C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN
T
here was absolute silence in the Oval Office. They had been entranced by the words of the newscaster who stared back out of the screen, seemingly at each of them. The President and the men about him were visibly tired, their faces drawn, pouches expanding under their eyes.
. . . and we still have no direct statement from the White House concerning this apparent slaughter of American sailors in the Indian Ocean. The Pentagon remains quiet also. It is known that the Chief of Naval Operations has remained with the President and that Secretary of State Jasperson has been commuting between the White House and the office of an Assistant Chief of Naval Operations.
The information that has come from the Indian Ocean remains spotty at best. No commercial flights have been allowed over the area. Available reports have come from merchant shipping already in that part of the ocean. They indicate that sporadic aerial duels, unlike anything since World War II, have taken place with heavy losses on both sides. Huge forces of American and Soviet military ships have maneuvered back and forth between the Seychelle Islands to the east and the Maldives to the north, with the controversial Islas Piedras as a pivot point. These reports also indicate vast amounts of wreckage and oil in the ocean and some downed pilots from both nations have been picked up, although none of them have as yet been able to explain satisfactorily what is happening.
To this reporter, it seems time that the American people were given a report by the President they elected. Not since the Battle of Leyte Gulf in October 1944 have there been any naval forces of this magnitude in opposition to each other. From what we can gather, perhaps there has never been such loss of American fighting men—and for a reason that none of us knows. . . .
“Turn it off!”
“Yes, sir,” said one of the President's assistants, and the screen suddenly became blank.
called the mount captain and learned that Ensign Hogan was on his hands and knees in the mount looking for his contact. Why wouldn't he tell the gunnery officer before they scared that poor pilot to death? The mount captain explained that when Mr. Hogan had gone down on his hands and knees, he had taken off his sound-powered phone because the wires were caught around his neck.
“I put him in hack for two weekends for that,” Carter had said.
“Captain Hogan, you look exhausted. Please sit down,” Jasperson said. The man sat in a proffered chair, clutching an overstuffed briefcase as if it were a case of beer. Jasperson briefly introduced him to the men around the office.
What he had in the briefcase were .detailed photos of the latest engagement in the Indian Ocean. They had been blown up for those present, and they left no doubt about the destruction that had just taken place. Detailed photos of the attack on
Nimitz
showed much more than the earlier films relayed by a commercial TV unit. There was again silence around the room. The pictures told a story of horror that none would have imagined. Even Jasperson was momentarily taken aback, although he had known of the results of the battle earlier than anyone else in the Oval Office.
“She won't last, Mr. President.” This was the CNO looking at pictures of
Nimitz.
“If she doesn't go down on her own, Admiral Charles will have to sink her himself.”
The President said nothing. He was unimpressed with the photos of
Lenin's
destruction. His concern was with the American losses. The President rose from his desk and strolled over to the window behind to look at the garden for a moment. He could see himself in the same corner as Lyndon Johnson, his ego shattered. He didn't want to have to make a similar speech to the people, because he wanted to run again. How could the United States possibly be bluffing the Russians that the Islas Piedras installation was complete? Soviet intelligence was supposed to be equally Is good as his own. Maybe he should contact Simpson right now in Moscow and tell him to throw in the towel. No, negotiate was a better word. Jasperson was confident that this Admiral Charles could protect the island and drive the Russians back long enough to allow them to finish it. So far, all the photographs indicated was that the Russians were just as stubborn as the Americans and they were willing to take as much punishment to prove their point. There were too many inconsis tencies in his mind, and the uppermost was how all this would affect his career.
He turned to the Secretary of State. “Tom, I can't allow you eight more hours. There's no telling what the world will think of us.”
“Perhaps they will think badly of the Russians, sir.”
“Perhaps they will, but I don't think I can take that chance any longer. My position will be significantly weakened if the Soviets can get to that island and show just exactly what we're doing.”
So that's what's bothering him, thought Jasperson. He doesn't want to take any blame. “Mr. President, we have marines in the air now, from that exercise we had been conducting off the African coast.” He knew the President had been informed that what might be Russian troop-carrying submarines had been detected closing in on the island. “I doubt the Kremlin is aware of their presence. We had them out there specifically to protect any offensive challenge to the island's integrity. I assure you they won't capture Islas Piedras.”
It was Jasperson's strongest argument, the United States ability to keep the Soviets off Islas Piedras regardless of the finality of the sea battle. He didn't want to use his last personal argument with the President yet, not in front of his advisers. They would jump down the Secretary's throat at any inference that the President would be giving away the country or anything else. But the answer was obvious to Jasperson before the man spoke. His left hand squeezed the fingers on the right one until the knuckles were white. He had made the decision not to make a decision.
“Four more hours. That's all, then!”
The events of the past few hours had also made their impression on certain people in Moscow. The elation caused by the sinking of
Nimitz
had been short-lived for Gorenko. The loss of
Lenin
followed the first report by only moments.
Casualty reports were equally as hard to take. The Americans were just as tough as Alex had told him they would be. Stubborn was the word. They had developed some weapons of their own that had surprised the Russians and the unexpectedly heavy loss of ships was devastating. Gorenko wondered almost aloud to himself if maybe Admiral Collier's cockiness was based on a completed Islas Piedras missile installation. No, it couldn't be, he tried to convince himself. They had been following the construction too long. How could the Americans have built every thing underground without intelligence showing this happening? They weren't moles! And there was no way they could sneak the missiles in. That was pure fabrication on Collier's part. Although, if Gorenko could design troop-carrying submarines, why couldn't someone develop cargo-carrying submarines?
Ridiculous, he decided. The only way they were going to prove what the Americans were really up to was to take that island and show the world that the Americans were building a missile system that would perpetrate aggression in the Third World. It was time to send them home.
