The silence was a vacuum to be filled, though he couldn't be sure it was because of approval or the opposite…
"I also propose a cruise-missile attack on Bandar-Abbas and the forces along the Persian Gulf. This type of attack was successful on the Nimitz fleet in the past. The Americans must engage the cruise missiles with their surface-to-air and air-to-air assets. The attack should be followed immediately by heavy bomber attacks, progressively moving to lighter fighter-bomber attacks until the targets can be occupied by paratroopers. In two days, if the strike is swift and devastating enough, we should be able to reoccupy Bandar-Abbas."
Finally a reaction: a murmur of voices. Then Chief Marshal Yesimov of the airforce said, "It can be done. Our older Tupolev-95 turboprop bombers, which could not survive over the heavily defended coastal areas around Bandar-Abbas itself, can be armed with cruise missiles instead of gravity bombs. The bombers can launch their missiles from well inside occupied Iranian territory, far from the American surface-to-air missile emplacements. Each Tu-95 can carry four AS-6 missiles, which have twelve-hundred-kilogram high-explosive warheads."
"How many Tu-95s could be made available?" Czilikov asked.
Yesimov shrugged. "We can immediately send ten bombers to Tashkent, the largest available staging base in the region. Within a week I can dispatch our entire fleet of H-model bombers to Tashkent: forty planes, one hundred sixty cruise missiles."
"Forty Tu-95 bombers in Tashkent would also be immediately noticed," Chief Marshal Rhomerdunov, commander of the troops of Soviet air defense, noted, "However, Zhukovsky Military Airfield at Tashkent can easily conceal the initial ten Tu-95 bombers."
"I can have the bombers at Tashkent in less than a week," Yesimov said. "I will draft an operation plan for the bomber deployment right away."
The general secretary was visibly pleased. "Now you're beginning to sound like the men I thought I knew." He turned to Govorov. "What is your second operation?"
The space defense commander looked around the conference table. "The second operation is more crucial… It involves moving the Arkhangel battle group into the Gulf of Oman to oppose the American Nimitz battle group directly."
This time a loud murmur of voices, clearly not approving.
It's out of the question," Admiral Chercherovin said. The Arkhangel is not just an aircraft carrier. It is our newest and best. It is more than just a vessel. It is our future…"
Czilikov took over. "Marshal Govorov refers to the new class aircraft carrier in its final year of sea trials, sir. It is now on a shakedown patrol of the South China Sea, but has been based at Cam Ranh Bay Naval Base in Vietnam for the past month. The Arkhangel is the largest naval vessel ever built, much larger than the Nimitz. She carries eighty-five aircraft, all of them Sukhoi-27 air superiority and antimissile fighters. Even more, the Arkhangel comprises her own battle group. She uses two Kiev-class short-takeoff-and-landing aircraft carriers, the Kiev and Novorossiysk, to carry the battle group's land-and-ship attack aircraft and a number of antisubmarine warfare helicopters. All together, the Arkhangel battle group contains one hundred thirty combat aircraft and helicopters. "
Czilikov watched the general secretary's eyes as he listened to the description of the Arkhangel and her battle group. He stopped abruptly. "We cannot send the Arkhangel, sir. It is out of the question."
"Back that up, Czilikov."
"Sir, sending the Arkhangel battle group to the Persian Gulf area would be like… like the Americans landing a squadron of B-1 bombers in Berlin or London or Norway, or sailing the Nimitz into the Black Sea. It would be an overconcentration, and it would be a major escalation—"
"But the Americans have the Nimitz group in the Gulf of Oman," the general secretary broke in, "and that is a major force."
"But, sir, the Nimitz balances the Brezhnev carrier force," Czilikov said. "Besides, the Americans have always had a major carrier group in that area. They are, frankly, the only nation that can afford to maintain such a force to just cruise around thousands of kilometers from home."
"The Arkhangel would be as vulnerable as the Brezhnev is in the Persian Gulf," Chercherovin now added.
"With two carriers as escorts?" the general secretary asked. "If the world's largest carrier, protected by two other carriers and twenty surface combatants, is still vulnerable to attack in the open ocean we have no business building such vessels. No, I don't believe this Arkhangel force would be so vulnerable. This is no time for caution, Admiral. If we have the power, we should act. Immediately. I want this option explored. I want a briefing in three days, outlining all possible contingencies involved in moving the Arkhangel to the Gulf of Oman to oppose the Nimitz." He paused, reconsidered, obviously caught up in the spectacle of what they were likely to achieve, or were trying to achieve… "No, I want that report in forty-eight hours. And I want the Arkhangel group ready to sail one week after the plan is approved by the Politburo."
Admiral Chercherovin, still the voice of can't-do, said: "It is impossible to prepare an entire twenty-five-ship fleet for an extended deployment in—"
"Then put that in your report. But yours will not be the only opinions I rely on. You have a habit, Admiral, of telling me what is impossible. I am tired of military commanders telling me what is impossible."
The general secretary turned to Govorov, who had returned to his seat. He motioned at him. "Here is a young, innovative commander who does the impossible. You older officers would do well to take him as a model."
The general secretary glanced at Czilikov, who was usually expected to come to the aid of his senior Stavka officers at moments like this. This time he did not. Unlike the admiral, he knew when to shut up. He did, though, look at Govorov, as much as to say, "It's all yours, hero. And welcome to it…"
CHAPTER 29
Jason Saint-Michael woke up to find a warm hand entwined in his. He tried to speak but what he could manage was a rasping croak. He squeezed the hand tight as he could, and after a moment felt a rustling near him. "Jason?" The sound of her voice was life, itself to him. He squeezed her hand again. "Thank God… "
He opened his eyes but found his vision blurry, his eyelids heavy and oily feeling. "What is it?" Another female voice. "He's awake. He squeezed my hand."
"Are you sure?" He felt a movement near him, then a cold hand in place of the warm one. "General Saint-Michael? Can you hear me?"
He still couldn't see anything but could feel her near him. He moved a hand up and out slowly across a warm metal railing and rested it back onto the warm hand that had been pushed out of the way.
"I'll get the doctor." The cold hand went away. He was determined not to let go of the warm one again.
"Don't go."
"I won't. I'm right here."
"My… eyes…"
"Wait." A moment later a dry towel was being wiped across his eyelids and forehead. He blinked a few more times, and the focus began to come back… He was in a small white… what else?… hospital room. Ann was standing over him, his hand in hers. Her small, angular face was surrounded by long, thick hair, the ponytail now wrapped back and looped over her right shoulder. He tried to squeeze her hand again but his strength had seemed to drain away. He did manage a sort of smile. "You look good," he said. "I wish I could say the same of you," she said, smiling too brightly.