Laid out in front of the command consoles were four huge computer screens, each four feet square and able to show any part of the world that an operator desired. Right now they seemed almost blank — robbed of input by the group’s EMCON status.
They showed a computer-generated map of the North Sea, overlaid with symbols showing the estimated positions of reported air, surface, and subsurface contacts. A cluster of eight symbols in the center of each screen showed “TG22.1.” Several officers and men were busy constantly updating the display from the sources they did have — visual sighting reports and even long-range sonar contacts.
Some of the data they were using came from the Task Group’s passive sensors. While Ward’s ships were electronically silent, they were still listening with every antenna they had. Emissions from EurCon’s search planes and ships could be analyzed and dissected to reveal their bearings and their identities. The information gathered by passive sensors was never very precise, but it was better than nothing. John Barry even mounted a special intelligence-collection van on her fantail. The admiral wasn’t privy to exactly what went on in there, but he knew the van carried enough electronics equipment to spy on the little green men on Mars, if the operators wanted to. Most of the data they gathered would go straight back to the Joint Chiefs. The Pentagon wanted to know just how well the French and the Germans were working together. How closely did they cooperate? How did they manage tactical communications? Were EurCon’s armed forces still using standard NATO tactics or were they developing new methods?
Other pieces of the information came from the British. Royal Navy and RAF units were scouring the region — shadowing their French and German counterparts, or complicating matters for the EurCon searchers by giving them more potential targets to track and identify.
He settled into the chair and put on his headset. As he listened to the calm, businesslike interplay, Ward studied the screen, trying to see the pattern behind what appeared at first to be a random scattering of EurCon planes, ships, and submarines. There was a pattern, he was sure. There must be. It took careful planning to mount an efficient sea search — to formulate a precise, synchronized ballet that took into account varying scouting platform speeds, endurances, sensor ranges, and the weather. Guessing the next moves in that intricately choreographed dance might help him spot a gap big enough for Task Group 22.1 and its four valuable charges to slip through undetected. Or, failing that, he might be able to tear open the hole he needed — using British vessels as decoys to lure the hunters off target.
Pieces of the puzzle started falling slowly into place. Most of EurCon’s assets seemed to be concentrated further south, along the approaches to the English Channel. They were mounting an aerial sweep northward to cover the waters between Britain and Norway, but the coverage seemed tentative, almost incomplete. Odd…
An enlisted man operating the electronic warfare console sat bolt upright. His voice betrayed a little excitement, but he still kept his report precise. “Racket bearing one six five. Evaluated as Iguane airborne radar. Strong signal. Time one two one nine.” A symbol appeared on the display, and selecting it, Ward saw a line of bearing appear, running from Leyte Gulf out in the direction the radar had been detected. There was no telling exactly how far away the plane carrying that radar was, but a strong signal meant it was probably close — too close.
Miller, seated to his left, scanned his own console and nodded. “An Atlantique, sir.”
Damn. The French Atlantique was a long-range patrol plane similar to the U.S. Navy’s P-3C Orion. Ward checked the display. Nothing showed. No earlier sightings or distant radar emissions that correlated. For all practical purposes this guy had materialized out of nowhere. Hell, that EurCon pilot out there must have been hugging wave tops since takeoff. He suppressed a quick flash of admiration for the flying skill that showed, and asked a single question. “Does he have us spotted?”
“Probably, sir. Signal strength is still increasing.”
Another operator passed word over the circuit. “We’re picking up a high-frequency radio transmission, sir. Same bearing as the radar.”
Ward scowled. The Atlantique must be radioing in a contact report. Terrific. They’d been tagged. He looked at the plot again. The French plane had to be close. And it was flying in from a direction he’d picked out earlier as a possible gap in the EurCon search pattern. Either French sensors were better than the navy’s intelligence community thought they were, or some Frog staff officer had practically read his mind.
Well, that was something to ponder later. Right now he had bigger fish to fry, or at least to illuminate. He caught the TAO’s eye and nodded. “Okay, Jerry, light ’em off. Tell the Task Group to energize all radars and data links. Let’s see just what we’re up against.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The lieutenant commander spoke softly into his microphone, passing orders to his own ship and the others in the formation. Ward also heard him inform Leyte’s captain of the change in the ship’s status.
The tempo picked up in CIC as screen after screen came to life. The main display suddenly filled with hundreds of air and sea contacts, quickly sorted out by the Aegis system’s computers. Most commercial aircraft carried radar transponders that identified them as such, while friendly military aircraft could be identified down to type and side number. EurCon military aircraft also carried transponders, but they would only answer to their own coded transmissions.
Task Group 22.1’s data links were as important as its radars. The links allowed computers on each ship to communicate with each other, sharing information on targets and weapons status. Since they required the use of radio, they had been shut down to avoid detection. Once the data links were active, the group’s cruisers and destroyers could fight welded into a single, integrated unit instead of operating as a loosely knit team.
Ward focused on the main screen, looking for the snooper who’d picked them up. A small inverted vee shape showed the position of the EurCon Atlantique, while a line from it showed its course and speed. The patrol plane was sixty miles out, orbiting at medium altitude. In wartime, he could have had that aircraft shot from the sky in moments. Now all he could do was watch it pace his convoy, counting, classifying, and reporting.
He glanced toward his staff watch officer again. “We need more information, so let’s go out and get it. Throw a picket line of helos out in front of us.”
Within minutes, three SH-60 Seahawk helicopters — half the group’s total strength — were clattering away to the east, southeast, and south. Once on station, they would form a picket line sweeping eighty miles out in front of the formation before turning back to refuel. Although Leyte Gulf’s SPY-1 radar could pick out large targets at high altitude up to several hundred miles away, it couldn’t spot smaller warplanes or missiles flying low until they came over the horizon, just fifty miles away. Not even a phased array radar could see through the earth itself. Deploying the Seahawks with their own data-linked radars, ESM gear, and sharp-eyed crews gave the group that much more warning time.
“Advise CINCLANTFLT that we expect company shortly. And contact the British. See if they can rustle up some kind of top cover for us.”
Ward would have preferred having U.S. Navy fighters flying overhead on combat air patrol. They were used to working with Aegis-equipped ships. But there weren’t any F-14 Tomcats or F-18 Hornets available. The nearest American aircraft carrier was still far out in the North Atlantic — nearly a thousand miles away. Reluctant to escalate tensions any further, Washington had ruled out committing a carrier battle group to the North Sea. He understood the politics involved. He just didn’t like the naked feeling he got operating without the aviators backing him up.