Executive Intent (33 page)

A
BOARD THE
R
USSIAN
F
EDERATION
N
AVY
A
IRCRAFT
C
ARRIER
V
LADIMIR
V
LADIMIROVICH
P
UTIN

T
HAT SAME TIME

“Aircraft is slowing to six hundred seventy kilometers per hour, Captain,” the radar technician reported. “Still at ten thousand meters.”

“Very long-range, very high, very big plane, too fast for an unmanned patrol plane—it has to be an American bomber,” the tactical action officer said. He and the rest of the battle management team was in the Combat Information Center aboard the
Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin,
steaming westward toward Aden, Yemen, in the Gulf of Aden. The Combat Information Center was filled with computer monitors; a team of fifteen enlisted and two officers manned the
Putin
's radars and optical sensors and controlled the ship's weapons. “The fighters should intercept in a few minutes.”

“I'll notify the admiral,” the commanding officer of the
Putin
said. He picked up the “Red Phone,” which tied directly to the flag bridge. “Inbound patrol plane from the east, Admiral. We will intercept in a few minutes. Probably an American long-range bomber.”

“Not one of their Global Hawks, Captain?” the admiral asked.

“We will have visual identification shortly, sir. It appears to be traveling faster and at a lower altitude than the Global Hawks, and faster than a naval patrol plane.”

“Very well. Let me know if they do anything unusual. All defensive systems ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain hung up the phone. “I am surprised they
can spare any bombers to harass us,” he said. “Gryzlov blew most of them into hell, and Gardner canceled the American Next Generation Bomber program in favor of more carriers. Yet here they are.”

“Standard procedures, sir?”

“Yes, standard procedures,” the captain said. “Radar silent, passive sensors only, plenty of videotape so we can complain about being harassed once again. Let the Americans have their fun. I am going topside to take some pictures.”

 

The admiral in charge of the Russian navy task force in the Gulf of Aden lit up a cigarette, then lifted another telephone before him on the instrument panel of the flag bridge. He had three watertight computer monitors, showing him radar images.

“This is Central,” a voice on the other end of the line said. “Admiral?”

“I was ordered to report when the American patrol plane approached the task force,” he said.

“And?”

“We do not have positive visual contact, but it appears to be flying faster and lower than the unarmed American Global Hawks.”

“You are talking in circles, Admiral,” the voice said curtly.

“What is it?”

“I believe it to be an American long-range bomber,” the admiral replied. “The Americans have a few B-1 and B-2 bombers stationed in Diego Garcia and occasionally in Bahrain and the United Arab Emirates.”

“Very well. Stand by.” And the line went dead.

 

The senior controller turned to General Andrei Darzov, who was in his command post at his headquarters in Moscow. “The task
force has made contact with a large patrol plane to their east, believed to be an American long-range bomber, sir,” he said.

Darzov nodded, then picked up a telephone before him. “Mr. President, the Americans are sending their air patrols in. It does not appear to be an unmanned plane, but a bomber.”

“A bomber?” Russian president Igor Truznyev exclaimed. “Do they mean to attack the task force?”

“No, sir. I believe it is a typical show-of-force tactic. The typical profile is a high pass, followed by a low-altitude flyby.”

“And what are we doing while the Americans are allowed to do this so-called typical routine, General?”

“Well…very little, sir,” Darzov said. “We do not want to show any capabilities to the Americans. We usually turn off all radars except for standard search radars. Since the carrier
Putin
is part of the task force, we will scramble fighters to intercept, but they stay radar-silent. We usually photograph the intercept, but allow the plane to inspect the fleet. As part of our agreement, the Americans transmit air-traffic control codes and talk with our controllers.”

“And what is the American plane doing while we do nothing?” Truznyev asked, surprise in his voice.

“They fly around, take photographs and radar images, try to record any electromagnetic emissions,” Darzov said. “It is what the Americans call a ‘photo opportunity.' The plane will probably make a showy pass near the carrier, wag its wings, and be gone. It is all for show, sir.”

