Executive orders - Tom Clancy [548]
In a real war, that would have been easy. Anzio had fifteen Tomahawk missiles aboard, each with a thousand-pound warhead, and nearly in range of the Indian battle group. In an ideal world he'd loose them at just over two hundred miles, based on targeting information from the Orions-his helicopters could do that, too, but the P-3Cs were far more survivable.
Captain! It was a petty officer on the ESM board. We're getting airborne RADARs. The Orion has some company approaching, looks like two Harriers, distance unknown, constant bearing, signal strength increasing.
Thank you. It's a free sky until somebody says different, Kemper reminded everybody.
Maybe it was an exercise, but the Indian battle group hadn't moved forty miles in the past day, instead traveling back and forth, east and west, crossing and recrossing its own course track. Exercises were supposed to be more free-form than that. What the situation told the captain of USS Anzio was that they'd staked out this piece of ocean as their own. And the Indians just happened to be between where COMEDY was and where it wanted to be.
Nothing was very secret about it, either. Everyone pretended that normal peacetime conditions were in effect. Anzio had her SPY-1 RADAR operating, pumping out millions of watts. The Indians were using theirs as well. It was almost like a game of chicken.
Captain, we have bogies, we have unknown multiple air contacts bearing zero-seven-zero, range two-one-five miles. No squawk ident, they are not commercial. Designate Raid-One. The symbols came up on the center screen.
No emitters on that bearing, ESM reported.
Very well. The captain crossed his legs in his command chair. In the movies this was where Gary Cooper lit up a smoke.
Raid-One appears to be four aircraft in formation, speed four-five-zero knots, course two-four-five. Which made them inbounds, though not quite directly at COMEDY.
Projected CPA? the captain asked.
They will pass within twenty miles on their current course, sir, a sailor responded crisply.
Very well. Okay, people, listen up. I want this place cool and businesslike. You all know the job. When there's reason to be excited, I will be the one to tell you, he told the CIC crew. Weapons tight. Meaning that peacetime rules still applied, and nothing was actually ready to fire-a situation that could be remedied by turning a few keys.
Anzio, this is Gonzo-Four, over, a voice called on the air-to-surface radio.
Gonzo-Four, Anzio, over.
Anzio, the aviator reported, we got two Harriers playing tag with us. One just zipped by at about fifty yards. He's got white ones on the rails. Real missiles hanging under the wings, not pretend ones.
Doing anything? the air-control officer asked.
Negative, just like he's playing a little.
Tell him to continue the mission, the captain said. And pretend he doesn't care.
Aye, sir. The message was relayed.
This sort of thing wasn't all that unusual. Fighter pilots were fighter pilots, the captain knew. They never grew up past the stage of buzzing by girls on their bikes. He directed his attention