Obukhov peered into the hangar. The dark charcoal-colored bomber, entrails exposed, looked forlorn. "When is Raul scheduled to arrive?"
"I don't know. Who knows what those lunatics will do next?" Levchenko replied harshly, then changed to his unctuous manner. "Natanoly Vitelevich, I am going to need your help, to salvage what we can of this goddamned mess."
Chapter Twenty-one
President Alton Jarrett, interrupted at the beginning of a meeting with the Advisory Committee for Trade Policy and Negotiations, rushed down the long corridor to the situation room.
He met his secretary of defense a few steps from the entrance. The Joint Chiefs, along with the other members of the security team, were discussing military options available for use against Cuba. Kerchner wanted to talk with the president alone before Jarrett entered the room.
"What happened, Bernie?" the president asked, stopping to quiz his friend.
"AG," Kerchner replied in a somber, strained voice, "the Wasp has been torpedoed, and we have sustained heavy casualties."
The president's face turned ashen as the magnitude of the tragedy registered in his mind. Jarrett, who normally analyzed information carefully before approaching a decision, went from shock to rage in five seconds. "Goddamn, Bernie," the president said with open emotion, "what the hell happened? Is it in danger of sinking?"
"The flash message said that the ship was struck," Kerchner answered with a tremor in his voice, "by a submarine-fired torpedo. It isn't in danger of sinking, but the report indicates that Wasp is listing to starboard. We'll have more information in a few minutes, after the crew completes the damage control assessment."
"Jesus Christ," Jarrett responded, grim faced. His color was deadly pale, almost gray. "Why, Bernie? What happened to our ASW cover — our air cover?"
"I don't know, Mister President," Kerchner answered, shaking his head in frustration. "The submarine was apparently detected at the same time the torpedoes were fired."
"Did they get the sub?"
Kerchner looked straight into the president's eyes. "They aren't sure, sir. We'll have to wait for a detailed report."
"Heavy casualties?" the chief of state asked.
Kerchner's face quivered slightly. "That is the report, sir. The surface escorts reported men in the water."
The president remained quiet, as if in a trance. Kerchner waited a few seconds, expecting Jarrett to say something. It was highly unusual for this outgoing man to be openly withdrawn.
The president, jaw set rigid, closed his eyes a moment, then opened them. "I want Castro's military installations reduced to rubble — all of them," Jarrett said, violently agitated. "Every goddamned airfield, port, ship, airplane, radar site — everything destroyed — flattened."
The president paused a moment, seeing the surprised look on Kerchner's face. "I want to keep this military — understand, Bernie? No cities, or civilians — just military targets."
"Yes, sir," Kerchner replied, placing a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "The Joint Chiefs are working on the operation now. We will submit it for your approval as soon as the plans are finalized."
"Bernie," the president said, glancing at the entrance to the situation room, "I want a maximum effort."
Hundreds of travelers crowded around the cocktail lounge television monitors when the president of the United States appeared on the screen. Continuous news reports, updating the Wasp tragedy, had angered and shocked people around the world. Calls for retribution had filled the airwaves as diplomatic efforts were cast aside.
The president, looking drawn and tired, faced the television cameras. "My fellow citizens, and friends around the world, I share your grief in the Wasp tragedy. We mourn the fine young American patriots who gave their lives today… in a state of war declared by Cuba. We must band together to make it clear that America will exact a price from those who cause war, and from those who support them."
Jarrett stared intently into the group of cameras. "I assure you, as president of the United States of America, that I will take the appropriate steps to stop Castro's aggression."
Cheers and applause thundered through the huge airport, drowning out the president's final words.
Jarrett stepped away from the podium, joining his defense secretary and other staff members, as the secretary of state stepped in front of the cameras.
"Mister President," Kerchner said quietly, "the Joint Chiefs are prepared to present their recommendations for targeting."
"Very well," Jarrett responded, walking rapidly out of the room.
The four F-14D Tomcats from VF-102, led by Comdr. Doug "Frogman" Karns, rendezvoused over the Kitty Hawk and headed for their barrier combat air patrol station. The pilots and their radar intercept officers, reacting to the news of the Wasp, were keyed to a fever pitch.
The expedited catapult launches and the quick ready room brief, covering the change in the rules of engagement (ROE), had heightened tensions. The new ROE stated that a pilot had to visually identify his target as an enemy aircraft, or ship, before he could fire.
Everyone felt the visceral impact of being thrust into a shooting conflict. The strain was magnified by the close proximity to American shores.
"Diamond One Zero Three, Wolfpack," the carrier controller radioed, "contact Phoenix, button seven."
"Copy, button seven," Karns acknowledged, then transmitted, "Diamonds switch, now."
The fighter pilots simultaneously switched to the new frequency and checked in with their leader.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
"Phoenix, Diamond One Oh Three," Karns reported to the E-2C Hawkeye airborne early warning and control aircraft. "Four Fox Fourteens."
"Roger, Diamonds," the controller responded. "Stand by for your quadrant."
"Diamond One Oh Three."
The Hawkeye, one of three circling over the Gulf, would handle the fighter aircraft from the carriers Kitty Hawk and USS America.
"Diamonds," the controller said calmly, "we have bogies in whiskey one-seven-four bravo. Flight of three… looks low. Your eleven o'clock for forty-five."
"Diamond One Oh Three," Karns responded, then talked to his charges. "Frank, take your section out a mile and step up three thousand."
"Diamond Three and Four movin' out," the second section flight leader replied, banking gently to the right.
"Okay, Two," Karns radioed, "combat spread."
"Two "
"Diamond," the laconic Hawkeye controller paused, "your… ah… bogies at twelve for thirty-five, maneuvering."
"Roger," Karns responded, scanning the horizon. He raised his tinted visor a few seconds, examining the sea and sky, then lowered it back in place and twisted the tension knob. "Heads up, Diamonds."
"Warning Red," the controller called. "Weapons Hot!"
"Arm 'em up!" Karns ordered his pilots as he leveled at 17,000 feet. "It's show time."
"Two."
"Three."
"Four's hot."
Karns keyed the intercom and queried his radio intercept officer (RIO) about the radar return on the bogies.
"Got 'em locked, skipper."
The F-14s, receiving continuous updates from the Hawkeye flew straight at the MiGs. At eighteen miles Karns rechecked his firing switches and fuel state, then keyed his radio. "Diamonds, let's go burner."
At seven miles the Hawkeye called. "Check starboard, one o'clock low!"
Karns rolled the big Grumman fighter inverted, scanning the hazy sky below his Tomcat. "Tallyho-One has a tally! MiG twenty-fives… confirmed."
The Foxbats, guided by their own ground control radar site, were in trail with the third MiG weaving back and forth. They were level at 12,000 feet, going supersonic.