While the White House was not privy to the minutes of the STAVKA, much of the discussion in the meeting could be predicted. The Commander of the Northern Fleet couldn’t report how many of his submarines had broken through the American CAPTOR barrier. His submarines were under strict orders not to report to Murmansk until they commenced their attacks, since the first radio signal would give away their position. The weather over Spitzbergen had cleared enough so that the devastation of the attack on the Longyearbyen airport was known. But the White House knew that the STAVKA was at a loss concerning the whereabouts of the freighter carrying the balance of their decoys. Another flight of Bear bombers was approaching Longyearbyen even as the STAVKA was meeting, but those in the Kremlin still did not know that reinforcement was futile.
Admiral Khovrin would report that the majority of his Black Sea Fleet, including the carrier Minsk, had now passed through the Turkish straits and the Mediterranean Fifth Escadra was at full strength. He would also point out that harassment in the Aegean Sea by the Greek navy had indeed delayed plans somewhat, but he was confident Admiral Konstantin, now commanding the Fifth Escadra, was a superb on-scene commander. What that really meant was that he would follow orders from Moscow without question. The entire scope of the coming confrontation had already been specified, for that was the Soviet command system — centralization of command, all orders to front-line units on land and at sea issued from the Kremlin where the full strategic picture could be evaluated. There was no localized decision making of a strategic nature in the Soviet military. It was unheard of that a shot could be fired without direction from Moscow. Of course, in the heat of battle the responsibility fell on the shoulders of the on-scene commander, in this case, Admiral Konstantin. If Moscow’s strategy failed, it would be his fault.
The Pentagon also reassured the White House that the previous day’s face-off between Soviet aircraft and their American counterparts would make little impression on General Colonel (Aviation) Mironenko. He was absolutely convinced there was no possible way the U.S. Sixth Fleet could withstand his first salvo. The Americans would wait until it was too late (he had once written for Morskoi Sbornik,) and then his follow-up attack, combined with submarine- and surface-launched missiles, would destroy the survivors. The American chief of staff assured the president that it was preferable to have Mironenko believe this right up to the end.
There was confidence in the White House that the supply routes to Europe could remain open. Though final information remained sketchy due to the lack of a final report from the SEAL team sent into Spitzbergen, the Pentagon now projected that approximately 75 percent of the U.S. convoy ships would survive the passage. The president, more than any other man, maintained absolute confidence in Admiral Pratt. Pratt, through his own efforts, had learned more about his foe, spent more time in developing original strategy, and certainly deserved to command the main force. Perhaps a major reason for the president’s confidence was simply that there was no other man to do the job.
The final piece of the puzzle, one that could only be speculated on, was an unknown and purely theoretical factor — General Keradin of the Strategic Rocket Forces. A major Soviet effort had been made to locate and recover him in Istanbul. Word had come in hours before from Pratt that the undercover man, Cobb, had succeeded in escaping the Turkish port and was now en route to Saratoga with substantial air cover as protection. But that was no guarantee that the Russians wouldn’t once again learn where Keradin was and try to kill him. And, the president suggested, once we have him under our control, can we be sure that that will have the desired effect? Would the Soviet leaders’ dislike of General Colonel Melekhin as Keradin’s replacement, coupled with the instability created by a new face in the command system, allow the U.S. that extra bit of time to prevent a nuclear exchange? Much of the answer to this question also hinged on Admiral Pratt’s defense of his battle group and its ability to destroy Admiral Konstantin’s Fifth Escadra.
SPITZBERGEN
Bernie Ryng had to make up his mind which was the most dangerous — the suddenly treacherous soft spots in the tundra surface or the arctic terns. This time of year, the birds nesting on the tundra were invisible, blending in with the arctic growth until he was almost on top of them. Then they would swirl angrily into the air, squawking their anger at the sudden disturbance. Though they settled quickly to the ground as he passed, they could serve as a signpost to his location if a helo were to slip over the nearby ridges to either side. Even an idiot, thought Ryng, would know there was almost nothing in the area to upset the birds, nothing but a man.
Most of their eggs were already hatched, but some untended nests still held the rich food that Ryng knew would offer enough sustenance to last him until he crossed the peak. He’d never been a fan of raw eggs, and these had an odd, brackish flavor to them, but they were small enough to slip down his throat quickly. A little pressure on the soft, tangled vegetation at his feet was enough to form a puddle of drinking water to wash them down. His stomach growled back at the unusual food, but Ryng paid little attention to it. He’d eaten much worse in the past.
Perhaps five hours had passed since the last helo had chased him under the boulder in that first hidden valley. That bothered him. It meant that someone was thinking the way he was. There was no need on the Russians’ part to waste fuel or ammunition. If their plans had been for a short stay on Spitzbergen, their supplies would necessarily be limited. Why wouldn’t one of those Black Beret officers do exactly the same thing as he would? Figure out your quarry, then wait for him at the most logical spot.
Ryng glared up at the peak in front of him. It was not especially high, but the path to the top was not a straight line either. He pondered his choices, mapping a course in his mind as his eyes searched out secure hiding places. The course became gradually steeper as it progressed, but not once did he allow himself to be positioned where he could not seek cover. The snow line began about halfway up. Once he reached it, he would be a perfect target. His blood photographed against the whiteness would provide perfect proof to Moscow that Bernie Ryng had been had.
While he rose to begin the final ascent, that little voice echoed through his mind, quiet at first, then more insistent. If they’ve been letting you travel this far and this long, Ryng thought to himself, don’t you think they might have a plan? Do you really think a Black Beret officer would be dumb enough to let you go on your merry way without having something in mind? Ryng looked back up at the peak. The voice made sense. Don’t you think they have maps and photos equal to your own? he continued to reason. If you were chasing one of them, would you let him hop from shadow to shadow, or would you plot a logical track and wait until he gets to the snow? Why do it the hard way when there’s a nice, easy way to do the job without wasting precious fuel?
Right, Ryng answered himself. I have to stop at the snow line and wait. He’ll be there, surer than shit, about the time he figures I’m far enough into the snow to thrash around like a scared rabbit. Just don’t pass the snow line, Ryng. Wait there until they come for you. Then take your chances. In the snow, you won’t have any.