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tc.redstormrising-第60部分

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 are okay and the hull's in good shape。 Mr。 Bice has the deck。 Mr。 Toland has the conn;〃 XO announced as he left。
Toland hadn't conned anything bigger than a Boston Whaler in over ten years; and now he had a damaged carrier。 He took a pair of binoculars and looked around to see what ships were nearby。 What he saw chilled him。
Saratoga was the only ship that looked intact; but on second glance her radar mast was askew。 Foch was lower in the water than she ought to have been; and ablaze from bow to stem。
〃Where's Saipan?〃
〃Blew up like a fucking firework;〃 mander Bice replied。 〃Holy Jesus; there were twenty…five hundred men aboard! Tico took one close aboard。 Foch took three hits; looks like she's gone。 Two frigates and a destroyer gone; too…just fucking gone; man! Who fucked up? You were in CIC; right? Who fucked up?〃
The eight French Crusaders were just making contact with the Backfires。 The Russian bombers were on afterburner and were nearly as fast as the fighters。 The carrier pilots had all heard their ship go off the air and were consumed with rage at what had happened; no longer the cool professionals who drove fighters off ships。 Only ten Backfires were within their reach。 They got six of them with their missiles and damaged two more before they had to break off。
USS Caron; the senior undamaged ship; tracked the Russians on her radar; calling Britain for fighters to intercept them on the trip home。 But the Russians had anticipated this; and detoured far west of the British Isles; meeting their tankers four hundred miles west of Norway。
Already the Russians were evaluating the results of their mission。 The first major battle of modem carriers and missile…armed bombers had been won and lost。 Both sides knew which was which。
The fire on Nimitz was out within an hour。 With no aircraft aboard; there were few bustibles about; and the ship's firefighting abilities equaled that of a large city。 Toland brought her back to an easterly course。 Saratoga was recovering aircraft; refueling them; and sending all but the fighters to the beach。 Three frigates and a destroyer lingered to recover survivors; as the large ships turned back toward Europe。
〃All ahead full;〃 Svenson ordered from his seat on the bridge。 〃Toland; you all right?〃
〃No plaints。〃 No point in it; the ship's hospital was more than full with hundreds of major injury cases。 There was no count of the dead yet; and Toland didn't want to think about that。
〃You were right;〃 the captain said; his voice angry and subdued。 〃You were right。 They made it too easy and we fell for it。〃
〃There'll be another day; Captain。;;
〃You're Goddamned right there will! We're heading for Southampton。
See if the Brits can fix anything this big。 My regulars are still busy aft。 Think you can handle the conn a little longer?〃
〃Yes; sir。 〃
Nimitz and her nuclear escorts bent on full speed; nearly forty knots; and rapidly left the formation behind。 A reckless move; racing too fast for antisubmarine patrols; but a submarine would have to move quickly indeed to catch them。

