Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

The COs studied the charts as CAG spoke, imagining the targets, the weapons required, the readiness of their pilots and aircrew, the state of their aircraft. They were preparing for combat with a regional power flying fourth-gen fighters as part of an extensive integrated air defense system. And Wilson was CO of a squadron that would challenge them in mere days. He thought of Trench as CAG continued.

“We’re getting a platoon of SEALs. These guys are available to you if you need them in your strike planning. I know you haven’t seen your folders yet, but I want you to know that you have the SEALS, and we expect them aboard today, or maybe tomorrow.”

CAG Matson looked at the Sierra squadron CO.

“Ed, I want you to be responsible for getting them a space to work out of and to stow their gear. And coordinate with the ship for berthing. You can expect one officer and one chief, the rest enlisted, for a total of 16. If you have the space, I’d have them hang out in your ready room and get to know your aircrews and vice versa. You Rustlers are going to be the delivery and extraction mechanism for these guys in the short term, so you need to be tied at the hip.”

“Yes, sir,” the Rustler skipper answered. CAG then turned to Wilson.

“Flip, the first strike package is going to San Ramón. You’re leading it. And, Not-o, I want you in that package, too. You’re going to have fifty-five aimpoints, ranging from knocking out EW and SAM radars to cutting the runway and destroying fighters in revetments and hardened shelters. This strike is designed to knock out their IADS in the eastern part of the country, and you’re going to have B-2s from Missouri and B-1s from South Dakota helping you. You’re going to need most everything on the flight deck, and, after you’re airborne, we’re gonna bring up birds from the hangar bay for a follow on raid at Río Salta. Billy, you’ve got that one, and you’re going to have to stay closely aligned to Flip’s plan.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilson and Billy both nodded. Holy shit! Wilson thought. Fifty-five aimpoints!

“After those two roundhouse punches to bring down their IADS, we’re going to chip away at their infrastructure to prevent them from gaining cash and to keep their merchant fleet bottled up. Most of their Navy is homeported in the Caracas region, and we can expect them to remain pier side. That doesn’t mean we can discount the potential for combatants underway in the RíoSalta area and throughout the gulf.”

Wilson raised his hand, already knowing the answer. “Sir, are we in a declared war?”

Matson frowned. “No… and this may be throttled back, but we have tasking to be ready to go with these packages in 72 hours. The Venezuelans still have our diplomat, and they are now threatening Aruba and Curacao which makes the Dutch wig out, the frickin’ Cubans are along the fence at GITMO, and who knows what the Russians are going to do tomorrow. These guys are all coordinated and screwing with us, so we are lifting the hammer in the air and waiting for the word to strike — or to set it down gently.” The officers in the room nodded their understanding.

“I think we’re going to do this,” CAG added, “and we need to be in that mindset. Now, go to CVIC and take a look at the folders. Then get your strike planning teams together. Admiral Davies is coming aboard, and tomorrow at this time I want you to give him lap-briefs on your plans. I don’t expect you to have all the answers, but make your briefs as tight as you can because, if you know Devil, he’s going to rip them apart. You guys need to look him in the eye with confidence. Just don’t bullshit him, or you’re dead — then I’m dead!”

The men chuckled as they took CAGs words to heart. Facing the Venezuelans would be easier than the wire brush they would experience from Devil.

“And guys, this might be accelerated, we might flex to operating around Cuba — who knows. So get your people ready, groom your aircraft, stand your alerts and Semper Gumby .”

The commanders left and proceeded to CVIC. Wilson’s folder was big, and, as he sifted through the satellite imagery of the aimpoints and expected threat locations, he knew he needed help to divvy up element responsibilities. He thought of the launch sequence, the tanking plan, the EW suppression plan… details that depended on where the ship was going to be, details he needed answers for now. He would have to drive it and hope he was supported. Some forty carrier aircraft — and big wing bombers, SEALs if he needed them. And he had less than 72 hours to plan and execute.

Shane walked up with a chart of Venezuela covered in acetate. It was marked with the known SAM threat rings. Before handing the chart to Wilson, she mumbled, “Sir.”

Wilson took it and said, “Thanks, Shane.”

“Yes, sir,” she said over her shoulder.

“Shane?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, turning around to face him.

“Please take a seat.”

She did as she was told and sat down across the table from her CO. With a forlorn look on her face, she waited for him to initiate the conversation.

“Shane, we are spinning up big time, and I’m leading a huge strike with double the number of aimpoints I’ve ever seen. I need help, your help, to make me and the rest of the squadron smart on their threats, their level of training, the weapons they employ.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We need you to teach us. Today. No time to lose.”

Shane struggled as she formed an answer. “Sir, I can’t face them. They’ve all seen me naked! And my own roommate told them. Please don’t make me stand in front of them. I’ll get the information you need, and—”

“Ensign Duncan, knock it off. ”

Shocked by Wilson’s abrupt rebuke, Shane looked at him with wide eyes.

“Are you a naval officer? Are you a warrior? Are you a woman, or are you a whiny schoolgirl? We are going into combat, in days, and we need your help. I don’t have time for the high-school Mickey Mouse about photos that you posed for. I don’t have time for who said what to whom. I’m commanding a strike-fighter squadron, and you are my Intel Officer. I am ordering you to give my squadron an order-of-battle briefing on Venezuela, and it had better be good. See Lieutenant Commander Armstrong and schedule it. Today. You’ve got hours to prepare. Now go.”

“Yes, sir!” a chastened Shane answered as she got up.

“We’ll revisit your concerns after this operation is over, but you’re in the big leagues. People can be hurt by real bullets.”

“Yes, sir!” she nodded as she turned to leave.

At that moment, the 1MC sounded; “ Ding, ding… ding, ding… ding, ding … Rear Admiral, United States Navy, arriving.”

Wilson checked the PLAT monitor on the bulkhead and saw the outline of a C-2 appear from the right side of the screen. It stabilized in the crosshairs as it made its approach to Coral Sea , hook down. With a thud it trapped aboard. The steel braided cable screeched as it was pulled from its housing and the turboprops went to full power. When the aircraft stopped, the prop pitch changed to idle, and the 1MC sounded again.

“ Ding. ”

Devil Davies was aboard.

From his stateroom desk, Wilson felt the ship roll in the long swells. He thought of the exchange with Shane and the tough love she had needed to snap out of it and to move forward. Once things spun down, he and Annie would follow up with Coach and Macho.

War with Venezuela was less than 72 hours away. He surmised they were already at war — undeclared, of course — but if any American unit encountered a Venezuelan ship or plane, it would be declared hostile in minutes.