Charles Taylor: Show of Force

"My OOD has already notified the other ships for you. He'll sound general quarters in about ten minutes. Is there anything else we can do for you at this point?"

"Nope. There's two of them and six of us, so they'll probably split, one north and one south, and keep their distance. Dailey has already reduced their choices to six options, but I've eliminated four because I know Alex won't use nuclear weapons. He isn't foolish. He doesn't want to sink anyone at this point. I'm pretty sure they'll try the small radar-programmed missiles so that nothing major happens — just damage. Too many casualties would piss off a lot of people in Washington, and the Russians just want to show they mean business. You know and I know and Alex and all his people know the purpose of this little show of force, and they don't want to hurt anyone if they can help it. But, neither do I. Dailey already has the plan to divert the missiles after they're fired, but I want to make sure enough men on each ship see what a real explosion looks like, a Russian one. We'll try to contain it in the middle of the formation. But I want you to tell your gunboss again that I want those two planes to get back to Alex and tell him what we can do."

The two men finished their food and left the small cabin, Casey for the bridge before joining Charles in his tiny flag plot, where they would coordinate the force action.

Even California-class ships have a small plot set aside for visiting admirals, but the designers never really understood that a flag carried his own watch-standers, all of whom showed up for general quarters. When the Admiral arrived, passing through the ship's CIC (Combat Information Center) to get to his own space, his men and Casey's seemed crowded in a very small area. He remembered seeing the designs for this type years ago, and how impressed they all were with the space in combat for both equipment and men. Not so today. Discipline was apparently the reason that chaos would never arise, and probably the only reason in such close quarters.

"Good evening, Admiral," Dailey said without moving from his spot in front of the big board. The display showed each of the six ships, their relationship to the cause of all this, Islas Piedras, the Soviet submarines, and the two aircraft, just dots well to the right of the formation, moving toward their targets.

"Hi, Bill. You proud of yourself now?"

"Yes and no. It's pretty easy when you're tied into that big machine at Hopkins. I just hope the weapons selection was correct on our part. We received an update a few minutes ago that indicates that those Riga jets have a greater missile capability than our files show." He looked at the board and then at the screen to his right. "They're at three hundred miles and closing, Admiral. Same course and speed. Estimated time to split is approximately twelve minutes."

"Very well, Bill." David eased himself into the comfortable chair bolted to the deck behind Dailey's position. It gave him a clear picture of 'everything that was happening at a given moment. A dim glow outlined a complexity of instruments, each strategically placed in the tight space to give the officers in charge an accurate picture of a constantly changing situation. There was calm since only two aircraft were approaching the formation, but Combat had been designed to instantly clarify any tactical situation with as little human confusion as possible.

The moments ticked slowly away. Each man concentrated on his job, monitoring radar screens, updating tracking information, checking dials, and reviewing printouts on screens or from quiet printers. David noted the aircraft separating on the board and a look to Dailey, confirmed by a nod, indicated that the predicted split had occurred. Dailey, at his commander's urging, had programmed each aircraft to swing approximately one hundred and fifty miles to either end of the northward-moving formation before changing course toward its center. Analysis of strategy indicated that altitude would remain high at missile release. Both aircraft would maintain their course until the pilot's instruments indicated the weapons had locked on their targets and accepted the tracking mode. At that point, they would reverse course, taking evasive action before heading back to the Lenin. Captain Casey pushed open the door from the pilothouse stooping under the low frame, and worked his way through the maze near David Charles's position. "My men are ready, Admiral. I think a lot of people are looking forward to this. Most of them have never been in a situation like this. They all graduated after Vietnam, so it's mostly been reading books and shooting dummies at drones." He looked up at the big board. "Looks like they'll be ready shortly.", The jets had reached the apex of their outward flight and were turning toward the formation. The captain moved over to his own position where he would con his ship and control her weapons systems.

"Bill," said the Admiral, "I want to handle that missile problem here. Assign Virginia and Wainwright as firing ships just in case, with Truxton and Halsey as backup. I want Gridley to handle the missile-jamming backup to us. Order each ship to break formation and undertake independent tactics. In one minute I want Truxton to turn down the throat of that sub on the starboard quarter of the formation and go to flank speed. Just in case Kupinsky has anything planned with those subs, i want a sonar lock-on on that boat. They should do everything to harrass that sub outside of actually sinking it. That should move them a little farther away from us, I hope."

The instructions were quickly passed over the primary tactical circuit. There was little increase in sound, though activity was increasing at each station. The staff gunnery officer turned to Charles. "All launchers loaded for air action, Admiral. Truxton reports forward launcher ready with torpedoes, aft launcher for air action."

"Very well." He turned to hear Bill Dailey's report.

"Virginia reports foreign frequency lock-on… identified as missile guidance… it's a different frequency, Admiral!"

"Northern bogey, missiles away… one… two," from another station.

"We're tracking them," from Dailey. "Virginia reports the missiles are now on their own program… still unknown frequency."

"What the hell do you mean unknown, Bill? Can't we get control?"

"Not yet, Admiral. Computer is analyzing. We may have to jam. Wainwright reports the same action from the south, sir.

the tracking mode. At that point, they would reverse course, taking evasive action before heading back to the Lenin. Captain Casey pushed open the door from the pilothouse, stooping under the low frame, and worked his way through the maze near David Charles's position. "My men are ready, Admiral. I think a lot of people are looking forward to this. Most of them have never been in a situation like this. They all graduated after Vietnam, so it's mostly been reading books and shooting dummies at drones." He looked up at the big board. "Looks like they'll be ready shortly." „The jets had reached the apex of their outward flight and were turning toward the formation. The captain moved over to his own position where he would con his ship and control her weapons systems.

"Bill," said the Admiral, "I want to handle that missile problem here. Assign Virginia and Wainwright as firing ships just in case, with Truxton and Halsey as backup. I want Gridley to handle the missile-jamming backup to us. Order each ship to break formation and undertake independent tactics. In one minute I want Truxton to turn down the throat of that sub on the starboard quarter of the formation and go to flank speed. Just in case Kupinsky has anything planned with those subs, I want a sonar lock-on on that boat. They should do everything to harrass that sub outside of actually sinking it. That should move them a little farther away from us, I hope."