Alton Jarrett, unable to sleep, had showered, shaved, and donned a fresh suit. He was nibbling his breakfast and reading an update brief when the vice president entered the Oval Office.
"Any word, Mister President?" Kirklin Truesdell asked, carrying two file folders.
"Nothing yet," Jarrett answered, motioning Truesdell to a chair. "Sam is talking with the Soviet ambassador, but I don't anticipate much progress from that avenue… Take a look at this," the president continued, handing Truesdell a sheaf of confidential briefing notes.
The vice president sat down, read each section thoroughly, then looked at Jarrett. "They executed Voronoteev?"
"Afraid so," the president said, grim faced. "Norm Lasharr confirmed it fifteen minutes ago. He said that the execution was open to certain individuals-media representatives and dissidents-in order to send a message."
Jarrett slid aside his tray. "The United Nations Security Council has come out against our position, as usual."
"The UN is an open embarrassment," Truesdell replied in a disgusted voice. "They have voted against us eighty-three percent of the time in the past year. It really peeves me."
The president tossed his napkin on the breakfast tray. "Kirk," he said as he leaned forward in his chair, "I have ordered a third carrier group to rendezvous in the Caribbean. The Abraham Lincoln and her escorts will stand off the western shore of Andros Island. They're southwest of Bermuda, moving at flank speed. We also have three attack submarines en route to the area, and the Air Force, Navy, and Marines are concentrating fighter aircraft along our southern bases.
"Also," Jarrett continued, glancing at his page of personal notes, "I have ordered the Wisconsin and her support ships to get under way as quickly as possible. Two destroyers have already left Ingleside and cleared Corpus Christi Bay. They'll loiter until the battleship is in open water."
Jarrett turned his paper over. "The Lexington is in the gulf conducting carrier qualifications, so Bernie decided to attach it to the Wisconsin, along with two reserve frigates and a combat support ship. He wants the flight deck available for emergencies."
The president massaged his chin. "Bernie and the Joint Chiefs are concerned because we won't have any element of surprise. The Cubans have more than seventy thousand troops on the island, plus several hundred leftover Soviet advisers."
Truesdell nodded. "I recommend strongly that we strengthen our southern flanks, too."
"Bernie is coordinating the effort as we speak." The president handed Truesdell another piece of paper. "He also debriefed the on-site commander and his three pilots from the Guantanamo skirmish."
"Oh?" Truesdell paused, keenly interested. "What happened?"
Jarrett shrugged. "The MiGs slashed right through the navy formation — on the outskirts of our base — and entered an attack posture."
"Did they fire at our pilots?"
"No," Jarrett replied, removing his glasses. "The first two aircraft that went down — an A-4 and a MiG-23—collided in a head-on pass. Our pilot ejected and the other pilot, a Soviet, as you know, never got out. The two aviators who shot down the other MiGs thought their leader had been fired upon. They engaged, with the on-site's permission, immediately after the collision."
The president stopped a few seconds to allow Truesdell to skim the brief. "The point is that the MiGs forced the issue… pushed us against the wall."
Truesdell shook his head in acknowledgment. "An open effort to divert attention."
"That's how I see it," Jarrett replied, glancing at his watch. "Have to run — the press conference is scheduled in nine minutes."
"What do you plan to say?" the vice president asked with a concerned look on his face.
"The truth — as much as I can reveal," the president answered as he stood. "I'm not going to start deceiving people at this stage."
Steve Wickham, breathing deeply, sagged to the ground and crawled next to the small opening in the foundation. He ventured a quick look outside, then retreated to a corner of the building. The soldiers had moved on to another structure and the Soviet officer was driving away.
Wickham considered his options as his pulse returned to normal. Five minutes later, after analyzing his limited choices, the agent resigned himself to the only viable possibility. He would have to wait until nightfall to attempt an escape.
The 80,000-ton warship, carrying less than half of her air group, was increasing speed eight miles southeast of Pensacola beach. On board Kitty Hawk, the sailors and officers of Carrier Air Wing 3 prepared for the arrival of the rest of CVW-3's warplanes. The crew emergency recall had produced a 92 percent manning level when the giant ship put to sea.
The refurbished carrier sported new flush deck catapult launch equipment, MK-7 blast deflectors, arresting gear, and state-of-the-art AN/SPS-49(V) radar. The veteran ship had also been equipped with an advanced combat direction system (ACDS), formerly referred to as the combat information center (CIC), to improve the tactical decision process.
Kitty Hawk would join her escort ships thirty-four miles south of Fort Walton Beach, Florida. The support ships, consisting of four missile destroyers, two cruisers, and two frigates, were home-ported at Mobile, Alabama, and Pascagoula, Mississippi.
The carrier air wing commander embarked on Kitty Hawk had received his operations orders directing the wing to initially provide attack and fighter combat air patrols (CAP). When the carrier and escort ships arrived on station 150 miles northwest of San Julian, their mission would intensify. The air wing would be tasked with normal CAP duties, along with surface combat patrol (SUCAP) and war-at-sea contingencies.
Sixty miles north of Kitty Hawk, Comdr. Doug "Frogman" Karns, commanding officer of fighter squadron VF-102, led the first six F-14D Tomcats toward the carrier. His executive officer, ten miles in trail, led four more VF-102 Diamondback fighters.
Karns, a TOPGUN graduate, had been in command of the Diamondbacks less than two months. His reputation had preceded him and he was well respected by every member of his squadron.
The CO had been tagged with his peculiar nickname when he was a lieutenant (junior grade) nugget pilot — a new aviator, to the uninitiated. Karns had erred on a difficult terrain reconnaissance mission off the carrier Coral Sea, missed the rendezvous point with the "boat," ran out of fuel, and ditched five miles astern of the carrier. His fellow squadron pilots immediately began calling Karns "Frogman."
The VF-102, along with a second F-14D squadron — VF-41 Black Aces — would provide combat air patrol. Two F/A-18 Hornet squadrons would fly aboard later to provide additional fighter strength.
The Warhawks from VA-97 and the Marauders from VA-82 would fly SUCAP in their A-6E Intruder medium bombers. The surface patrol would be augmented by the Zappers of VAQ-130 in their EA-6B Prowler electronic warfare Intruders.
The Cyclops of VAW-123, flying the E-2C Hawkeye Hummer airborne early warning turboprop, would provide the eyes for the fleet. The Sea Wolves of VS-27 would support the antisubmarine warfare effort in their twin-jet S-3B Vikings.
Karns started a slow descent, keyed his radio mike, and waited for the scrambler to sync. "Wolfpack, Diamond One Oh Three inbound with a flight of six."
"Roger, Diamond flight," the controller said, watching his radarscope in the bowels of Kitty Hawk. "Squawk four-one-three-three."
"Forty-one-thirty-three," Karns acknowledged, reprogramming his transponder.
The controller watched the new code appear on his scope, then keyed his mike. "I have you at five-two DME, descending through three-three thousand." The Tomcats, passing through 33,000 feet, were fifty-two nautical miles from the carrier.