Terminal Run

Ericcson lit the cigar and stood deep in thought. “Calculate the transit time for a time-on-target cruise missile attack on the ships in the Suez Canal, the approaches to the canal from the Med and the Red Sea channels, assuming we put down ten ships here, fifteen here, and twenty here,” Ericcson said, using the Partagas as a pointer.

“Large bore Equalizers?”

Ericcson nodded.

“How close a tolerance on detonation time, Admiral?”

“Five minutes.”

Pulaski shook his head. “Missiles would be flying all night, sir. We’re right at the edge of the range circle. It’s coming out at six and a half hours time-of-flight from launch number one. By the time they get there, their targets are far over the horizon.”

“We won’t target them until late. Their last fifteen minutes inbound.”

“That’s a lot of telemetry, sir. There’s forty-five missiles inbound. If the weather degrades and we don’t have a clear overhead shot, or if the satellites are out of position, or there’s a problem receiving your signal, we could risk the whole missile battery.”

“We could give them a backup targeting zone and then confirm their individual targets close-in. They would fly for where we want explosions and if they don’t hear from us, they can seek out tankers or ships where we want detonations, and if they do hear from us, they get a target in the last minutes of flight.”

Pulaski smiled. “Perfect. The Suez becomes blocked by tanker wrecks, the Brits are bottled up in the Med, and you’ve just bought us two or three weeks to attack the Red Chinese.”

Captain Hendricks picked that moment to enter flag plot with a coffeepot and a plate of bagels and pastries. “What are you two conspiring about now,” he asked.

“The admiral has a plan to block the Royal Navy from the Indian Ocean.”

Hendricks listened for a few minutes, his face becoming white. “Oh no, no sir, you can’t do this. That’s civilian shipping, in international waters, for God’s sake. You can’t just toss missiles at the Suez Canal, dear God, what are you thinking, sir? We’ll be barbecued in the world press. The U.S. will be seen as a nation of war criminals, pirates, aggressors—”

“How will they know it’s us?”

“Oh, please, Admiral. Forty-five heavy supersonic cruise missiles streaking over every piece of territory between here and the Suez Canal? Who else would have the means to do that? And the motive? Not to mention the twenty thousand souls in our task forces who’d know we launched nearly fifty missiles a few hours before massive explosions in the Suez. Come on, sir. The world will know, and we don’t have the authority to do this, and even the President wouldn’t do this.”

“Think of the alternative, Captain. The Royal Navy in the Indian Ocean. These missiles will need to be targeted on British ships if we don’t plug up the canal. The Brits are bringing in-theater some of the nastiest nuclear weapons ever created. You want to let them in?”

“I’m not saying that, sir. I’m just — you could be about to kill a thousand civilians on these tankers. Or what if there’s a cruise ship in the mix? You want that to be your legacy? You attacked a cruise ship? After what happened to us last summer, you can still consider this?”

“So, Casper,” Ericcson said, puffing his cigar, “are you saying we need to get permission to do this? Maybe you’re right.”

“Permission?” Hendricks sputtered. “Sir, we can’t do this at all!”

“You’re right, you’re right, Patton will need to weigh in on this, maybe even bring in the President. Still, I’d think they’d want to have it done while having someone to blame. Dennis, put together a quick briefing draft for Admiral Patton, just a few sentences. Make it a “UNODIR,” so it reads unless otherwise directed we will launch missiles in twenty minutes. Then, if we don’t hear from Patton, we go ahead, and I’ll be accountable for anything that screws up. They can put me in prison after we sink the Chinese. If we do hear from Patton, and he says to hold off, but his message seems to lack a certain urgency, we’ll know he wants this done and wants us to disregard his countermanding order. We’ll claim we didn’t get his order in time. If Patton comes roaring back with a flash message saying stand down from your attack and repeats it three times, I’ll back off. How’s that?”

“Overkill, sir,” Pulaski said. “Just launch the damned missiles. You drag Patton into this, of course he’ll say no. You think the Pentagon wants responsibility for a hundred or a thousand civilian casualties? Plus, we’ll have to pay for the damage and repair the canal.”

Ericcson laughed out loud. “You’re worried about a lawsuit? Listen, draft the message, but just give Patton ten minutes to reply. Meanwhile, let’s take the task force to battle stations and prepare to launch the missile salvo.”