End Game (34 page)

“Are they OK?”

“Yes. I think the attack on the platform may have started things off, but it's hard to sort it out,” Jed added.

“That's immaterial right now, Jed. What's the status of the Indian nuclear units?”

“They're one step below launch.”

“Is the Dreamland mission still viable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm on my way back. I'll alert the President. He may arrive before I do. Hang in there, Jed.”

Barclay put down the phone.

“Indian missile site at Bhatinda has just gone to launch warning,” said Jordan, reading from the NSA screen.

“Warning? Do we have that area on satellite?”

“There,” said the image interpreter, pointing to the display. “They're getting ready to launch.”

Jed reached for the button to key into the Dreamland communications network.

“Launch in Pakistan!” yelled Jordan. “My God, they're really going to try and end the world!”

Aboard the
Wisconsin
,
over the northern Arabian Sea
15 January 1998
0538

C
LEAR OF THE
I
NDIAN FIGHTERS AND THEIR MISSILES
, D
OG
began climbing over the water, trying to sort out exactly what was going on. More than a dozen missiles had been launched at the Chinese aircraft carrier, which was beginning to respond with anticruise missiles.

The Dreamland circuit buzzed.

“Colonel, we have a missile launch,” said Jed Barclay, his words running together. “Go to End Game. I will stay on the line and update you.”

“Bastian acknowledges, End Game is authorized,” said the colonel calmly. “I need the status of Chinese aircraft carrier
Deng Xiaoping
.”

“Tai-shan order has not been given. Repeat, Tai-shan has not been given.”

That meant that the electronic “ferret” satellite had not yet picked up the order authorizing the launch of the nuclear-equipped aircraft. But that wasn't enough.

“Jed, I need to know specifically that those aircraft are not on the hangar deck,” said Dog.

“I am looking at the U-2 image now. Neither plane is on deck.”

“Then I'm proceeding with End Game,” said Dog.

“Acknowledged,” said Jed.

Dog hit the preset under the screen; Tommy Chu, the pi
lot of
Dreamland Fisher
, appeared on the screen.

“Tommy, End Game has been authorized.
Wisconsin
and
Levitow
will proceed overland. I want you to take up station and be prepared to deal with the
Deng Xiaoping
's planes if the Chinese order Tai-shan to proceed.”

“
Fisher
acknowledges. Colonel, I'm roughly ten minutes from the radar platform on my present course. Should I go ahead with the drop or not?”

“I don't want you taking unnecessary risks. Tai-shan is higher priority.”

“Understood, Colonel. But my best course at this point to avoid both aircraft carrier groups will take me right past the platform. And frankly, I think I'd do better without the manpods on my wings.”

“Have Danny check with Captain Gale on the
Abner Read
and find out the status of the Sharkboat he sent. Danny's not to proceed without coordination from the Sharkboat, and approval from Gale. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If it looks too risky, call it off. Drop the pods near the
Abner Read.
If Danny gives you grief, refer him to me.”

“You got it, Colonel.”

“Bastian out.” Dog hit the preset to connect with
Levitow
. Breanna's face appeared on the screen.

“End Game has been authorized,” he told her. “What's your position?”

“We're approaching the Indian coast, thirty miles north of Mumbai. We'll go from here.”

Dog realized she was much farther south than they'd planned. Distancewise, that wouldn't be much of a problem. But it would take them much closer to the Indians' most fearsome antiaircraft defenses.

“We've turned off our radar,” she added. “We'll make it, Daddy.”

For once he didn't mind that she called him that.

“I know you will. Check back in five.”

“Roger that.”

 

M
I
G T
WO
'
S NOSE HAD JUST COME INTO
C
ANTOR
'
S VIEW
screen when Colonel Bastian announced that they were going back over India. He stayed on course, closing to a mile before he got the signal from the computer that he had a shot. He pressed the trigger, releasing a hail of bullets for the MiG to fly into. Rather than turning to finish off his prey as he'd planned, he pulled back east, racing parallel to the
Wisconsin.

“Didja get him, kid?” asked Mack.

“No.”

“You got him away from us. That's the main thing.”

“Thanks,” said Cantor, surprised that Mack was trying to sound encouraging.

