Without remorse - Tom Clancy [262]
'Easy on the eye shadow, sir,' Irvin told a somewhat jumpy Captain Albie, who had the usual commander's jitters and needed a sergeant to steady him down.
In the squadron ready room aboard USS Constellation, a diminutive and young squadron commander named Joshua Painter led the briefing. He had eight F-4 Phantoms loaded for bear.
'We're covering a special operation tonight. Our targets are SAM sites south of Haiphong,' he went on, not knowing what it was all about, hoping that it was worth the risk of the fifteen officers who would fly with him tonight, and that was just his squadron. Ten A-6 Intruders were also flying Iron Hand, and most of the rest of Connie's air wing would trail their coats up the coast, throwing as much electronic noise into the air as they could. He hoped it was all as important as Admiral Podulski had said. Playing games with SAM sites wasn't exactly fun.
Newport News was twenty-five miles off the coast now, approaching a point that would put her exactly between Ogden and the beach. Her radars were off, and the shore stations probably didn't know quite where she was. After the last few days the NVA were getting a little more circumspect about using their coastal surveillance systems. The Captain was sitting in his bridge chair. He checked his watch and opened a sealed manila envelope, reading quickly through the action orders he'd had in his safe for two weeks.
'Hmm,' he said to himself. Then: 'Mr Shoeman, have engineering bring boilers one and four fully on line. I want full power available as soon as possible. We're doing some more surfing tonight. My compliments to the XO, gunnery officer, and his chiefs. I want them in my at-sea cabin at once.'
'Aye, sir.' The officer of the deck made the necessary notifications. With all four of her boilers on line, Newport News could make thirty-four knots, the quicker to close the beach, and the quicker to depart from it.
'Surf City, here we come!' the petty officer at the wheel sang out loud as soon as the Captain was off the bridge. It was the official ship's joke - because the Captain liked it - actually made up several months before by a seaman first-class. It meant going inshore, right into the surf, for some shooting. 'Goin' to Surf City, where it's two-to-one!'
'Mark your head, Baker,' the OOD called to end the chorus.
'Steady on one-eight-five, Mr Shoeman.' His body moved to the beat. Surf City, here we come!
'Gentlemen, in case you're wondering what we've done to deserve the fun of the past few days, this is it,' the Captain said in his cabin just off the bridge. He explained on for several minutes. On his desk was a map of the coastal area, with every triple-A battery marked from data on aerial and satellite photographs. His gunnery department looked things over. There were plenty of hilltops for good radar references.
'Oh, yeah!' the master chief firecontrolman breathed. 'Sir, everything? Five-inchers, too?'
The skipper nodded. 'Chief Skelley, if we bring any ammo back to Subic, I'm going to be very disappointed with you.'
'Sir, I propose we use number-three five-inch mount for star shell and shoot visually as much as we can.'
It was an exercise in geometry, really. The gunnery experts - that included the commanding officer - leaned across the map and decided quickly how it would be done. Already briefed on the mission, the only change was that they had expected to do it in daylight.
'There won't be anybody left alive to fire on those helos, sir.'
The growler phone on the CO's desk rang. He grabbed it. 'Captain speaking.'
'All four boilers are now on line, sir. Full-speed bell is thirty, flank is thirty-three.'
'Nice to know the ChEng is all awake. Very well. Sound General Quarters.' He hung up the phone as the ship's gong started sounding. 'Gentlemen, we have some Marines to protect,' he said confidently. His cruiser's gunnery department was as fine as Mississippi's had ever been. Two minutes later he was back on the bridge.
'Mr Shoeman, I have the conn.'
'Captain has