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