“I do not understand any of this,” Truznyev said. Then, after a short pause: “And I do not allow it. Keep that bomber away from the task force, General.”

“But, sir…this has all been agreed in advance,” Darzov said. “Our air attaché in Washington coordinates all this with their Pentagon. One plane, air-traffic control codes, a simple flyby, no overflight, no visible weapons, no open bomb doors, no supersonic flight, no electronic jamming—it is all very routine—”

“I do not care, General,” Truznyev said. “I do not like pretending we accept or allow the Americans to fly attack aircraft near our fleet. If it is confirmed as an attack plane, I want it kept away from the task force…by any means necessary.”

“Including deadly force, sir?” Darzov asked incredulously.

“Including deadly force, General,” Truznyev insisted. “What is the range of an American air-launched antiship cruise missile?”

“Uh…uh…” Darzov had to struggle to recall the information: “The American Harpoon antiship missile has a range of about one hundred kilometers when launched from low altitude—”

“Fine. If the bomber comes within
two
hundred kilometers, use any means necessary to chase it away.”

“But, sir, free navigation of the skies and seas never prohibits an aircraft from flying that close unless—”

“Two hundred kilometers away if it is an attack aircraft, General,” Truznyev said finally. “No nation flies near our task force with impunity. The Americans believe they can fly their spacecraft and bombers anywhere they wish and it is all just a ‘photo opportunity'? I
will
teach them differently.”

 

Just as the captain finished his logbook entries and turned to head topside, the Red Phone beeped. He snatched it up immediately. “Yes, Admiral?”

“Change in procedures, Captain,” the admiral said. “Keep weapons tight, but full tactical engagement procedures, air and surface. Repeat, full tactical engagement, weapons tight. If it is a bomber, keep it two hundred kilometers away from the task force. Advise me as soon as visual identification is made.”

“Excuse me, sir, but you want to radiate with what is probably an American bomber coming at us?” the captain asked. “If it's a bomber, they can probably analyze our signals.”

“Orders direct from Moscow,” the admiral said. “They say they anticipated a patrol plane such as a Global Hawk. The bomber is a serious provocation, and they want to hit them with everything. Acknowledge my orders.”

“Understood, sir,” the captain said after a moment of shock. “Weapons tight, full tactical engagement air and surface, keep bomber aircraft away two hundred kilometers from the task force.” The admiral rang off, and the captain hung up. “TAO, weapons tight, full tactical engagement procedures, air and surface.”

The tactical action officer turned to the captain in complete surprise. “Sir?”

“You heard me, Commander,” the captain said. “Acknowledge and report by all stations that weapons are tight. If it is a bomber, it is to be kept at least two hundred kilometers away from the outer ships of the task force.”

The TAO swallowed, then said, “Weapons tight, full tactical engagement, air and surface, two hundred kilometers if it is a bomber,” he repeated. “All stations, all stations, this is the TAO, check weapons status and report.”

 

After Truznyev hung up the phone with Darzov, he dialed another number himself. When the private secure line was answered, he said without preamble or greeting, “I have just decided to twist the tiger's tail in the Gulf of Aden, Premier Zhou. Alert your task force that there is about to be some activity out there.”

A
BOARD THE
EB-1C V
AMPIRE
B
OMBER

T
HAT SAME TIME

A yellow triangle appeared on the nose of the Su-33's icon on the display. “Bandit's radiating,” Frodo said. “He'll be locked on in three minutes.”

“American patrol aircraft, we are tracking you on radar at this time,” the Russian pilot said a few minutes later. “Be advised, you are approaching a Russian military naval task force at your twelve o'clock position. Unidentified aircraft are not permitted to fly near Russian warships. You must alter course at least thirty degrees immediately or you may be fired upon. Acknowledge.”

“Russian patrol aircraft, this is a routine patrol mission,” Boxer said, shaking her head in confusion. “We intend to do a visual inspection of your ships in international waters. We're complying with your communications requirements.”