He pressed a button on his desk and, when an aide entered, he gave the order. United States defenses were minimal on the island. The Americans, he knew, had never projected the possibility of an attack that would not come over the water. Those submarines contained a specially trained force of marines, some of them the sons of those fine soldier/sailors he had commanded so many years ago against the Germans. They would encounter little opposition in securing Islas Piedras.
While Gorenko was issuing these orders, Bob Collier decided that he would have to contact Admiral Carter directly, in plain language, to find out what had transpired. Too many hours had passed since his last meeting with Admiral Gorenko. There must have been more action in the Indian Ocean. Since there was no change in the guards outside the embassy, he had to assume it was still a stalemate. But he could do no more until he learned what David Charles's forces were accomplishing. The fact that Gorenko's people would be listening to the conversation no longer bothered him. They would be as aware of the casualty reports, and he already knew enough of the events preceding the confrontation. He could follow his own intuition from that point on. But he must be sure whether one side or the other was gaining an advantage. The short conversation that ensued answered the questions he and Ambassador Simpson needed to know.
And in another part of the Kremlin, where political decisions are made, the Party Secretary had decided to call Admiral Gorenko. It was to authorize the orders that would move the submarine that was in the Strait of Hormuz. It was the one that had puzzled David Charles before any of the conflict had begun. It was conventionally powered, seemingly on an independent patrol to nowhere, well away from the forces that had clashed. He had no idea at the time that it was an integral part of the Russian strategy, and even Alex Kupinsky had been unaware of its existence. It was a mine layer, and it was fully loaded with the most advanced mines known to man. They could be activated by radio and controlled by an operator far away, or they could be left on their own, preset for various depths and activated by passing ships.
In this case, it was the latter, since Gorenko had convinced the Secretary that it would be more impressive and would automatically halt traffic. And it was an easy way to enhance the idea of the Americans as aggressors. Washington knew about the sub, obviously, but their denying it as their own would be hard for the United Nations to swallow considering the Secretary's speech and the fact that the United States did control Islas Piedras and did have a vital interest in the OPEC nations. Gorenko and the Secretary knew this was their trump card. The Strait controlled the Gulf of Oman and the Persian Gulf. Lining these waters were such places as Kuwait, the Federation of Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Iran, and Iraq. Loss of this supply by the United States and its control by the Soviets would shift the balance nicely. Quietly their orders were carried out.
While the Russian subs were quiet, they found no reason to try to surprise the Americans completely. They knew that the Islas Piedras defenders were aware of their presence, and possibly even knew that the subs were probably there for offensive purposes. But they never suspected that American intelligence had known about the development of these troop carriers. Impressed with American ingenuity in lifting combat troops to just about any part of the world on short notice, Gorenko had decided that submarines were an excellent method of getting his marines into position for small forays. He did not plan to police the world, but Russian marines should be able to get to trouble spots unobtrusively, particularly when that trouble spot could be planned well in advance.
They were nuclear powered and large, an offshoot of the missile-carrying subs. Their purpose was to carry a large number of marines with their weapons, but without the heavy equipment required for prolonged operations. These were shock troops, hit and run. They were to hit a beach, accomplish a mission, and get out. if that objective had to hold for a longer time, then regular troops would be brought in.
On receipt of their orders, the subs raced in at high speed from their position approximately one hundred miles off the island. This allowed the marines just enough time to ready themselves.
Periscope investigation showed no signs of preparation on the Americans' part. The subs literally grounded themselves after surfacing, bringing the marines as close to shore as possible. From a number of hatches in the hull, squads of marines emerged to leap into automatically inflated rubber boats, bringing with them small high-powered motors to quickly propel the small craft to shore.
At about the time the boats were reaching the beach, the helos that had been waiting on the other side of Islas Piedras rose to assist the U.S. Marines who now appeared, as if from nowhere, to meet this attack. If the two forces had met each other head on in a ground situation, it would have been difficult to say which might have been the victor. Both were superbly trained for this type of action, professionals who enjoyed testing these skills. But the American helicopters were the reason that the Russians never had a chance.
There had not been reports of many helos by Soviet intelligence, let alone of trained marines. They were gunships. Combined with the marines on shore, they offered more firepower and maneuverability than the Soviets could handle. The boats not already on shore were strafed. The troops that had made it to the beach were hit with rocket fire from the air and a variety of small arms from the defenders.
It was over quickly. When the major in charge of the marine detachment was sure his men could clean up the remnants of the Russian force, the helos were released to chase the submarines that had brought the landing force. But the silent black boats had slipped away as soon as they saw there would be nobody to bring home.
Upon receipt of the proper signal from Moscow, the submarine on the southeast of the Gulf of Oman had proceeded on a north-northwest course to the Strait of Hormuz. On arrival at a preset location, it carefully seeded the Strait with its new mines. No ship could now enter or depart the Persian Gulf.
During all this efficient operation, there was only one item overlooked. A junior communications officer was to have notified all ports in the Persian Gulf that Russia suspected an American sub had seeded the Strait. Later investigation seemed to settle on the fact that an announcement the next day at the United Nations would be time enough. No one bothered to check ship departures;
The S.S.
Prince of Peace,
of Liberian registry, was one of the two largest ships to ever sail the oceans of the world. When fully laden, she contained 750,000 tons of oil spread equally in her five giant tanks. She was over 1,400 feet long, more than a quarter of a mile, and her beam measured 240 feet, only twenty yards less than a football field. Her most impressive statistic was hidden when she was fully loaded, for the
Prince of Peace
spread below the surface of the ocean like an iceberg with her 100-foot draft.