Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

Abrahams sat in the CIC and looked at the large central overview situation screen. What the hell had just happened? The yellow, red and green symbols of aircraft and ships, the black lines that bisected and curved across its representational grid, had become a cryptic cipher of the events leading to and following the air battle.

The North Korean attack had been unprecedented. There were no reports of any fighting along the DMZ or any other aircraft encounters in the same region. And yet, for an unknown reason, a group of missile boats had illuminated their surface search radars, giving away their position. This being rapidly followed up with a fighter strike apparently aimed at destroying their E2C. God he wished the JSTARS program hadn’t been canceled. An aircraft like that could give them a really good look at what the Koreans were up to on the ground. Still, there were other options that could be exercised. He called over the ship’s Captain from the other side of the CIC where the Captain was checking over sonar plots. “Tom, got a minute?”

Tom Bennet moved his stocky frame through the maze of equipment and operators. “What’s up, Doug?”

“I’m not sure. What do you make of all of this?” Abrahams swept his arm in front of the tactical screen.

“A diversion of some kind maybe. I just checked the plots to see if anything was picked up, but so far they look clean. No doubt we’ll be getting a call from CINCPAC pretty soon. One of the operators held up a ship’s phone.

“CINCPAC on the line, sir. He’s asking for you, Admiral.”

Abrahams looked at Bennet. “Speak of the Devil. I’ll take it in the ready room.”

“Aye, sir.”

Abrahams was in the ready room seconds later. He picked up the phone sitting on the teak meeting table. “Abrahams.”

Collingsworth sounded pleased. “Well, Doug, it looks like the North Koreans just saved both our careers. Word is that Babitch is fit to be tied.”

“News travels fast. I haven’t even filed an action report yet.”

“Yeah, well fleet has been listening in on everything as it happened. The minute your Hawkeye picked up those search sets, I had the whole thing patched right into my office. It gave me the leverage to get on the horn, go right over that prick Babitch’s head and look like I was just doing my job. Pusan, Kadina and every swinging dick on the DMZ are on full alert, but reporting no action. I just wanted to talk to you and let you know that the President is finally being brought up to speed as fast as possible. Fast enough that there are six patriot batteries en route to Seoul right now. In fact, it looks like at least one unit of light infantry is being sent to bolster the troops at the DMZ.” There was a pause. “Under the guise of a joint military exercise, of course.”

“Of course.” The relief Abrahams felt was immense. “Thanks Bill. Listen, I have one more thing to ask. I need an overflight of both coasts with a couple of the Dark Star Stealth Drones you have stashed away at Kadina. Just a regular recon run of the ports.”

“You don’t ask for much do you? I’ll see what I can do. Your orders are now to move the task force one hundred miles closer to the meridian. The joint chiefs are worried that last attack was a probe of our defenses around Seoul. They feel with the present situation that the North might try to invade.”

“That’s nuts! If they were going to invade, they wouldn’t tip their hand like that. No, you just convinced me of something that Tom Bennet just said. This thing smacks of a diversion. They want to draw us away from the Straits. That sub has to be out there.”

“Orders are orders, Doug.”

“It’s going to leave my rear exposed. That sub could slip through. At best, he could be picked up by one of the sonobouy nets and we’ll be too far away to do anything about it.”

“Look, you have a couple of L.A. class subs at your disposal. Task them to finding the damn sub. Your career is back from the brink. Don’t piss it away.”

Abrahams’s “Aye, sir” was flat.

“I’m sorry, Doug, but that is just the way it has to be. I’ll have the official set of orders transmitted. If it eases your mind any, Piper Rhodes and the boys in his squadron have moved into the Sea of Japan. If this bastard sub squeaks through your net, the next one should scoop him up.”

“I hope so Bill. I really hope so.”

The ungainly twin-engine transport lumbered through the night, its navigation lights off. Inside their cockpit, the flight crew kept careful vigil. Word had come down that they were as close to a shooting war with the North Koreans as they had been since the fifties. If they got bounced by some hot or even lousy North Korean fighter jock, well the COD was a good transport, but as maneuverable as an elephant on Valium in a dogfight. That they were up at all told them that the two men in the back were spooks, or at least spook related.

“Eisenhower, Hotel six four. Request clearance to land.” The COD’s pilot checked his fuel gauges. Enough left for another three hours of flight.

Eisenhower was quick to reply. “Negative Hotel six four. We have an emergency in progress. Turn to two four zero, maintain speed and altitude, stay on this channel, you will be advised when the emergency is over.” The channel went dead.

The copilot turned to his partner. “Jesus. I wonder what the hell is going on.”

The pilot kept his eyes forward. “Somebody’s upping the ante on this whole mess. Better tell our guests in back the bad news. Then get back here and watch the radar. I don’t want any NK fighter jock jumping my ass.”

“My ass too, Skip.”

“Sorry. Our ass.”

The copilot slid his seat back and moved through the cargo area companionway. It was silent on the other side of the cargo door. That suited the copilot fine. With customers like these, the less he knew the better. He swung the door open and looked down on the two men.

“Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but we have a problem at the carrier. They have an air emergency. They’ve vectored us into a holding pattern so sit tight and the stewards will be around to take your drink orders in a minute.” When that did not get a laugh, he turned and left. These guys were too serious.

Reaper eight’s bird was a mess. One of the North Korean Migs had gotten in a lucky burst during a head-on pass of the dogfight. Eight’s cockpit was a shattered ruin. His starboard CRT display was a blackened hole and the central display gave nothing but glitch-ridden garbage. The remaining port CRT display worked, but his flight computer was suspect. The engine fire light would come on, stay lit and then go out. Radar was down, diagnostics were down, and his artificial horizon just did slow rolls. A piece of armor-piercing shell had sliced along the top of his right thigh. He could feel blood pooling in his flight boot.

This bird was not going to make it back to the nest and night was fast approaching. Just ahead in the encroaching murk, he could make out his flight leader’s navigation lights. They were his only tenuous grip on where he stood in the world. Eight tried to raise Reaper one on the radio, but all he got was white noise. The transmitter was a write-off as well. With no way to judge where he was and with no way for his flight to communicate, he would have to hold out as long as he could, eject and then hope to God his Emergency Locator Beacon was not shot to hell as well.

The COD landed right behind the last F-18 of Reaper flight. Minutes later, a Sea King helicopter touched down at the far end of the flight deck. A large group of medical personnel swarmed up to the side door of the helo and pulled out a body on a stretcher. The stretcher and trauma team rushed off of the flight line and headed below decks. Chun and Forest stood beside the COD and watched the whole episode unfold.