Lion Resurgent (17 page)

“Gavin, you got the briefing before you went ashore. Chilean girls flirt with their male acquaintances and their men are expected to flirt back. It is a pleasant pastime that means nothing. However, anything more than flirting starts to have meaning. Petting is a declaration of serious intent; attempted seduction is a proposal of marriage. If the girl allows the seduction to succeed, she’s accepted your proposal. Which is, I understand, the situation here.”

“But Sir, it was just a run ashore.”

“You may call it a run ashore Gavin. Here, when a man seduces a woman and doesn’t follow through, it’s called ‘ruining a virgin’ and it’s taken very seriously. Even in our country, not so very long ago Gavin, an officer who was accused of such an offense would find himself being given a bottle of whisky and a revolver with one bullet in the cylinder. Avoiding disgrace to the ship or regiment, you see. In some countries, the brothers of the wronged woman might kill her to save the family honor. Here in Chile, they are much more civilized than that. Her brothers will kill the man who seduced her instead. So, what do you propose to do?”

Gavin gulped and looked desperate.
It was,
Beecham thought,
not a productive course of action.

“Sir, we’ll be setting sail soon.”

“We will. However, that won’t solve the problem. The Veracruz family are very rich, very powerful, very influential. By the way, I went to see the pater familias as soon as this card arrived. A most pleasant, extremely reasonable man who is deeply fond of his daughter and, by the way, actually quite approves of you. In his eyes, his daughter has made a very good catch. I have also spoken with the young lady in question and there is no doubt she is deeply fond of you. I might say that you appear to have made a good catch as well, one that will be of great help to you in your future career. If you live to have one.”

Gavin gulped. Then he started to think a little more clearly. Emilia was indeed beautiful, wealthy and he was aware that she did love him. In fact, he was suddenly sure of the fact that he was inordinately fond of her himself. “But Sir, we’re due to set sail and if we go down south, you’ll need me.”

“Well, that’s an odd thing. We are indeed going south, to the Antarctic in fact, to see how this class of submarine performs in extreme cold and very rough weather. Based on those trials, a Chilean Navy order may well be forthcoming. However, due to the navigational problems down there, we will be embarking a Chilean Navy navigating officer. In making those arrangements, I met with our naval attaché here and it appears he needs an assistant and the post has been approved by Canberra. It’s yours for the asking. It would mean a two-year tour of duty in Santiago, of course.”

Gavin made up his mind. He suddenly realized that fortunate was actually smiling on him, although she was, perhaps, hiding the smile behind a tactful hand. “Sir, that would be a wonderful start to my marriage. How do I go about this?”

“You have to go and see the pater familias, Ernesto Veracruz and ask for his daughter’s hand but that’s a formality. Her family will take it from there. He’s expecting you at 10:30. And Graeme, if I may say so, you have made a very wise decision.” Beecham was about to say more, but he was interrupted by sirens wailing on shore and from the
Sacramento.

F13F-4 Tomcat
Kittykat,
Flight Deck, USS
North Dakota
CVN-79, 250 miles West of Chile

“All Raptor aircraft, ready for launch.” The message was a little superfluous; the red flare arching skywards from the bridge had made the fact quite clear, but it never hurt to be sure. Ahead of
Kittykat,
the long slot of the catapult was already leaking steam as it built up power to hurl the fighter airborne. Captain Paul Flower advanced the throttles, watching the needles on his instrument panel edge up towards the red zones as his twin J-93 engines built up power. Each of the four catapults on the
North Dakota
had a Tomcat sitting on it. Far away to port, almost over the horizon, the
Ohio
had the same number of fighters ready to go. In total, the eight fighters made up Raptor Flight. It was the fast-response group that would take action if Argentina actually decided to go through with its assault. Each aircraft carried four nuclear-tipped AIM-54C Phoenix missiles, two conventional warhead AIM-54Bs backed up by four heat-seeking AIM-9 Sidewinders. Between them, the eight fighters could take on a fair-sized air force all by themselves.

Ahead of him, the launch captain lifted his green flag up high, signaling that launch was imminent. He spiraled it above his head to ensure that
Kittykat
had her engines pooled up to full, then dropped it. Flower felt the slam in his back as the catapult kicked in. His aircraft was hurled down the forward flight deck towards the bows that seemed terrifyingly close.
Kittykat
dipped as she left the catapult track. She briefly dropped below the level of
North Dakota’s
flight deck before soaring skywards, accelerating quickly as her nose lifted towards the dawn sky. Flower angled his fighter around until he could see
North Dakota
underneath him. Her deck lights were still twinkling in the dawn nautical twilight.

