When he went into “there we were,” everyone in the wardroom knew Woods was signaling the beginning of a “war story” generally divorced from the truth. They laughed, stopped listening — as he had hoped — and turned their attention back to Commander Healy. He brought up the next slide, which was a copy of the photograph that Big had folded up in his flight suit. Big gasped and shifted in his seat to cover the sound. The photograph showed the curving side of a missile. “As you can see, this is a copy of a photograph provided to the world press this morning by Syria. It shows the United States missile that was used to shoot down one of the Syrian MiGs. This was offered by Syria as proof that our friends from VF-103 were in fact leading the strike into Lebanon and shot down one of their planes with an AIM-7M Sparrow missile. They got it right. This is a casing from a Sparrow missile.” He waited as the officers leaned forward to get a better look at the casing. It was white, and was from a missile about six inches in diameter. Woods could clearly make out some English letters on the casing and a part of a number. The Intelligence Officer surveyed the wardroom. “Do we have any of the Ordnance Gunners here?” He waited. “I was hopeful someone could tell me which one of VF-103’s missiles this is. I’m sure we have enough of a serial number here to trace it back. Right, Lieutenant?” He smiled at Woods again.
Woods found that he could barely breathe. “Yes, sir. No problem. I’ll get our Gunner right on it so we can find out which one of our missiles landed in Lebanon.”
Commander Healy went on. “I think the Syrians have forgotten that the AIM-7 missiles we use are identical to the Israelis’. What do they expect to find on the ground? A missile casing with Hebrew on it?” He turned again to the screen. “Let me show you the next potential target. It’s in the southern part of Syria, east of Lebanon, and is also in the mountains. We don’t have a picture of this site because there aren’t any. According to the CIA, the likely position of that fortress is here.” He brought up the next slide, a close-up of southeastern Syria. It was covered with SAM site range circles. He studied it with the rest of the wardroom for a moment. “If we do go after this target, and Syria fires on us, it would be as bad as the Lebanon site southeast of the Bekáa Valley. We’ll have to work hard at SAM suppression.
“Keep in mind, if we go into Syria, they may very well consider it an act of war. They may respond militarily, not just with their diplomats yelling at us. Those are the considerations that I’m sure are being evaluated in Washington, but I want you to be aware of them as well. What could that mean? Well, what would our first move usually be? To go after the SAM sites, right? SEAD, your favorite mission — Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses. Well, who’s the enemy? The Sheikh? What air defenses does he have? What if he’s in Syria, and the air defenses belong to Syria? We’re not at war with Syria. Do we hit the SAMs of a country with which we are not at war? Do we let the SAM sites sit there and lock us up, and just hope they don’t actually shoot at us?”
Red Man couldn’t resist. “The President warned Syria to stay out of the way.”
“True enough, sir, but we have to consider the possibilities—”
“Just tell them not to lift a finger to defend this guy.”
“That’s exactly what they have been told, sir. But what will they do?”
“Don’t know.”
“Me neither. So we need to be aware of the SAM sites even though we’ll probably not be able to hit them — unless, of course, they shoot at us. Just a heads-up, sir.”
There was a murmur of discontent from the aviators in the wardroom. Red Man stood up next to Healy. “I understand your concerns,” he said, facing the two Air Wings. “They’re the same as mine. It puts us at risk. However, as is often the case, political concerns outweigh safety. I know what you’re thinking — someone else’s politics, and our safety. But that’s how it is. Get used to it. Our objective is to conduct precise, effective strikes and get this thing over with. That’s why we’re here. I want to have potential routes planned into and out of each country in such a way that we can keep our exposure to a minimum. Don’t get me wrong. I’m going to ask for permission to strike the air defenses first, I just don’t expect to get that permission.
“Thank you, Commander. Later this morning Commander Healy will be going over the Order of Battle for Syria, Jordan, Iraq, Iran, Israel, everybody. You need to have in mind what all their capabilities are in case any of that comes into play. As I said in my message yesterday, I want to do some group planning. We’ll go to CVIC, and break into the three groups that I have already outlined. I am confident that you brought your charts with you and have already begun thinking along these lines. The PFPS and TAMPS,” the two flight planning programs commonly used on the carriers, “are up and we’ve had extra computers loaded and moved into CVIC so several of you can work at the same time. I want numerous potential routes for each potential target before we leave here at four o’clock today. Everyone understand?” He waited. “Very well. Any questions?”
A Lieutenant Commander toward the front raised his hand. “CAG, do you have any idea when we might launch?”
“Could be within eight hours, could be a week. Depends on how good and how quick our intel is on locating this guy. Once we know, or even suspect, we will launch. And it will almost certainly be at night.” He looked around. “Any other questions?”
No one said a word. They wanted to do something: plan, figure routes, calculate fuel consumption for various weapons load-outs, anything — anything except sit around and wonder where the Sheikh was. If they didn’t find him, this was going to get embarrassing quickly.
“Very well. Let’s get to work.”
“Sir, what about the Air Force?” Tear asked.
Red Man replied immediately. “Good call. They’re trying to make this into an Air Force event. As always, if there is something going on, they offer to preposition their forces and fly the rest of them around the world, refueling them twenty-four hours a day. But so far, this is going to be a Navy war. The President is doing what I think is the smart thing, saying that the war is narrow and short, against one man, and will be over as soon as that man is finished or surrenders. We don’t need the entire United States Air Force to go after one man. In fact, it looks like overkill and says we may have some alternative objectives in mind. If we leave it as a carrier battle, with the strikes going from here, it will appear like a very minor skirmish against a terrorist. That gives the President great comfort, although it may give the rest of the world only minor comfort. In any case, so far at least, this is a Navy war.”
“Oorah,” someone said from the back.
Red Man smiled. “We’re going to go after a very bad person and kill him dead if I have anything to say about it. We will be sending as many strikes as we need. Maybe even more than we need. But we will get this guy. I promise you that.”
29
Sami noticed Kinkaid’s hands. He was using them for emphasis, which he rarely did. This late night meeting was different, and everyone on the task force could feel Kinkaid’s excitement.
Kinkaid pointed his miniature laser pointer at the brand-new imagery. “Look there, and… there. Recent construction. And how about this? Consistent use of the footpath.” Bringing two images up on a split screen, he said, “We compared some recent IR imagery. You can see the warmth of the path compared to the ground next to it. It’s either human or animal use. Not many animals around there. This is the Lebanon fortress.” His smile was one of relief, not triumph.
“The second group of images is of the fortress in Syria.” He glanced at Sami. “Mr. History here is the one who predicted this would be the most likely to be used. So far he has been dead on. Must have inside information.”