"Taylor, Charles D. - Show of Force" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Charles D)

He tried to catch a seaman's attention, then quietly called, "Messenger."

A young boy, not really a boy but the youngest one in the section, came immediately to his side, saluted and stammered, "Y-yes, sir." He had little experience talking to admirals.

The Admiral removed his starched garrison cap, rubbing the two gold stars on his shirt. It was a habit he rarely noticed, as was the way he ran his left hand through his dark, slightly curly hair. Even though it was cut short, and there were tinges of gray around his ears, he looked younger than most admirals since most of his hair still remained.

"Son, I'd like a mug of coffee, black . . . from the forward control room, not the wardroom. And, while you're on the way, would you ask Commander Dailey to come to the bridge."

The young sailor saluted again. "Aye, aye, sir," and backed away, almost tripping over the raised coaming of the pilothouse hatchway. David smiled to himself, making a mental note to have Bob Casey, the California's CO, tell his senior watch officer to ease up on the enlisted men a bit. While they were in wartime conditions, taut nerves could cut down on reaction time. The crew could be sharp without being stiff. He knew no one liked having a flag on board, especially when there really wasn't room for an admiral's staff. All of them, including him, would be glad when Nimitz joined up and he could transfer his flag to the aircraft carrier.

After standing up and stretching, he moved into the pilothouse for a moment and checked the other ships on the radar screen.

There was no reason to undergo radar-emission control since the Russians knew exactly where they were, and what they were doing. There were five other ships in an extended circle around an imaginary guide in the middle, each far enough from the other to avoid any structural damage from a nuclear attack on one of them. He glanced around at the various watch-standers, all of whom were making themselves busy for his benefit. The officer of the deck lifted his binoculars to his eyes rather than appear to be staring at the man with the stars on his collar.

Shortly after his coffee was in his hand, Bill Dailey, his Chief of Staff, appeared through the hatch on the opposite wing. David motioned with his head to come to the other wing of the bridge. Dailey, a taller and older-looking man, was starched but informal as his boss had dictated: "When you're riding a can"--even though this was far from the old tin can that David had started his career on--"there's a certain informality and I don't want my staff scaring the hell out of these people." The Admiral knew these ships were as big as the old spit 'n' polish cruisers. But he wanted to let the crew know that he still considered their ship with the same reverence as the old, expendable greyhounds that had all but disappeared years ago.

"Bill, I wanted to ask you what you make of that conventional boat they stuck up there near the Gulf of Oman? It doesn't make sense to me. The last printout didn't give a hint about its purpose as far as the War Games people were concerned," he questioned. , "Admiral," the other grinned, "I came prepared to answer just about any other question but that one. Is that bothering you, too?"

"Bill, when I was ops officer on a staff, I always offered an answer anyway, just so my boss would know I was thinking." He raised his eyebrows. "I think you're in a position where yon should start asking for some answers, if you don't have any. You know that Gorenko has a reason for everything and that submarine has a purpose." Then, he lowered his brows a bit and offered just a bit of a smile. "You're getting paid to think for me, aren't you?"

"Well, sir,"--he'd served with the Admiral before--"we've worked together long enough so I knew that boat was going to get to you. So I had my boys sit down and had each one prepare a list of reasons why it was there. There were some pretty wild ones. Then we narrowed it down to fit ten. items based on Games' projections over the next twenty-four hours, and I had them fire back these alternatives for the computer at Hopkins.

We did that about an hour ago, and we ought to have a printout back shortly. And, since I'm still not a mind reader, I'd like it if you'd come down later and go over the response with my boys. They don't see much of you, and they'd sure appreciate having you come down and show how you operate. As a matter of fact, the more they know about you, the more they'll be able to add new alternatives to each prediction. And they're good enough that they just might end up with some answers the next day or so before you have the questions."

"You know I really wasn't checking on you, Bill." He paused and looked across the bow. "I just got tired of that damn cloud," he said, more to himself than to Dailey.

"Pardon me, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, Bill. Just a cloud I was staring at... trying to look thoughtful to everyone." He laughed this time. "Even admirals have to look busy, and these boys don't have admirals around much." A pause. "Bill, I don't think the Russians are going to sit and wait for an answer to that speech from the President. It's not like Gorenko. He always does something for emphasis, just to show he means business. I'll give you a little side bet that he's going to do something soon, something that's supposed to jolt the President, something that's going to scare the hell out of everybody. Just a little something to put on the pressure. He probably figures if the President sees telegrams from all over the world telling him to get the hell off that island because the Russians have already made a move, he might just get scared into dumping the whole thing."

"Any ideas on what Gorenko might do, sir?"

"Not really. That's why I called you up here. What's the range of Alex's group now?"

"Alex?"

"The Soviet carrier group, Bill. The one to the east that they're sending down to play with us." He grinned at the other man. "Admiral Kupinsky is Alex. His flag is on the Lenin." He turned in his chair to look directly at Dailey. "Remember, he's an old friend of mine and he's bringing a task group down here to play with me and I want to know how close he is, just so I might be able to figure out what his first move might be."

"Sorry, Admiral, I'm not reading your mind again." He knew how far he could carry informality, and when he could let this man know that he was getting too withdrawn on his own wavelength, when he might have to communicate his thoughts in a second. "The sixteen-hundred-position report will indicate they're a bit more than a thousand miles off. If we continue to stream north/south in this sector, and they maintain the speed they've shown since they turned the corner, they'll be right here," he pointed at the deck, "in just about forty-eight hours, which is perfect timing according to Washington. That's when the Chairman predicted we'd be surrounded."

"Noooo . . . nope! That's not like him to wait until then." He sat up taller in the chair.

"There are six submarines around us now, sir. The closest one is out there," Dailey gestured with his right arm, "about forty miles on our quarter, near Truxton, keeping the same course and speed as we are."

"No. Alex is in contact with his subs, but all they can do is sink someone, and he won't do that before we have a chance to back down. And he's too far away to do anything with ships for awhile. He's become a fan of air tactics, and I think Alex will do something from the air. He's got a couple of long-range jets, those slower ones, that can stay just so far away and choose from a lovely selection of missiles. It won't be nuclear, but it will carry a message for our dear President.

"You see, he thinks this is just another bluff. I don't. If the big guns in the Kremlin feel this is an aggressive act on our part, they're going to do everything short of sinking some ships. And if the President thinks he can develop sympathy from the rest of the world if the Russians cause a little damage, he's in for a surprise."

"How much do you think they're capable of, sir?"