Kittykat
swept her wings back a little to match the increasing speed of her climb. For a moment, Flower regretted the loss of his beloved F9U
Rosie.
Even with only one engine, she had climb and turn rates that put
Kittykat
to shame. He held speed at Mach 0.7 with a 15 degree climb, watching the altimeter spiraling upwards as the other seven members of Raptor flight joined him. When he hit 25,000 feet, he leveled off and added throttle, accelerating his fighter up to Mach 1.25. That would carry him upwards to the next staging point at 45,000 feet. There, he would level off again and accelerate to Mach 2.5 before the final climb to 70,000 feet and Mach 3.2.

By the time
Kittykat
had completed her climb,
North Dakota
was far behind her. Her AWG-9 radar was scanning for the inbound Argentine formation that had started the alert. The eight aircraft of Raptor Flight were spread out in a long line, each barely visible from the next. The days when aircraft had flown in close formations were long gone. The nuclear-tipped air-to-air missiles in
Kittykat’s
belly that had seen to that. It was the same way that nuclear-tipped anti-ship missiles had finished off traditional navy formations. An amateur might have expected to see the two American carriers inside a ring of escorts just like the publicity pictures showed. That was a formation that was only used for publicity shots though.

“Got them, Raptor-One.” Raptor-Seven called in the radar sighting. The bearing and range information followed quickly. There were two Argentine formations inbound; one heading for the military airfields around Santiago, the other for the naval base at Puerto de Valparaiso.

Flower accelerated slightly and his formation swung so that they were on an intercept course with the Argentine aircraft. The Tomcats were almost 30,000 feet higher than they were and were moving two whole Mach numbers faster. “Raptor Two, Three and Four, join me taking the southerly group. Raptor Five, Six, Seven and Eight take the north formation. Each Raptor aircraft fire two conventional AIM-54B. Say again, AIM-54 Bravo. Fire on my command. Acknowledge.”

The acknowledgements came in. Flower designated the center of the hostile formation as his center of aim and selected his pair of AIM-54Bs. Behind him, he felt the whir and vibration as the triple revolving racks rotated to that the missiles he had selected were in position to fire. “All Raptor aircraft. Open fire.”

The sixteen AIM-54Bs fired almost simultaneously. Flower saw them split into two groups as they hurtled out in front of the Tomcats and started to climb upwards. They’d arch upwards, climbing to almost 125,000 feet before turning down and diving on their prey underneath. Even at Mach 6, it would take almost two and a half minutes for them to cover the distance to their targets. Flower watched with almost grim amusement as the Argentine aircraft,
they were probably Macchi Ciclones,
he thought, swept onwards. Then, suddenly, the Argentine pilots realized what was happening.
Probably their radar warners had picked up the AIM-54 homing heads switching on.
The neat formations shattered in panic as the pilots scattered to avoid what they assumed was a salvo of nuclear-tipped missiles descending on them.

There is only one defense against a nuclear initiation. Don’t be there when it happens. The Argentine strike pilots swerved away, attempting to get as far away from the inbound missiles as they could in the few seconds possible. They were helped by one thing, the AIM-54 Phoenix was a large and clumsy missile. It was a modified and much-improved version of the older AIM-47 Falcon, but it was too fast and too large to be very agile. In fairness, it had never needed to be particularly maneuverable; it was designed to deliver a nuclear warhead that spread destruction over a wide area. In a way it had brought about its own obsolescence; its warhead had made formations of aircraft a means of multiplying kills from a single shot. These days, pilots flew far enough apart to give them a chance of escaping the missile’s fire. There was a new missile coming, the AIM-120 Harpy that was much smaller, much more maneuverable and longer ranged but it wasn’t available yet.

For all that, the AIM-54Bs did well. As the Argentine pilots headed away from the kill zone, jettisoning their bombs in a frantic effort to survive, the Phoenix missiles dived on them and blotted seven of them from the sky. The other nine missed their targets, thrown off by jamming and last-minute maneuvers that took years off the airframe life of the Ciclones. The pilots of those aircraft saw the conventional explosions and heaved sighs of relief. Then, they headed for home. With their bombs gone, there was no point in continuing the mission. Their part of this attack had failed.