The Megafortress's flight plan would take them toward the Thar desert, a vast wasteland between Pakistan and India. They would be crossing Pakistani territory as well, which meant that they would be exposed to two American I-Hawk antiaircraft batteries as well as a number of Russian-made ones on the Indian side.

A more immediate threat, especially as far as Cantor was concerned, were the fighters both sides were hurling into the air. The second flight of Indian MiGs that had scrambled earlier were coming north, and the four Pakistani F-16s they'd detected were approaching the border directly in their path.

“I'll worry about the Indians,” Cantor told Mack. “You've got the F-16s.”

“Yeah, I was about to say the same thing, kid.”

“You remember the Fort Cherry exercise? Same thing. You can let the computer program the attack route, because it'll look that encounter up. It's based on Pakistani tactics in a four-ship group that Zen taught during—”

“I don't need Professor Zen's pointers, kid,” said Mack.

Typical Mack, thought Cantor. Just when you thought he'd stopped being a jerk, he rubbed your nose in it.

Aboard the
Abner Read
,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0538

T
HE EXPLOSION BUFFETED THE
W
EREWOLF
,
BUT WAS TOO FAR
away to do any damage. By the time Starship recovered and circled back to see what had happened, two of the legs holding the radar platform had collapsed. The structure tilted forward, as if about to dive head first into the water. One of the large antenna towers had fallen; the other two were twisted sideways.

The submarines sat on the surface between a mile and two miles from the platform. Starship dropped his speed and began a slow arc around them to the northeast. There were several aircraft nearby, Pakistani and Chinese, but as yet no one seemed to have reacted to either him or the boats.

“Eyes—they've hit the tower. The radar platform has been destroyed. You want me to stop these guys? They're boarding the submarines. I see two more small boats. One of the subs is moving.”

Starship could choose between six Hellfire missiles, two 30mm chain guns, and a pair of 7.62 machine guns to use against the submarines. He opted for the Hellfires, whose shaped warheads would slice easily through their hulls. But he still needed permission to fire.

“Werewolf to Tac Commander, am I authorized to fire on these submarines? Am I supposed to stop them from getting away or what?”

“Go ahead,” said Eyes finally.

Starship reached his right hand to the rollerball controlling the cursor for the laser designator, zeroed in on the nearest sub, and clicked to lock the target. Then he fired two missiles. The missiles rode a laser beam from the Werewolf down to the sub, zeroing in on the cue like a Walker foxhound chasing its prey in an overgrown field. The first Hellfire hit with a wallop of steam; the second Hellfire rolled into the fog.

“Starship, what the hell are you doing?” yelled Eyes.

“Taking out the submarines.”

“Belay that—
stop!
I haven't given you the order. Hold your fire.”

“You just said go ahead.”

“I wasn't telling you to attack. I thought you wanted to talk to me. We need authorization from the captain.”

“I don't have it?”

“Negative, negative. Hold your fire.”

“Roger that. Holding fire.”

Starship circled the Werewolf farther from the submarines. The first craft had disappeared. The other two were moving to the north.

He knew he'd asked, and he knew what he'd heard. The stinking Navy could never make up its mind.

No, it was just Eyes.

“What's your situation, Airforce?” asked Storm, coming on the line.

“Captain, the radar platform has been destroyed by a commando attack. There are three submarines to the north. I fired on one thinking I had been ordered to do so.”

“What are the others doing?”

“Moving to the north.”

“Our intention is to seize the submarines. See if you can keep them on the surface.”

“I'll try, sir. But it's possible my gunfire will sink them.”

“Do your best, Airforce.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

 

S
TORM
'
S UNIFORM WAS SOAKED FROM THE BLAST AND HE
'
D
cut his face and hands. Two other men had been hurt; one had a severe head wound and was in serious condition in sickbay.

The blast started a very small leak above the belt line of the ship. The damage had already been repaired, and only a small amount of water had gotten in.

Storm wanted to launch an immediate counterattack on
the Indian carrier—he wanted to show the bastards what happened when you attacked a U.S. Navy ship. But they were out of range for the Harpoons.

That could be fixed.

“Eyes, we're going south,” he said over the intraship com system. “Where is that Indian aircraft carrier?”