“Fracture, Armstrong,” Gonzo reported from Armstrong Space Station, “bandits are speeding up, five hundred…six hundred…seven hundred knots…going supersonic. Intercept in about three minutes.”

“They're going
supersonic
?” Frodo asked nervously. “What's going on?”

“It's all for show,” Boxer said. “At that speed, they'll have us in sight for about two seconds, they'll waste fifty miles turning around to chase us, and they'll be burning gas like crazy.”

“But…but that must mean that—”

“Fracture, Armstrong, we've got two more lifting off from the carrier,” Gonzo reported.

“—that they'll have to launch more planes after us,” Frodo said, finishing his thought with a slight crack in his voice. At that moment a separate window opened up on Frodo's large supercockpit
display, and it showed two more Sukhoi-33 fighters taxiing onto the aircraft carrier
Vladimir Putin
's forward catapults, with two more behind the blast deflectors, getting ready to hook up to the catapults as well. It was the data being passed down from the space station. “Is that happening right
now
?”

“Now it's starting to get interesting,” Boxer said, and suddenly she didn't feel like cracking jokes anymore. “We're getting your imagery, Armstrong,” she radioed.

“We'll have that satellite feed for only about sixty seconds, Fracture, and after that our sensor coverage will be spotty for the next thirty minutes,” Gonzo said. “You really stirred them up. You might want to think about getting out of there. Your tanker is at your five o'clock, three hundred ninety miles in the refueling anchor.”

“Not quite yet, Armstrong,” Boxer said. “I think we somehow hurt their feelings—I want to see what they're going to do about it.”

“X-band radar in high-PRF lock-on,” Frodo reported as he watched the intercept on his passive electromagnetic threat detector. The high-PRF, or pulse-rate frequency, meant that the Sukhoi-33's radar was solidly locked onto the Vampire. “Passing off to the left. Why are they locking us up, Boxer?”

“Fracture, first formation will be passing below and to your left…now.” Boxer didn't see anything. The threat detectors depicted the two Russian carrier jets streak past them, and moments later they felt two sharp burbles as the twin supersonic shock waves passed.

“Christ, that was
close,
” Frodo breathed.

“Fracture, second formation is closing at six hundred knots, two hundred miles,” Gonzo reported. “Third formation is on the catapults. We're losing full-time coverage.”

“Copy, Armstrong,” Boxer said. “Frodo, let's set the LADAR to intermittent.”

“LADAR radiating,” Frodo said, trying to keep his voice steady. In “Intermittent” mode, the Vampire's laser radar would broadcast for a second or two every ten to fifteen seconds to get a better picture of the intercept, but avoid being tracked by the Russians in case they had laser detectors. The supercockpit display clearly showed all the players now, even tracking the fighters behind the Vampire and identifying the aircraft on the
Putin
's deck getting ready to launch and the rescue helicopters hovering beside the carrier in case of an emergency.

“We've got a real furball forming here now,” Boxer commented. “These guys are serious.”

 

“Admiral, it is an American B-1 bomber,” the captain of the
Putin
said on the direct line to the flag bridge. “They are on the fleet reserve frequency and are transmitting air-traffic codes as directed by our controllers, as agreed in the Memorandum of Understanding.”

“I do not want an American bomber anywhere near this task force, Captain!” the admiral shouted. “Get him away from here!”

“But, sir, are they not permitted free navigation over international waters? How can we—”

“I told you, Captain, I do not want that plane anywhere near this task force,” the admiral said. “They might decide to shoot a cruise missile in our direction, like the damned Chinese did to the Americans. Get it away from here,
now
!”

 

“We're approaching two hundred miles to the carrier, Boxer,” Frodo said, “and one-ninety to the first escort. We—”

And at that moment they heard,
“Caution, caution, target tracking mode, Sukhoi-33, five o'clock, nineteen miles.”