The S-3A returned after the carrier had been in the canal for about an hour. Hunter met Russell as he emerged from the jet and immediately noticed the battle-hardened veteran was visibly shaken.
Hunter ushered him to a remote corner of the Saratoga’s mess hall and signaled one of the cooks to bring them some “strong” coffee.
“Jezzuz, Hawk,” E.J. told him. “I’ve never seen so many ships in my life! I thought The Modern Knights were stacked!”
“What kind of ships?” Hunter asked as the cook dropped off a steaming pot of laced coffee.
“You name it, they got it, mate,” E.J. answered. “Battleships, missile cruisers, armed freighters, rocket-launcher ships. They must have fifty or sixty destroyers alone. Plus a helicopter assault ship. One of those crazy half-battleship-half-carrier jobs.”
“Russian?” Hunter asked.
“Through and through,” E.J. said, swigging the coffee. He felt the whiskey-laced mixture slide down his throat. “Still got the hammer and sickle on it. A lot of the ships do.”
“Well, Lucifer is an equal-opportunity employer,” Hunter said. “He’ll hire anyone to help him destroy the world.”
“They must have sixty Hind gunships on that flattop,” E.J. continued. “The BBC guy has a lot of good footage. And the troopships! They got LSTs, steamers, converted cruise liners, barges, tugs, you name it! All of them stuffed with soldiers. Those guys must be chomping at the bit to get to the Med just so they can spread out.”
“Were you spotted?” Hunter asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” the Australian answered. “I didn’t get any radar-lock indications, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t spot us visually.”
“No aircraft flying above or near the fleet?”
“Just one airplane,” E.J. said. “This P-3 Orion. It’s an old Navy job, still with the long, pointy ass-end, you know?”
“Yeah, we intercepted some radio transmissions from it a while ago,” Hunter said. “That’s how we knew the Sovs were laying mines in the Canal.”
“That’s right,” E.J. replied. “This must be the same airplane. Yet, if anything was going to spot us, that plane would have. They’re usually jammed with enough gear to rival an AWACs, aren’t they?”
“Yes, usually,” Hunter said, after thinking for a moment. “Unless they are carrying some other type of gear on board now … ”
They left the mess hall and went to the CIC. There the BBC crew had set up a large-screen TV and videotape-playback machine. Heath, Yaz, Olson, O’Brien, and The Commodore were all on hand. Without much fanfare, the cameraman switched on the TV and inserted the freshly shot videotape.
Even though Hunter knew what to expect, he was still stunned. Spread out on the Red Sea near the southern entrance to the Canal, Lucifer’s fleet looked like one of the huge armadas the US had thrown against the Japanese in the South Pacific.
“My God,” Heath blurted out, speaking for everyone. “How in hell can we expect to hold up that whole bloody thing?”
“Between Lucifer and The Modern Knights, they must have hired just about every ship in the world,” O’Brien said.
Even the normally stony Olson was slightly rattled. “This is a formidable force … ” he said with typical understatement in his Scandinavian-accented English.
“Their biggest problem will be getting all those ships through without causing one hell of a traffic jam,” Yaz said, dejectedly.
“No,” Hunter said, stemming the tide of negatives. “Their biggest problem is going to be us … ”
The Jaguars took off first, four of them catapulting into the air with a rush of steam and a scream of jet exhaust. The quartet climbed and began long circles around the carrier.
The Tornados launched next. Six of them, each carrying 18,000 pounds of anti-shipping bombs, streaked off the carrier and joined the Jags orbiting above. Then the carrier’s elevators brought up the spaceship-like SAAB Viggens. The fighters, their delta wings bulging with overstuffed bombs, went airborne in less than two minutes. Unlike the other airplanes, they stayed in a ground-hugging holding pattern.
Hunter launched next, the Saratoga’s rejuvenated catapult flinging him hard and fast out over the water. Meanwhile, two of the Harrier jump-jets were lifting off vertically from the stern of the carrier. The remaining Harrier as well as the Beta group of Tornados would be left behind in order to protect the flotilla if necessary.
The air group finally formed up, went through a series of armament and communications checks, and then headed south. The first direct attack on Lucifer was about to begin …
The lead ship in Lucifer’s fleet was a cruiser manned by crew of Chilean mercenaries. A squadron of destroyers and corvettes, all carrying crews of mixed nationalities, was next in line, followed by the first group of troop-carrying vessels — tugs, small freighters, and barges.
Although Lucifer knew the Saratoga was heading for the Canal, his lack of reliable intelligence and recon led him to believe the carrier was still dead in the water in the Mediterranean. A powerless ship, surrounded by a bunch of yachts and frigates, posed little threat to his vast fleet, so he thought. Though he was upset that the Russian Navy subs hadn’t finished off the disabled carrier during their first attack, he wasn’t worried. When his armada had traveled through the Canal, he would send his own warships to do the job themselves. This message he had foolishly passed on to the commanders of his fleet, who, in turn, bragged about it to their crews.
That’s why it was with great surprise that the lookout on Lucifer’s lead cruiser spotted the flight of four Viggen jets approaching at wave-top level and heading directly for him. Were the airplanes allies? Free-lancers that Lucifer had hired to protect the fleet through its Canal passage?
He knew the answer was no as soon as when he heard the anxious voice of his comrade in the cruiser’s communications room. He was screaming through the intercom that “unidentified enemy aircraft” were heading for the ship. Instantly, the lookout knew a big mistake had been made.
The four Viggens roared right over the cruiser, so close the lookout felt the need to duck. As the jets screamed by he saw their wings were jammed with strange-looking bombs. He watched as they continued up and over the destroyers behind his ship and soon disappeared around a slight bend in the Canal. His first thought was one of relief. “At least they didn’t drop those things on me,” he whispered.
Then he turned around and saw the Tornados …
The British swing-wing fighter-bombers were right in front of him, six altogether, flying in pairs. Their underwings also carried clumps of bombs. But unlike the Viggens, two of the planes were zeroing in on the cruiser. And the lead Tornado was firing its cannon at him.
The lookout felt the cannon shells rip up his right arm, take a chunk of his shoulder off, and graze his head. Suddenly he couldn’t move; he was in shock. Everything was moving in slow motion. He saw the lead Tornado drop two silvery cannisters. Both struck the forward gun housing on the cruiser, passed through the compartment, and tore two side-by-side holes in the deck. A tremendous explosion followed, so powerful it lifted the bow of the ship right out of the water.
Only the lead Tornado dropped any bombs; like the Viggens, the six airplanes streaked overhead and continued down the canal.
The lookout, half his body already covered in blood, was now hit square in the face with a wave of flame resulting from the explosion. Suddenly his hair, his uniform, his very skin was on fire. In fact, the whole ship was instantly covered in flames.
He screamed, but no sound came out …
By this time, the warning klaxons were blaring on the dozen destroyers and corvettes sailing behind the ill-fated cruiser. The startled crew members, roused by the sound of the approaching jets, first watched the four Viggens pass over, then saw the Tornados deliver a devastating blow to the lead ship.