“Storm, we have to stay in range of the Chinese carrier's aircraft, to back up the Dreamland people.”

“I know what my damn orders are, Commander.” Storm's head began to pound. His anger was flaring. This is what happens when you're a nice guy, he thought. Your subordinates take you for granted.

He would get his way, no matter what. But he had to be careful about it, had to be clever—yes, the way Bastian was clever, always covering his butt and making it seem as if he was in the right.

He'd already been fired on, and feared for the safety of his people.

His head pounded.

And he had a mission—he was supposed to get that submarine.

“We have an operation under way,” Storm told Eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain. “I want to protect my Sharkboat.”

“Should I order them to come back?”

“No—I want that submarine. They're to get it.”

“Captain, I'd advise calling the mission off.”

“Thank you for your advice, Eyes.” Storm turned to the helmsman. “Take us east. Stay close enough to launch on the
Deng
's aircraft if we have to.”

“Heading, Captain?”

“South.” Storm looked down at the holographic display. The Megafortress had gone inland; there was no more long-range view of the ships and aircraft in the area. He thumbed the display back, found the
Shiva
's last known position and gave the heading to Helm.

His headset buzzed.

“Dreamland Whiplash team trying to contact you, Colonel,” said the communications officer. “Looking for a go/no go on the platform.”

“It's go.” Storm punched into the line. “Is this Freah?”

“Freah.”

“This is Captain Gale aboard the
Abner Read
. What's your status?”

“We're roughly ten minutes from the radar platform,” said Danny. “I need your approval to proceed.”

Storm checked his impulse, but just barely. He knew he had to think, to consider, not react—but it was damn hard with his head pounding.

“You're aboard a Megafortress or the Osprey?” he asked.

“Megafortress. The Osprey is three hours behind,” said Danny. “Do you want us to proceed?”

“Damn straight I do.”

“Good. We're on a low-altitude approach, flying without our long-range radar,” continued the Air Force Whiplash leader. “We don't believe we've been detected. What's the status of your Sharkboat?”

“I'm going to order them in,” said Storm.

Had he already done that? He couldn't remember.

Think. Make your decisions in a calm, reasonable manner.

Ten minutes might be too long. The submarines would be under the surface by then, and the Sharkboat lacked the sensors needed to pick it up.

“If the submarines dive, the Sharkboat won't be able to find them,” Storm said. “We need Piranha to locate them.
Wisconsin
was operating them but had to leave the area.”

“Ensign English will take control of the probe,” said Danny. “She'll find it.”

He couldn't control every variable. If Freah was willing to take the chance, so was he.

He was
more
than willing. He wanted that sub.

And he wanted the Indian carrier as well. Which he was going to get.

“Very good, Captain,” said Storm. “Proceed. I'll let the Sharkboat know you're on your way. Eyes will liaison in Tac.”

Aboard the
Shiva
,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0538

M
EMON STARED AT THE SHADOWY SEA
,
HIS EYES LOSING THEIR
focus. Reports from the first wave of attacks on the Chinese carrier were just coming in. Remembering how overly optimistic the news had been during the last attack, Memon resolved not to believe them. He made his face into a stone mask, impassive.

“First missile has missed. Second missile—we've lost contact.”

“Aircraft are attacking the Chinese helicopter—one shot down.”

One of the Chinese escort ships fired back. Two flights of Chinese aircraft had made it past the Indian screening aircraft and were attacking. A flight of Pakistani F-16s was being engaged to the north by shore-based planes.

Admiral Skandar listened impassively to the chatter from the radio and the ship's intercom systems. “Battle is a struggle against chaos,” he told Memon.

“Enemy missiles launched! On their way!”

Something squeezed Memon's stomach, and he felt tears stream from his eyes.

Aboard the
Wisconsin,
above the northern Arabian Sea
0540

A
T FIRST THE
P
AKISTANI
F-16
S SHOWED NO INTEREST IN THE
Wisconsin
. Mack stayed close to the Megafortress; he was starting to get low on fuel and was more than willing to let
the planes go if they didn't want to tango. But as the F-16s got to within twenty miles, a pair veered in the direction of the EB-52, starting what Mack interpreted as a maneuver to get behind the Megafortress. He swung out to meet them.