The Command

Tiger, the patrol aircraft, was data-linking two tracks thirty miles west of Horn’s box. They were moving fast, almost thirty knots, in a smoothly altering course that JOTS shortly revealed as a weave twenty degrees to either side of the base course. One contact was echeloned back from the other. Dan contemplated this for several seconds, getting an uneasy sense he’d seen it before. Or read about it… a red-backed book, on the right side of the page…. Strange how he could remember where on the page but not the title of the volume.

“Have we got voice with the patrol aircraft?”

“Intermittently. He’s at the edge of VHF range.”

All at once he remembered what he’d read about that weave. It was a Soviet tactic, one they’d passed on to the forces they’d trained.

It was the way a strike group of missile craft approached a surface barrier patrol, screening the approach of a higher-value unit behind them.

“Ask him to look behind them. About fifteen miles behind.” Dan picked up the phone beside his chair and ratcheted the barrel switch, by feel, fast, clickclickclickclick. “This is the skipper,” he told the bridge. “General quarters, no drill, right now.”

As that was going out, the incoming track data showed a sudden drop in speed. At the same time the petty officer on the ESM stack, the electronic listening gear, yelled, “Square Tie radar, bearing two-five-two, threat close.”

The assistant TAO, Kim McCall, was going through the pubs, but Dan already knew what that meant. Odds were their contacts were Osas or Komars. Small, fast missile boats the Soviets had provided to their third world clients by the dozen. Komars had sunk the Eilat, an Israeli destroyer, not many miles from where Horn was right now. Cheap to build, fast, and packing two to four heavy, huge warheaded missiles.

The 1MC cut loose, so loud it hurt his ears. “General quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill.” The alarm cut in, the rapid electronic note that haunted the dreams of every man who’d ever heard it for real. “Traffic route is up and forward, starboard side; down and aft, port side. Set material condition Zebra throughout the ship … I say again, general quarters, general quarters. All hands man your battle stations.”

The intruders seemed to be slowing. Now he had them at ten knots, same base course. He told Camill to set emission control, shutting down the radars except for single sweeps on order. They passed that to the bridge, and a moment later it came over the 1MC as well. Watertight doors slammed. He tucked his pants cuffs into his socks, strapped on his gas mask carrier. The compartment was a bustle of others doing the same, the general quarters team coming on and getting briefed up. Fortunately, Camill was the tactical action officer for general quarters, so he didn’t have to turn over or brief anyone, just stayed where he was. Dan saw perspiration reflect blue light between the stubble of his incipient hair.

The radar pictures faded to blank screens. Dan didn’t plan to stay in electronic silence, but he wanted to see what these guys had in mind before he laid out his hand. If they were what he thought, they’d be searching out ahead for a target. So far, thanks to the patrol aircraft, he knew about them, while at thirty miles they probably hadn’t detected him yet.

“Okay, Kim, where are they from?”

“For the Med region the pub lists Russia, Algeria, Bulgaria, Croatia, Egypt, Iraq, Libya, Syria, Yemen, and Yugoslavia as having Osas and Komars.”

“That doesn’t cut it down much.” But this close to the southern shore, he guessed Egypt or Libya, with Iraq, Algeria, or Yemen more distant possibilities. He slid out of the chair and stood beside Camill studying the display at close range. So far they showed as unidentified. As he watched, Horn’s transmitted input took effect, rippling change into the data readouts. “See if Tiger’s willing to go over there and get some visual ID. Infrared. A side number or something.”

“We could launch Blade Slinger, if they can’t. Get a better targeting solution, if we need it.”

“If they see us launch a fast mover, they’ll know we’re a combatant. Don’t send it voice, either. Send it on the data link.”

They’d drilled all this so many times, it was so much second nature now, that even though most of the crew had been in their bunks, barely six minutes passed before the 21MC said, “Captain, Officer of the Deck. Battle stations manned and ready, Zebra set throughout the ship, time six minutes fifteen seconds. Emcon condition bravo set throughout the ship.”

“Very well.” Dan studied the display. Even though his own radars were shut down, he was getting data from Tiger, from Moosbrugger, and also from Kocatepe, the former USS Reasoner, which had the box directly to the north of them. The intruders were speeding up again, but had stopped weaving. He brought Horn to a course that would take her across their path.