"Loud and clear, California," said General Saint-Michael. "Are you receiving our data transmissions?"
Page glanced over at Meserve, who nodded. "Digital imagery coming in clear as a bell, Skipper."
"Affirmative, General. Congratulations on your promotion. When we'get back, sir, you're buying the bar."
"A deal."
"Advisory for those patrol planes," Colonel Walker cut in to the ship-to-orbit link. "Several fast patrol boats operating at their twelve o'clock, seventy nautical miles. Could be those new Iranian hydrofoils or the small corvettes they took out of mothballs. If they're corvettes they have naval Hawk-Four surface-to-air missiles that might give the Hornets trouble."
"Copy, Armstrong. We'll divert the Hornets around them. No telling who the Iranians might decide to shoot at right now."
"New contacts," Sergeant Jefferson reported. "Low altitude. Jet aircraft heading south along the west shore of the Caspian Sea. No definite number yet."
"Copy that, California?" Saint-Michael asked.
Meserve and Page were peering over the shoulders of the three radiomen who manned the data display unit of CIC's control console. The operators were switching the displays back and forth, trying to keep up with the volume of data being received. Finally Page punched the mike button in frustration. "Armstrong, we can't keep up with that thousand-mile display. We're going to cut ours back down to three hundred miles. Keep us advised of activity outside the three-hundred-mile radius of the Strait of Hormuz. We'll concentrate our surveillance in the area where the Nintitz's planes will be operating. "
Saint-Michael said over a closed interphone, "He must think I have a hundred people up here to watch the screens. He's got twice the people I have but he's only watching one-tenth of the area."
"I think I understand his situation," Walker said. "SBR is decades ahead of the California's technology. It's like trying to get a drink of water from a fire hose."
Saint-Michael shrugged and keyed the microphone. "Roger, California. Understand. "
"We've got a count on those newcomer Soviet planes," Jefferson said. His rising, excited voice made Saint-Michael swivel around to face him. "Total of twelve aircraft. Four slow-moving planes were joined with two flights of fastmoving planes. The group is turning slightly southeast, Skipper. I think they're heading for Tehran—"
"Aircraft launching from the Brezhnev, sir," a tech reported. "Two high-speed aircraft heading east-northeast."
Saint-Michael hit the mike button. "California, this is Armstrong. Fighters from Brezhnev heading your way."
The reply was immediate and, to no one's surprise, as excited as Jefferson's. "We got 'em, Armstrong."
"Be advised — twelve Soviet aircraft heading south from Lyaki, suspected target Tehran. No positive ID; it could either be another Backfire bomber strike force or a four-ship Condor troop transport formation with eight fighter escorts. Or both. Whatever, it looks like a major production."
"Armstrong, this is Nimitz." Even through the scrambler interference Admiral Clancy's rasping voice could easily be identified. "Copy all. Your execution code is Sierra Tango November one-zero. "
Saint-Michael had been anticipating that. "Armstrong copies Sierra Tango November one-zero. Out." He switched to stationwide intercom. "Attention on the station. Voice communications blackout is in effect. And repeat — this station is on red alert."
To Walker, Jefferson and the three sensor technicians, Saint-Michael said, "All right, listen up. We've just received an execution order directing the interception of that Soviet attack force apparently heading for Tehran. We'll maintain surveillance over the whole region, but if it gets too much to watch we'll keep on the northern attack group and let Clancy and the California watch the southern attack group—"
"New aircraft, sir… eight high-speed aircraft eastbound from… it looks like eastern Turkey."
"Right on the mark," Saint-Michael said. "That's Tango November, the F-15E Rapid Deployment Force alert birds from Kigzi Airbase in Turkey. We should have eight more F-15s ready for launch at Kigzi; I want them airborne with their tanker as soon as possible. Talk to the second group on channel eight. Remember, no voice. I want vectors for the first group of F-15s over data-link channel nine to bring them around behind that group of Soviet heavies and their escorts. "
"It will be my pleasure, Skipper," Sergeant Jefferson said, turning toward his screens.
"Picking up two more eastbound planes," a tech reported. "High speed, low altitude…" A hint of surprise was apparent in his voice. "It's an… intermittent return."
"Our aces in the hole," Saint-Michael said. "Those are the F-19 NightHawk stealth bombers from Kigzi — even the SBR is having trouble maintaining a solid track on them. They'll be on data-link channel ten. If anyone gets near them or if they get fired on, warn them — but I'm betting nobody will." Also hoping…
"Tango November flight closing within one hundred nautical miles of those Soviet formations," Jefferson broke in. "The Soviet strike formations still on course, now approaching Bandar-e Anzali on the south shore of the Caspian."
Saint-Michael turned to Sergeant Jefferson. "Jake, transmit code Foxtrot Bravo on channel nine. Get an acknowledgment by each flight lead."
Jefferson interrupted his digitized vectoring instructions and tapped out the simple instruction-code prefix and two-letter command. The code would be picked up on the heads-up display on each F-15 Eagle fighter. Each pilot would then check in with their formation leaders, who would then relay a reply via satellite communications system back to Armstrong Station.
"All elements of Tango November acknowledge your Foxtrot Bravo command, Skipper."
"Range?"
"Eighty miles and closing fast. Those two separate low-altitude aircraft are passing south of the Soviet formation. It looks like they're going to beat the Soviet strike formation in Tehran."
General Saint-Michael settled nervously back into his seat. Looks like… sure…
It took only ten minutes for the eight advanced F-15E Eagle fighter-bombers to cover the eighty miles between them and the huge Soviet formation. The Russian pilots were cautious — occasionally a pair of Su-27s would peel off from the formation, reverse course and scan the sky behind the formation to search for pursuers. Electronic eyes scanned for radar signals that might attack from surface-to-air missile sites, but the formation was safe from any Iranian defenses; Iran had all but used up its resources in its long struggle with Iraq, and the Russian pilots knew it.
Undetected, though, was the threat from American bushwhackers. With Silver Tower as their "eyes," the F-15 weapons system operators, WSOs, did not need to use their position-disclosing air-to-air radars to track the Soviet aircraft ahead, and when the Soviet fighters would backtrack to search behind their formation, Armstrong Station directed the Eagles away from the Flankers and then back together again once the danger of discovery was past.
Just as the latest pair of prowling Flankers had returned to their place in the twelve-ship formation, the Eagles made their move.
In full afterburner, consuming over sixteen hundred pounds of fuel per minute, Major Alan Fourier, the Eagle formation leader, took his eight fighters screaming toward the Soviet attack formation at twice the speed of sound. In less than two minutes they had eaten up the remaining fifteen miles between the two formations. As they drew within five miles the group split — four Eagles, led by Air Force Captain Jeff Cook, took the high-patrol Soviet aircraft, and Fourier took four Eagles down to the lower ones. By the time they caught up to the Russian planes their fuel supply was half-exhausted, but their tactic had its desired effect.