Charles Taylor - Show of Force

His operations officer said nothing, eating quietly and waiting for the decision he knew was coming. The ships that could be relied upon with minor repairs had taken care of themselves and reported ready that morning at zero seven hundred… whether or not they were completely safe, Dailey thought to himself. But they wouldn't disappoint their leader. Task Force 58 would fight again, and no sailor wanted to miss it. They wanted to avenge their losses in this undeclared war.

Radford and Knox had been sent for repairs to Capetown. Preble would fight again. Repairs had put her stern missile launchers back in action, although her after engine room was badly damaged. John Paul Jones had been sunk by torpedoes during the night, after her survivors had transferred to Wainwright. She had been capable of floating, but her weapons system? were inoperable and her engineering spaces had been too badly damaged. And much of her crew had been lost when the wind shifted just at the time of an explosion, sweeping sheets of flame back through two fire-control parties.

"Our recon aircraft have Kupinsky up near the Maldives," David began. "Wish to hell we had access to those satellites taking pictures to see what shape they're in. The zero-six-hundred report indicated they were reforming to the southwest of the islands."

"I expect they'll be heading back in our direction, sir. Their recon has been just as active as ours."

"Alex is as careful as I am, Bill. If you have the time, don't commit yourself until you know the exact strength of your own forces. Plus, we're both working without instructions from home, at least I believe he is, according to our last report."

"That's correct, sir. My intelligence people have been monitoring their satellites, too. I think we got them all."

"That just backs up my reason, Bill. Neither of us is officially at war, at least we aren't aware of it. And I think both Washington and Moscow would break radio silence in plain language if we were." He looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "They're just sitting back, I guess, waiting to see which dog kills the other."

"I assume we're going to turn to the east soon, Admiral."

"Right." With a wry expression, he pushed the remainder of the chalky eggs away, nodding in agreement to his steward, who was pointing at the coffee steaming on the hot plate by the pantry. He gestured toward Dailey's cup also. "I know what I want to do, and I'll lay it out now, step by step. I know Alex better than your intelligence boys, but I want you to try them out on these ideas with their fancy computers."

Dailey put his notepad on the table as he stirred sugar into his coffee. "I'll try them, sir. But I think you're wise if you rely pretty much on your own instinct at this point. Their best work is done when they're tied into the big fella at Hopkins. That's where all the war gaming and tactical input takes place. When they get out here on their own, they're limited to what's already stored in their own equipment."

"I know that, Bill. I've never had any trouble making my own decisions. I can match Alex blow for blow, but your people have the background on the other ships he has with him, their engineering characteristics, weapons capabilities, commanding officers' backgrounds. That's what I want." His eyes brightened. "I'll put a sawbuck on what Alex is going to do, though."

"Done. It's worth it to keep you honest," Dailey grinned.

"He's under orders to make sure that no more supplies get into Islas Piedras and that we are denied access to it. He can't allow us to protect the island so that construction can continue or allow missiles to be off-loaded. And the only way he can stop that is to keep us on our toes and sink ships." He stopped for a moment to sip his coffee. "Truism number one, Bill," — he held up the index finger on his right hand—"he's on his way right now in a direct line for the island. Two," — he held up a second finger—"he's going to have his new Rigas in the air, the ones that he's picked up since last night, but he's not going to chance losing them all again until they figure out our new missile systems. So they won't be involved in any massive attacks." A third finger was added. "He's going to challenge me head on. Maybe we'll even sight one another this time. The idea is to put us on the defensive. As long as Gorenko thinks we're scurrying around the Indian Ocean with our heads inserted, they're going to make more speeches about those aggressive Americans they're trying to save everyone else from, not to mention scaring the hell out of the President."

"I'd have to agree with you so far."

"And, number four, we're going to steam right into the middle of them if we have to." Dailey said nothing, just nodding in understanding. "That's why I want the printouts on their individual ships, Bill. I want our submarines to play with them. When you have all the info, relay it to the subs. We'll put together their orders later."

"What about Nimitz, sir? Are.you going to sail her into the middle also?"

"I'd love to, just love to. Just to show the flag. But I'm afraid we'll have to keep her in the rear of the screen. Alex will do the same with Lenin. We can't afford to have a capital-ship battle just yet, Bill. Maybe some brilliant politician will figure out how to call off the dogs before that happens." His face became suddenly serious, more so than Dailey had ever seen it. "Alex is my friend, Bill. Right now, I don't think I'd ever be able to live with myself if I killed him. We've trained for this showdown all our lives," he was staring at the overhead, "and now I feel like I'm sparring with my brother."

Dailey said nothing. He knew he wasn't expected to respond, and he waited until David spoke again. "Turn us east, Bill. Probably just about due east. I want to intercept Lenin head on. Want to bet on a course?"

"No; sir. I expect you're right."

"Aw, come on, Bill. You're going to take away my last little bit of fun if I don't have someone to bet with."

"Okay, I'll take zero nine one."

"You're on." Mockingly, he held his chin in his hand, eyes shut tight as if thinking. "Can't be exactly due east. I'll take zero eight seven. What're the stakes?"

"Good bottle of brandy at the next port. Winner's choice."

"Perfect." The Admiral was out of his chair and on his way to the bridge, his operations officer right behind. As.they raced each other to the chart room, both appeared to a surprised crew as if they were heading for the first liberty boat.

Alex Kupinsky had not slept at all that night. Captain Svedrov was a bit worried about this man lie had learned to love almost as a father. But he was not as concerned as he would have been about other admirals he had served with. He knew that Alex could go for long periods without sleep and still exhibit perfect reactions. And, sometimes, he would doze for short periods, in his cabin, or even in his bridge chair where he was now. His eyes would be shut, but Svedrov knew he could be awake instantly, ready with an answer as if he had overheard a question. So he was not too worried this morning as they regrouped to the southwest of the Maldives, Lenin having taken on a fresh air group. The sky was just turning bright to the east, and his Admiral's eyes were shut again. Svedrov went from man to man on the bridge, a warning ringer to his lips.

Alex might not have been able to answer a question out of this sleep. His dozing had brought Tasha to him, and he was subconsciously sending his mind far away from his body, where it could warm him with treasured memories.

Their happiest times together had been when they were away from the Motherland. That occasionally troubled him but never concerned Tasha. But she was not Russian anyway, he always justified. He had loved their time in London. Gorenko had sent him to the embasssy as part of his training. He must get out of the country to meet other people, he had been told. The best defense is to know your enemy. But they had not met enemies. Every place they went they were treated politely, even deferentially by those who wanted to learn more about these Russians. And their flat off Kensington Gardens was a paradise. It was in the city and was not as beautiful as his father's dacha outside Moscow, but they were totally at peace with themselves, and apparently with those around them, he was surprised to learn.