High overhead, Flower looked down on the retreating Argentine formation and reduced speed. His Tomcats held station about eighty miles behind and 30,000 feet above the surviving bombers. His Raptor Flight aircraft kept the Ciclones illuminated with their radars,
just to keep them honest
Flower thought,
but there is no doubt, they are heading home.

“Raptor-Five here. They’re going home, Raptor-One. Sensible fellows.”

“Affirmative Raptor-Five. All Raptor Aircraft, hold station on them. Let’s be gentlemen and see our guests safely home.

Sail, HMAS
Rotorua,
Puerto de Valparaiso, Chile

Captain Beecham had made it to the conning position on the sail of
Rotorua
in record time. He made it fast enough to see the rails of the Talos launcher on the fantail of
Sacramento
slam to horizontal. Then two of the long blue missiles slid out from their hangar under the flight deck onto the launch rails. Within seconds, the loaded launcher was rotating skywards and turning to the engagement arc. Beecham swept his binoculars along the length of the cruiser. The Terrier launchers forward were also loaded and waiting.

That was when a movement on the Chipanese submarine caught his eye. Two clamshell doors were opening just aft of the sail and a twin-rail launcher was elevating from the hull. It also had missiles loaded. Beecham recognized them as Keibo anti-aircraft missiles; a new weapon and one that Australian intelligence knew very little about. Beside him, Cardew already had the ship’s camera out and he photographed the missiles as rapidly as he could roll the film and press the shutter.

“Now that’s a surprise.” Beecham was fascinated by the installation.

“Signal, Sir, by lamp from
I-709
to USS
Sacramento.
Message reads. ‘Do not worry; we will protect you.’ Message ends.” The signalman had a delighted smirk on his face.

A chuckle ran around the bridge, one that turned into a full-bellied laugh as the signal broke the tension that had been building up. Cardew wiped his eyes and shook his head. “You know, I really like Captain Sazuko. I bet Captain Karposi is jumping on his hat up there.”

“No doubt, although I don’t think he’ll be on the bridge.” Beecham knew American doctrine. The Captain would go to the Combat Direction Center when the alert sounded, not the navigating bridge. “Anything word?”

“Inbound hostiles, Sir. Aircraft from
Ohio
and
North Dakota
are intercepting.”

The minutes seemed to crawl past. Beecham was fascinated to see that the Talos launcher on
Sacramento
was constantly making tiny movements, presumably to ensure that its missiles were on a perfect intercept course for the inbound Argentine aircraft. One thing he did know; the American cruiser couldn’t be using her radars at full power. If she had, the paint would be peeling off the walls of the dockside houses with the power output. Presumably, she was targeting using information downloaded from one of the carriers airborne command and control aircraft.

“Intercept, Sir. The Tomcats are claiming nine aircraft shot down. The rest have turned back after jettisoning their bombs. The Argie aircraft were Ciclones, so the ‘cats are claiming.”

“Makes sense.” The Italian-built swing-wing Ciclone was the standard Argentine strike aircraft. Macchi claimed it was the equal of the Chipanese Nakajima B10N Shuka and it had certainly sold a lot better. Macchi’s reputation for supporting its products helped there. Of course it wouldn’t help the aircraft that had just been shot down. That brought a quick thought into Beecham’s head. “Any radiation traces?”

“No Sir. Septics used conventional warheads as a warning. Kept the nukes for the next salvo. Anyway, they’re following the Argies home just to make sure the message was received and understood.”

The wail of the all-clear sirens brought about a quick fall in the tension. Beecham sighed with relief. It seemed like the effort to deter war was beginning to work.

B-70
Shield Maiden,
MacDill Air Force Base, Florida

“Aircraft pre-flighted, prepped and ready Sir. Check lists for your inspection.” Master Sergeant Hichins-Yates saluted smartly and handed them over to her husband. He returned her salute equally smartly and without a trace of humor at the situation. Here, on this side of the base gates, for all practical purposes, they weren’t married. Each morning, they drove together up to the main gates and he got out of the car. A quick good-bye kiss and Selma would drive inside while he would either walk through the gates or be picked up by another member of the duty shift. Relationships were off-base only. It was a policy that had been instituted when women had started to serve in SAC and it had avoided a lot of problems. Breaking it meant that both partners would be assigned to other bases, ones that were a long, long way apart. In Mike Yates’ case, the fact he was an officer married to an enlisted airwoman was an added complication.