down, sir,” called out another.
One by one, every satellite on the board began dropping offline. In a panic, Colonel Kerotin called headquarters to report that their entire space command was under attack.
“That’s the last of them, sir.”
“Not bad. Now everyone be ready to respond if they start launching. Our job now is to make sure they can’t get anything into space,” said the Brilliant Pebbles supervisor.
As darkness fell, people on the shore watched as a monstrous force of ships began making their way silently past the city towards the Bosporus. The city was dark and the ships showed no lights, but in the dim moonlight there was no mistaking the power going by. Carriers, battleships, cruisers, destroyers, transports, all of them were heading north with a purpose. The Turks had shut down the radio and telephone systems for the transit so that it would be difficult to warn anyone of the approach. People stood on the waterfronts and simply watched silently, some praying for the young men and women going in harm’s way.
Aboard the ships, a message had told each to place a masthead light on the bow and to show only it and a stern light. Even those would not be turned on until they were within the narrow straits. The passage was only a little over 16 miles long, but in some cases, the waterway was only a third of a mile across. A series of pilot boats was placed along the way to call out a warning if a ship was going too near the shallows. No radars operated. The entire route was in darkness with only a sliver of moonlight.
One by one, the ships eased through the narrow channel. Sailors and soldiers alike came topside to watch the passage. No one spoke except in a whisper, lest someone on shore would hear them. As they passed under a bridge, the sailors on the larger ships could see people looking down at them. Most worried that one of them would alert the Russians and things would come to a crashing halt. No one wanted to get caught in the narrow channel when attacked.
Aboard the America, Admiral Hustvedt sat in a chair on one of the bridge wings. He wanted to see if something went wrong, since this was where he felt the most vulnerable. Captain Donner didn’t help. Hustvedt watched him pace back and forth across the bridge. He was wound up tighter than a clock and when he came out to the bridge wing, Hustvedt could see he was sweating. Despite the Captain, Hustvedt could see that the bridge was being efficiently run. Bearing lines were taken when they could and the navigation team was doing a good job keeping the ship in the center of the channel. He liked the fact that they didn’t totally rely on the dim stern light of the ship ahead to navigate.
Glancing behind them, Hustvedt could just make out the silhouette of his old ship, the North Carolina. He longed for the days when he was in command. Those old battleships gave such a sense of security, especially when you were aboard. He took a moment to remember the faces of his crew, the smiles when they had gotten a job done and the pride they shared in their ship. It wasn’t like this one. The crew here was good, but the comradery was missing. About the only time he saw crewmembers get together was when that bluegrass band played. Not like the North Carolina. That crew had taken pride in the ship’s age, how differently the ship worked and especially when they shot those guns. Even the fact the ship had no air conditioning hadn’t dampened their spirits. They prided themselves as being in the “real” navy. He chuckled at the thought.
After an hour of transiting the Bosporus, Hustvedt finally saw the channel open up into the Black sea. Donner came out onto the bridge wing again, sounding much relieved. “Sir, we are out of the channel. I’m turning to 050 and coming to flank speed,” he said.
“Very well, Captain. Continue with your operational orders. I want to be on station by 0600,” said Hustvedt. “Your navigation team did a fine job. I’ll be down in flag plot.”
Leaving the bridge wing, Hustvedt made his way down and entered his darkened plot room. Looking at the screen he could see that about half of the force was already through the straits. He eased up to Jeffers and sat beside him. “Everybody making it through?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeffers. The slower ones came through first and are going as fast as they can to the rendezvous. The faster ones will be out within the hour and will catch up. Iowa, Port Royal and the Freedom will be the last through and will head west instead of east as planned. They should be on station tomorrow and will transit at a slower speed. I did get a message that our submarines are in place. The increase in speed should cause any Russians in the area to come take a look. Our guys will be waiting,” he said.
Hustvedt nodded. “Good. I liked your idea of sending one to tail the Iowa group. Nice piece of insurance. Will we make it on time?”
Jeffers glanced at the clock. “Well, we started the transit just before dusk at around 4:30 pm local. Sunrise is not until about eight a.m. That gives us about fourteen or fifteen hours to cover the distance, so we’ll just barely make it. We knew we were cutting it a little thin,” Jeffers said.
Hustvedt nodded. “That should be fine. The bombardment alone will take over an hour. That will give us time to get forces ashore. My big worry is air strikes. Not ours, but theirs. I am just hoping we shake them up enough that they can’t mount anything for a few hours. That will give us the time to get ashore with enough forces to make this work.” They were interrupted when General Richardson came in the space.
“I see I’m not the only one not sleeping,” she said as she pulled up a chair. “How’s it looking?”
“Most of the fleet is through and we’re high tailing it to the jumping off site,” said Hustvedt. “Jeffers and I were discussing how tight the scheduling is.”
“Yes, it’s tight, but we can make it happen. I have already told my troops to station themselves in the aircraft and the LCACs by 0500. That way no matter when we kick off, early or late, our guys will be ready,” she said. “I plan on going over in the second wave. Once I get enough numbers, I plan on moving in. No use is slowing things up. When do the Turks kick off?”
“Just before dawn about 0700. Once the paratroops give the signal, they start moving in. A wave of those drones will help clear the way,” Hustvedt said.
“That helps,” said Richardson. “When are those drones coming ashore for my people?
“A little later on today. I want the supplies in first. This isn’t going to be another Guadalcanal.”
Richardson grinned. “I appreciate that,” she said. Glancing over at Jeffers she commented, “Haven’t you been in here all day?”
Jeffers smiled. “Most of it. I mean, it’s my baby and I want to make sure it’s not stillborn,” he said.
She laughed at the comment. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. This is going to work, just don’t burn yourself out before you see if it’s a boy or a girl,” she said.