Silver Tower was now on the short one-hour portion of its three-hour orbit, hurtling toward perigee, its closest approach to earth, only eighty miles above the edge of the atmosphere.
This part of the orbit was a busy time for the crew, especially now. Along with the normal housekeeping functions of running the huge station-power collection and storage while on the "day" side of the orbit, systems maintenance, and inspections — the massive amounts of data collected by the crew had to be stored and prepared for dissemination, and then the proper preparations made in Silver Tower's numerous sensor banks for the next two-hour pass over the conflict area.
What made the job even more pressured was the constant stream of calls to General Saint-Michael, asking for a description of exactly what had happened in the Persian Gulf. "Negative," Saint-Michael said into his earset. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I have my orders. My amended orders are to transmit my stored data to the Joint Chiefs directly… No, we don't have the time to retransmit it to Sixth Fleet or Seventh Fleet Headquarters. We'll have just enough time to beam it out once before we have to start setting up for the next orbit over the area…. Yes, Admiral, it was the California that requested the data link… The Nimitz listened in but it was the California that asked… Yes, sir, they must have data from shortly after the Silkworm launch was detected. They may have even seen the impact themselves.
Saint-Michael rubbed the painful throbbing in his left temple. At a slight tap on his shoulder, he opened his eyes and saw Ann moving beside his seat with a cup of coffee. "You look like you can use—"
Saint-Michael shook his head and tapped his earset. "I'm on the scrambled satellite link. Admiral Walton." Ann nodded, listening in as Saint-Michael took the cup of coffee and continued speaking into the microphone. "I'm sorry, sir? Yes, we can use the data link itself for voice as well as SBR data transmissions. It's a frequency-agile scrambled microwave transmission. It's not completely jam-proof or completely secure, but it's real-time voice and data at the same time, and I think that's what you want… What? It was working fine with the California, Admiral."
"The California?" Ann said. "Where? Where is he?"
Saint-Michael held up a hand. "Yes, Admiral. I think the Nimitz should get the data, but California seemed to be better set up to receive it. That's your primary battle management ship, she has better satellite arrays and combat-control displays… No, we'll beam it to anyone who's set up to receive it… Yes, sir…"
"How's my father? Was he… in the fight?"
"Dammit, Ann… no, Admiral. Stand by one." Saint-Michael turned to her. "The Nimitz battle group was seven hundred miles away in the Arabian Sea when the attack started. Now please, be quiet." He turned back to his earset and continued his conversation.
Colonel Walker interrupted Saint-Michael's transmission with the "CALL" function of the interstation communications system. "Ten minutes, General."
"Gotta go, Admiral. We're ten minutes from horizon passage… Thank you, sir. Armstrong out." Saint-Michael immediately switched to stationwide intercom. "Attention on the station. Message from the Joint Chiefs, transmitted through U.S. Navy Commander in Chief Pacific Forces. Well done. That goes double for me. But now we get to do it all over again — ten minutes to horizon crossing, stand by for target area."
CHAPTER 15
"It… is… impossible…
Marshal of the Soviet Union Sergei Czilikov read the dispatch slowly, his gnarled fingers digging deeply into the paper. He dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand. First Deputy Minister Khromeyev stepped toward the minister of defense's desk, and Czilikov handed the message to him. "A communication between space station Armstrong and the commander in chief of Pacific Forces in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii," Khromeyev muttered, reading the message, "discussing the transmission of real-time, space-based radar data to ships of the Seventh Fleet detachment in the Arabian Sea.
"Govorov… the space station Armstrong… is it possible?" Czilikov asked. "That station is sixteen hundred kilometers in space, traveling twenty-eight thousand kilometers an hour. Is it really possible that it can report on the position of all combat vehicles in that region?"
"This message says nothing of the sort. We've had satellites that can transmit real-time imagery for a decade. The technology is rather commonplace. Watching a few ships in the Persian Gulf from space is child's play and has been for years."
"But the attack was detected so quickly."
"Three hours? Sir, in these days a child in a sailboat on the Persian Gulf can report an attack to the world in three hours. I still have not seen any evidence of the Americans' vaunted high-technology space-tracking system."
Czilikov nodded slowly. "Very well. I will go along with your assessment. Feather will continue as planned. Were there any serious casualties aboard the Sovremnnyy?"
"No casualties, sir. An unexpectedly high number of injuries but none serious. The Sovremnnyy was hit by three missiles and suffered extreme damage, much more than planned. In addition, the patrol vessel Buchara was hit by a fourth Silkworm missile. Several injuries, heavy damage but she's still under her own power. However, sir, there are unexpected bonuses. As unfortunate as the injuries are, it should serve to fuel outrage and help win support for the operation. This is no longer an 'unfortunate incident' — it is a major act of aggression. There also can be no charge of a contrived attack…"
"No, but I wish it weren't through our own ineptness that it was so." Czilikov paused, thinking. "Strategically, we're in good shape. The Brezhnev is still in grave danger from land-based attack, but Chercherovin assures me the carrier and her escorts in the gulf can take control of the skies until Bandar-Abbas, Tehran, Tabriz, and Hamadan airfields in Iran are taken by Rhomerdunov and Ilanovsky. Once the air force and army control those four fields, they will be able to sufficiently seal off the skies for Chercherovin to move more ships into the gulf."
"And the American, French and British ships in the gulf? What of them?"
"They are already overwhelmed. We outnumber them two to one. Once the Brezhnev controls the skies over the region, the Western ships in the gulf will be impotent."
Khromeyev nodded. "Stationing the Brezhnev in the gulf was a master stroke, the tactical advantage we now have there far outweighs the dangers we faced moving it past the Strait of Hormuz. Who would have thought the Americans would allow us such free access into the gulf? At the very least, I expected them to match our forces — even that was never fully accomplished. "
"And that will be the Americans' greatest mistake," Czilikov said. "They wanted to play power politics in the Persian Gulf without supporting their policies. Soon they will pay the price.
CHAPTER 16
The master SBR display now only showed the three-hundred-mile area surrounding the Strait of Hormuz, but even so it took Jake Jefferson and two other technicians to process the volume of data being collected. "The Brezhnev is within one hundred miles of Bandar-e Lengeh," Jefferson reported. "Numerous aircraft in the area."
"Those Russians sure are getting ballsy with that carrier," Walker said, studying the display. "Only one ship, a Krivak-class frigate, between it and Bandar-Abbas. If the Iranians decide to shoot again, the carrier will make one inviting target.
"Aircraft launching from the Brezhnev, sir," Jefferson reported again. "Fast moving, not rotorcraft."
"I still can't figure the Iranians shooting at those ships," Kevin Baker said. "Did it look like those Soviet ships were threatening them, about to go into Iranian waters?"