21 … Nordic Hammer

HILL 152; ICELAND
〃I know that was a fighter; and there had to be more than one;〃 Edwards said。 It was raining again; probably for the last time。 The clouds to the southwest were breaking up; and there was a hint of clear sky on the horizon。 Edwards just sat there in his helmet and poncho; staring into the distance。
〃I suppose you're right; sir;〃 Smith replied。 The sergeant was nervous。 They'd been on this hilltop for almost twenty…four hours; a long time to be stationary in hostile country。 The best time to move out would have been during the rain showers; when visibility was cut to a few hundred yards。 Soon the sky might be clear again; and it wouldn't get dark again for quite a while。 As it was; they sat on their hilltop in camouflage ponchos that kept them partly dry and wholly miserable。
There was a heavy shower north of them that prevented their seeing Reykjavik; and they could barely make out Hafnarfjordur to the west; which worried the sergeant; who wanted to know what Ivan was up to。 What if they detected Edwards's satellite radio and began to triangulate on it? What if there were patrols out?
〃Lieutenant?〃
〃Yeah; Sarge?〃
〃We got those phone lines on one side of us; and those power lines on the other〃
〃You want to blow some up?〃 Edwards smiled。
〃No; sir; but Ivan is going to start patrolling them soon; and this ain't a very good place for us to make contact。〃
〃We're supposed to observe and report; Sarge;〃 Edwards said without conviction。
〃Yes; sir。〃
Edwards checked his watch。 It was 1955Z。 Doghouse might want to talk with them; though they hadn't called in to him yet。 Edwards broke the radio out of the pack again; assembled the pistol…grip antenna; and donned his headset。 At 1959 he switched on and tracked in on the satellite carrier wave。
〃Doghouse calling Beagle。 Doghouse calling Beagle。 Do you copy? Over。〃
〃Well; how about that。〃 He toggled the Transmit switch。 〃Roger we're here; Doghouse。〃
〃Anything new to report?〃
〃Negative; unless you want to know about the rain。 Visibility is down。 We can't see very much。〃
The munications watch officer at Doghouse looked at a weather map。 So it really was raining there。 He hadn't been able to convince his boss that Beagle could be trusted。 Edwards had answered the questions that the counterintelligence guys had e up with。 They'd even had a voice…stress analyzer handy to check the tapes of his answers。 The needle had pegged on the last answer about his girlfriend。 That hadn't been faked。 Copies of the relevant parts of his personnel package had been faxed to them。 Upper fifth of his class at Colorado Springs。 Good in math and engineering studies; did extremely well in his post…graduation studies in meteorology。 His eyesight had worsened slightly during his tenure at Colorado Springs; being just bad enough to keep him from flying。 Regarded as quiet and shy; but evidently well liked by his classmates。 Not a warrior type; the psychological profile said。 How long would the kid last?

KEFLAVIK; ICELAND
One MiG…29 was flying。 The others were in the hardened shelters the Americans had only just finished at the end of runway eleven。 The fighter's mission was twofold。 It was a standing bat air patrol aircraft should an ining raid be detected; but more importantly; it was being tracked carefully by the ground radar controllers: their radar needed to be calibrated。 Iceland's irregular terrain made for troublesome radar performance; and as with the surface…to…air missiles; the instruments themselves had been badly jostled by the trip aboard the Fucik The fighter flew circles around the airport while the radar operators determined that what their instruments told them was correct。
The fighters were fully fueled and armed; their pilots resting on cots near them。 At the moment; the bowsers were fueling the Badger bomber that had given the fighters navigational and electronic support。 Soon it would be leaving to bring in nine more。 The Air Force detachment was rapidly finishing their job of clearing the airfield。 All but one of the runways was swept clear of fragments now。 The remains of the American aircraft had been bulldozed off the pavement。 The fuel pipeline would be repaired in an hour; the engineers said。
〃Quite a busy day;〃 the major said to the fighter mander。
〃It's not over yet。 I'll feel better when we get the rest of the regiment in;〃 the colonel observed quietly。 〃They should have hit us already。〃
〃How do you expect them to attack?〃
The colonel shrugged。 〃Hard to say。 If they're really serious about closing this field; they'll use a nuclear warhead。〃
〃Are you always so optimistic; rade Colonel?〃
The raid was an hour away。 The eighteen B…52H bombers had left Louisiana ten hours before and landed to refuel at Sondrestrom Air Force Base on Greenland's west coast。 Fifty miles ahead of them were a single Raven EF…111 jamming aircraft and four F…4 Phantoms configured for defense…suppression。

The radar was about halfway calibrated; though what had been done was the easy part。 The fighter that had just landed had flown racetrack ovals from due north around the western horizon to due south of Keflavik。 The area to the west of the air base; though not exactly flat; was nearly so; with low rocky hills。 Next came the hard part; plotting radar coverage of the eastern arc over Iceland's mountainous center; a solid collection of hills that worked up to the island's tall central peak。 Another Fulcrum rolled off the runway to begin this task; its pilot wondering how long it might take to map all the nulls…areas blanked to radar coverage by the steep valleys…areas that an attacking aircraft could use to mask its approach to Keflavik。
The radar officers were plotting probable troublesome spots on their topographical maps when an operator shouted a warning。 Their clear radar screens had just turned to hash from powerful electronic jammers。 That could mean only one thing。
The klaxons sounded in the fighter shelters at the end of runway eleven。 Fighter pilots who had been dozing or playing dominos jumped to their feet and raced to their aircraft。
The tower officer lifted the field phone to give more exact warning to the fighters; then called up the m
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