"That's affirm," Karns replied. "Diamond One Oh Four had a hydraulic pump go south on him. Request priority deck — he'll be a straight-in."
"Copy, Diamond One Zero Three." A short pause followed. "Diamond One Zero Four," the controller radioed, "is number one for the deck."
"Roger," Karns responded, steepening the descent. The sky under the high overcast was beginning to show signs of dawn. The fighter pilots would not have to make a night landing.
"Diamond One Oh Four," the F-14 jock replied, "number one on arrival."
"Diamond One Zero Three," the controller radioed with professional aplomb, "Wolfpack directs two Diamond aircraft to hit the tanker and BARCAP at seventy DME. The Hummer reports MiG activity at one-six-five degrees for two-four-zero, angels three-one-zero."
Chapter Eighteen
President Alton Jarrett, fresh and trim looking, stepped to the podium in the crowded, noisy room. A hush fell over the tightly packed press corps. This was the earliest that anyone could remember attending an unscheduled press briefing.
The president, setting the tone for his message, raised both hands, palms facing the crowd, to stop any questions until he had an opportunity to complete his opening statement.
"Good morning," the president said in a staid, perfunctory manner. "Before I take your questions, I want to bring you up to date on a couple of items." There was complete silence.
"First, the unfortunate encounter our navy pilots had last night, we believe, is tied to the disappearance of our Stealth bomber." He paused as a loud murmur swept through the crowd, with four people attempting to ask questions at the same time.
"Now, wait," the president said, holding his hands aloft again, "wait a second. Remember, we all agreed as to how we would handle these meetings. Let me finish. I can confirm that our missing B-2 bomber is in Cuba." No one said a word, listening intently and writing.
"Furthermore," Jarrett continued, "we have unequivocal proof of the exact location of the B-2, and," the president raised his hands again, seeing words form on the sea of faces, "we are taking diplomatic steps to have the aircraft and crew returned immediately.
"I intend to be candid with you," Jarrett said, "and explain the circumstances surrounding this bizarre and unprecedented situation. Our preliminary findings, based on CIA and FBI investigations, indicate that the B-2 was commandeered by a civilian technician recruited by the KGB." The audience erupted in turmoil.
"Let me finish," Jarrett said, somewhat irritated. "I'll take your questions in a minute. There have been reports and rumors that our pilots defected, and that they are seeking political asylum in Cuba. This is not correct, and we deny any accusation to that effect. Our fine pilots categorically did not defect. I do not know the condition of the crew, but we hold the Soviet Union, and Premier Castro, responsible for their safety and well-being.
"I have just had a conversation with Minister Aksenhov," the president said, adjusting his glasses. "He hinted at the existence of factions, probably of the KGB operating outside the jurisdiction of the Kremlin, but this does not absolve them of all responsibility. We expect to hear from President Ignatyev soon, and no, we have not ruled out a military intervention.
"I will take your questions now," Jarrett said, pointing to a woman in the first row, "in an orderly fashion." The noise intensity increased in the room.
"Mister President," the tall reporter said, ignoring the clicking cameras, "exactly what measures do you intend to take if the B-2 isn't returned? Are you saying that the U. S. is prepared to invade Cuba?"
"I am not going to discuss what our intentions are at this point, nor am I going to reveal our intelligence sources," Jarrett answered, as he pointed to an NBC network representative.
"Can you confirm that the Cuban MiGs were flown by Soviet pilots?"
"I can only say," Jarrett looked at Kerchner, "that the MiG fighter that crashed close to our base at Guantanamo was flown by a Soviet Air Force captain."
A reporter shouted over the group. "Has Castro been involved in the negotiations? Where does he stand?"
Jarrett gave the television reporter a stern look. "Premier Castro has been notified of our position and intent. He obviously is a partner in this violation of international law, and I hold him accountable — as I do the Soviets — for the well-being of our crew.
"Margaret," the president said, gesturing at a newspaper reporter.
"Mister President," an attractive woman stood, "reports have it that you are positioning aircraft carriers in the Gulf of Mexico. What action are you prepared to take if the Stealth bomber is not returned, and what time frame are you talking about?"
"I am not in a position to discuss any military matters," Jarrett answered, "nor can I tell you our time frame. Suffice it to say, we will make decisions based on the reply we receive from Moscow. It's that simple. We have placed President Ignatyev on notice, and I will respond accordingly when we receive his answer.
"One more question," Jarrett said, motioning toward an old friend, "and then I have to leave. Secretary Kerchner and Secretary Gardner will answer further questions."
"Sir," the respected journalist said, "are you prepared to confront the Cubans… militarily?"
Jarrett set his jaw, paused and inhaled, then addressed the entire group. "I am prepared to do what is necessary to preserve our fundamental rights, and protect international law."
The Norfolk, Virginia — based carrier, powered by four Westinghouse steam turbines, cruised thirty miles southwest of Plantation Key, Florida. Her combined energy of 280,000 shaft horsepower propelled the mammoth ship through the pristine waters at twenty-nine knots. America could achieve thirty-three knots at flank speed.
The carrier and her battle group would rendezvous with an attack submarine, the Los Angeles — class USS Baton Rouge (SSN 689), sixty-five miles southwest of Key West, Florida.
The carrier air wing assigned to America had flown aboard five hours after the ship left home port. America, originally scheduled to depart the following day for a routine deployment, had her entire crew aboard.
Two F/A-18 Hornet squadrons, including the Silver Eagles of VMFA-1 15, were sharing CAP duties with two F-14D Tomcat squadrons. The marine fighter/attack pilots of VMFA-115 thoroughly enjoyed having the opportunity to hone their skills aboard the huge carrier.
Forty-five miles south of the ship, Marine Maj. Vince Cangemi, along with his wingman, Capt. Chuck Bellvue, orbited at 22,000 feet. The two fighter pilots had been assigned to Barrier Combat Air Patrol with two navy pilots flying F-14Ds. The Tomcat pilots were twenty miles west and two thousand feet higher than the Marine F/A-18 Hornets. The McDonnell-Douglas F/A-18s, powered by twin General Electric F404 afterburning turbofans, were capable of reaching speeds in excess of 1.8 Mach.
The combination fighter/attack aircraft sported the powerful liquid-cooled Hughes APG-65 radar, along with a nose-mounted 20mm M-61 cannon containing 570 rounds. The Hornets also had two advanced AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles slung under the wings and an AIM-9 mounted on each wing tip.
Cangemi was checking his three multifunction displays, which replaced most of the conventional cockpit instruments, when he heard the E-2C Hawkeye call.
"Animal flight, Phoenix," the airborne warning and control officer said. "We hold multiple bogies at your three o'clock, forty-five miles, climbing out of eight thousand."
"Roger the bogies," Cangemi radioed, squinting into the early morning sun. "Bullet flight, Animal."
The F-14D pilots, orbiting in a lazy circle, were on the same radio frequency. "Go, Animal," the navy flight leader replied.