“Admiral Macintyre,” Walker yelled over the declining wind roar, “I’m Commander Walker, Admiral Tallman’s chief of staff. The Admiral sends his compliments and welcomes you to Task Force 7.1. The Admiral also apologizes for not having you piped aboard properly. However, we are spotting the strike to launch at this time.”
“Forget it, Commander,” Macintyre yelled his reply in return, handing the cranial helmet he had worn back to the Osprey’s crew chief. Redonning his officer’s cap, he continued, “We don’t need to worry about protocol just now.”
As the Osprey’s engines spooled down, the operational clamor of the carrier’s deck was beginning to come through: shouted orders, the wind and sea rush of the carrier’s passage, the howl of the deck-edge elevators as the strike birds were lifted topside.
With warloads beneath their wings, a row of big F/A-22 Sea Raptors hunkered down along the flattop’s deck edge, their plane handlers and aircraft captains paying attendance to them in the dimmed red glow of the work lights. Each was being meticulously positioned to feed into the catapults like bullets into the chamber of a gun.
“The Admiral is waiting for you up in Pri-Fly, sir.”
“Very good. Commander. Let’s go.”
“Welcome aboard, Eddie Mac.” Tallman gave Macintyre’s hand a quick, solid shake. “Glad you could make it in time for the show.”
“Yeah, well, that’s one of the advantages of setting up a new command — you get to set your own doctrine. With me, that includes sitting in on any major op involving my people. I hope you don’t mind having an observer cluttering up your decks.”
Macintyre was careful to emphasize the word “observer.”
NAVSPECFORCE had a critical role to play within Storm dragon. The Cunningham and her people were at the very heart of this operation; however, Seventh Fleet would be providing the guts and the muscle. This was Jake Tallman’s show, and there was no time for playing any power game.
Tallman gave an acknowledging nod. “No problem. You want to take a break before we get into it?”
“No. I’m set. Let’s go.”
Tallman led the way back into Primary Flight Control, the aviation operations center that circled the rear of the Enterprise’s island structure. This was the home of the carrier’s air boss and his staff, now illuminated only by ranked CRT screens and the starlight filtering in through the big observation windows that overlooked the flight deck. Those windows were buzzing in their frames as the men entered. An SH-60 Oceanhawk was just lifting off the flight deck. With its running lights flaring, the ASW helicopter payed off to clear the carrier and climbed away to the northwest.
“The clock has started on the operation and we have initiated the Stormdragon time line,” Tallman said. “That was our Combat Search and Rescue helo launching now. She’ll top off her tanks aboard the Cunningham and be in position off the beach when our air strike goes in over Shanghai.”
“Where is the Duke currently?”
“Moving into the Yangtze approaches.” Tallman nodded toward a computerized chart table that carried the graphics of the strike zone. “She’s scheduled to go full stealth in about an hour, and to open fire in about two.”
“Thanks.”
Macintyre stepped across to the chart tank and gazed down at the lone position hack hovering just outside the gaping dragon’s jaws of the Yangtze.
“May I send a message out to her, Jake?”
“Sure. Nolan, set him up.”
The Chief of Staff spoke quietly to a radio operator seated at one of the communications consoles.
“All right, sir. Go ahead.”
“Thank you, Commander.” Macintyre thought for a moment, recalling a conversation.
“From CINCSPECFORCE. To Commander A.L. Garrett, C. O., USS Cunningham. Good luck out on the forefront of battle.”
53
“Any situational changes, Dix?” Amanda asked.
“Nope. Of the eight radar arrays we’re tasked to take out with our first missile flight, five of them are up and radiating. We’ve got active bearings on them. We’ve also got solid GPU fixes on the other three. Two of those, the Silkworm batteries, are mobile, but the last Darkstar pass gave no indication that they were planning to go anywhere.”
“Good enough.” Amanda nodded. “The Reds are giving us a different reception this time, aren’t they.”
“I’ll tell the world, Captain. You’d think they were worried about company coming.”
Amanda and her TACCO studied the active Elint display currently filling the Alpha screen. The Communist garrison of Shanghai had manned their electronic ramparts. No longer concerned with drawing undue attention to the city, they had set its radar defense net fully alight. Multiple, highpowered search beams now swept the sea and sky in all directions, straining to detect the first hint of an inbound attacker.
The Cunningham’s first task this night would be to blind those searching eyes. Ghosting along just outside of their perimeter of protection, she awaited her moment to strike.
“Any new variables to consider?”
“They’ve got two guard ships outside of the mine barrier. Looks like a Shanghai-class gunboat and a minesweep. I’ve already got a couple of flights of Harpoons dialed into the first launch template. Skriiick!” Dix descriptively drew his thumbnail across his throat.
“Okay, good enough.” Amanda paused, running over her mental checklists to see if there was anything else left to be said. There wasn’t.
“I’ve decided to hold the con on the bridge for tonight’s operation. Commander Hiro will be covering things down here. Remember your mission priorities, Dix. Provide what cover you can for our helos so they can find that boomer, then take the boomer out. I’m putting you guns-free at this time. I’ll trust in your judgment to do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
Beltrain smiled and gave a quick nod of his head. “, ma’am. We’ll take ‘all down.”
Amanda nodded with a smile of her own. “That we will, Dix.”
She rose from the captain’s chair and took a final look around the darkened Combat Information Center. At each workstation, a face was backlit by the cool glow of the monitor screens. Voices were steady. Eyes were level. There might be tension here, concern, quite probably fear. But it was controlled, buried deeply beneath multiple layers of training, self-discipline, and professionalism. This was a United States Navy war crew, and, at times like this, Amanda felt humbled that such people served at her command.
All hands were intent on their duties; none noticed the salute their captain gave them before she departed.
The passageways were nearly empty and red-hued by the battle lighting. The Duke had closed up to general quarters and all hands were at stations, waiting out the final minutes to mission commit.
“Captain!”
The voice spun her around. It was Arkady.
Bulky in his flight gear, he carried his helmet under his arm. The scarlet illumination made his skin ruddy and his black hair flame.
“We’ve completed the hot refuel on the Enterprise’s CSAR helos and they’ve taken departure, ma’am,” he said formally. “We’re moving out now. I just thought you’d want to know.”
There might have been a set of steel bars between them. There was a job on.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Good hunting. Take care.”