“I didn’t spread it!”
Just then Commander Hofmeister appeared. “Shane, when you have a second, I need some help, please.”
Shane spun to follow him, but not before she addressed Macho with contempt. “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”
Macho watched her walk away and noticed some guys from the E-2 squadron working on something in the corner. Did they know? Have they seen Shane’s photos? They didn’t seem to notice her as she walked past them to join Commander Hofmeister.
Things aren’t so bad. Shane is overreacting.
But Macho had Coach dead to rights! He was with Trench in the wardroom. Trench is off the ship — blinded in combat — but his sidekick is still here. Coach would have to pay for what he did. She would go to the XO and finger him for ruining Shane and causing a hostile workplace for her, and for Macho, and for all the women on Coral Sea. He would get his, and the Firebirds would be rid of those two pains in her ass.
Her little plan had worked. But would it cost a budding friendship? Until now, Shane had been nice to her, had admired her. She was sure this would blow over, and Shane would come back. XO would talk her into staying after she keel-hauled Coach, and maybe some other worms in the airwing. Once again the boy’s club was at fault.
Besides, it’s just a bare back! Good grief, Malibu Barbie! You need to lighten up.
CHAPTER 41
Wilson met Billy Martin in the passageway as they both headed to CAG’s stateroom for the CO’s meeting.
“Did ya hear?” Billy asked him. “Admiral Meyerkopf is leaving the ship.”
“Yes. Quite a move on what may be the eve of battle. Have you heard of a relief?”
“Yes, Admiral Davies.”
“Devil Davies, a real warrior.”
“What do you think’s going to happen?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know if we are at war with Cuba or Venezuela… or Russia. Guess we’re going to find out when Devil gets here — or, maybe, right now.”
They arrived at CAG’s stateroom and knocked. When he told them to enter, they stepped inside and saw the Deputy CAG Captain, Bob “Not-o” Kay, and a few other air wing COs arrayed on the couch. Once the others arrived, CAG began.
“Okay, guys. First, Admiral Davies is coming aboard on the COD. Word has it we are spinning up, and Fleet Forces wanted a carrier guy here. Admiral Meyerkopf is leaving. I haven’t seen him, and he refused my request to meet.” CAG raised his eyebrows, as if to say C’est la vie.
Wilson reflected on this confirmation of the rumor mill. A new admiral on the eve of battle, and not just any admiral. Devil Davies was the closest thing naval aviation had to the Red Baron, a blood-and-guts warrior who, no doubt, was spoiling for a fight. Meyerkopf was a bespectacled nuclear engineer at heart, with little understanding of the combat power he wielded. Now they would be led by old Devil Dog himself, who had begun his career as a Marine F-4 pilot and had a full understanding of what the Coral Sea strike group could do to an enemy. Just point him in the right direction and give him a green light.
CAG had an easel with an aeronautical chart of the Caribbean and Venezuela. He referred to it as he spoke.
“In CVIC there are target folders for you Hornet guys. Looks like we need to be ready to hit Venezuela in three nights. TR is getting underway and will run down here at flank speed. Once she’s in the region, she’s going to take a position north of the Turks and Caicos to influence GITMO. We are staying here for a few days, then moving into the Atlantic to take a position south of Barbados. SOUTHCOM is giving us the area here around the Gulf of Paria and Delta Amacuro. The port at Río Salta and their air force base at San Ramón will be our main areas of focus. The USAF is taking the area around Caracas. The F-22 guys are coming down from Langley to stage at Homestead, and they are moving a wing of Eagles, Vipers, and Strike Eagles to Roosy Roads. The big wing tankers will be bedded down here in Borinquen, and we may get our “own” set of tankers in Barbados once we get there. That will be nice.”
The COs studied the charts as CAG spoke, imagining the targets, the weapons required, the readiness of their pilots and aircrew, the state of their aircraft. They were preparing for combat with a regional power flying fourth-gen fighters as part of an extensive integrated air defense system. And Wilson was CO of a squadron that would challenge them in mere days. He thought of Trench as CAG continued.
“We’re getting a platoon of SEALs. These guys are available to you if you need them in your strike planning. I know you haven’t seen your folders yet, but I want you to know that you have the SEALS, and we expect them aboard today, or maybe tomorrow.”
CAG Matson looked at the Sierra squadron CO.
“Ed, I want you to be responsible for getting them a space to work out of and to stow their gear. And coordinate with the ship for berthing. You can expect one officer and one chief, the rest enlisted, for a total of 16. If you have the space, I’d have them hang out in your ready room and get to know your aircrews and vice versa. You Rustlers are going to be the delivery and extraction mechanism for these guys in the short term, so you need to be tied at the hip.”
“Yes, sir,” the Rustler skipper answered. CAG then turned to Wilson.
“Flip, the first strike package is going to San Ramón. You’re leading it. And, Not-o, I want you in that package, too. You’re going to have fifty-five aimpoints, ranging from knocking out EW and SAM radars to cutting the runway and destroying fighters in revetments and hardened shelters. This strike is designed to knock out their IADS in the eastern part of the country, and you’re going to have B-2s from Missouri and B-1s from South Dakota helping you. You’re going to need most everything on the flight deck, and, after you’re airborne, we’re gonna bring up birds from the hangar bay for a follow on raid at Río Salta. Billy, you’ve got that one, and you’re going to have to stay closely aligned to Flip’s plan.”
“Yes, sir,” Wilson and Billy both nodded. Holy shit! Wilson thought. Fifty-five aimpoints!
“After those two roundhouse punches to bring down their IADS, we’re going to chip away at their infrastructure to prevent them from gaining cash and to keep their merchant fleet bottled up. Most of their Navy is homeported in the Caracas region, and we can expect them to remain pier side. That doesn’t mean we can discount the potential for combatants underway in the Río Salta area and throughout the gulf.”
Wilson raised his hand, already knowing the answer. “Sir, are we in a declared war?”
Matson frowned. “No… and this may be throttled back, but we have tasking to be ready to go with these packages in 72 hours. The Venezuelans still have our diplomat, and they are now threatening Aruba and Curacao which makes the Dutch wig out, the frickin’ Cubans are along the fence at GITMO, and who knows what the Russians are going to do tomorrow. These guys are all coordinated and screwing with us, so we are lifting the hammer in the air and waiting for the word to strike — or to set it down gently.” The officers in the room nodded their understanding.
“I think we’re going to do this,” CAG added, “and we need to be in that mindset. Now, go to CVIC and take a look at the folders. Then get your strike planning teams together. Admiral Davies is coming aboard, and tomorrow at this time I want you to give him lap-briefs on your plans. I don’t expect you to have all the answers, but make your briefs as tight as you can because, if you know Devil, he’s going to rip them apart. You guys need to look him in the eye with confidence. Just don’t bullshit him, or you’re dead — then I’m dead!”