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

The instructions were quickly passed over the primary tactical circuit. There was little increase in sound, though activity was increasing at each station. The staff gunnery officer turned to Charles. "All launchers loaded for air action, Admiral. Truxton reports forward launcher ready with torpedoes, aft launcher for air action."

"Very well." He turned to hear Bill Dailey's report.

"Virginia reports foreign frequency lock-on . . . identified as missile guidance . . . it's a different frequency, Admiral!"

"Northern bogey, missiles away . . . one . . . two," from another station.

"We're tracking them," from Dailey. "Virginia reports the missiles are now on their own program . . . still unknown frequency."

"What the hell do you mean unknown, Bill? Can't we get control?"

"Not yet, Admiral. Computer is analyzing. We may have to jam. Wainwright reports the same action from the south, sir.

Time to missile impact Virginia, one hundred and five seconds . . . Wainwright, one hundred and seventeen."

Admiral Charles watched the beginning of the action on the screen before him. Each ship had undertaken its own evasive action. The missiles appeared as blinking dots closing their targets. He noted Truxton moving to the southeast. The electronics officer to his left was visibly nervous as he awaited a solution to the new frequency guiding the four missiles. Once the target solution fed into the missile by its launch computer was complete, and the aircraft acquisition radar broke contact, it was twice as hard to search the memory core for a solution. Seconds passed quickly.

"Sixty seconds to Virginia, seventy-two to Wainwright."

"Admiral, they're on a frequency we can't control," reported Dailey. "We can't take over guidance systems. Jamming recommended. I've switched Virginia and Wainwright to local control for antimissile fire." He looked over at a screen at his right. "Those birds are moving slowly enough so we should be able to bring them down if we can't jam in time."

"Forty seconds to Virginia, fifty-two to Wainwright . . . wait one, Wainwright birds increasing speed!"

"That's the extra fuel cell, Admiral, the latest idea to confuse antimissile solutions. Wainwright has to jam now. They'll never be able to recompute for antimissile fire with the correct solution. Gridley will jam with her 'eye' box."

"Casey!" David called over to the California's captain. "Bring down that southern bogey. We can't gain control of those missiles.".

The captain nodded to his own gunnery officer, seated to his left. The man spoke briefly into the headset he was wearing, pushed a button on the console in front of him, waited a moment, then pushed another. "Birds away, Admiral! How about that one to the north?"

"I want one to get back with the message."

One of the blinking dots on the screen disappeared, followed by Dailey's report, "Virginia intercepted one of her missiles . . . wait a moment . . . her computer reports the second one's erratic. It's tracking improperly, probably jammed by Gridley. It'll splash down off target."

"What's happening to Wainwright?" Dailey's arm was in the air, fingers open to signify quiet. They waited. He listened, hand opening and closing. "One missile off track . . . jammed." He half-turned in his seat, arm still his answer to Kupinsky. Its pilot knew only that one of their missiles had struck, damage unknown, before his partner was gone. A tie score.

"Another report on Wainwright--"Emergency steering rigged . . . fire in berthing compartment under control... no damage to launcher or magazines . . . Wainwright estimates two hours to rejoining under full control."

The Admiral folded his arms thoughtfully for a moment before rising. The simple show of force was getting serious. He turned to his Chief of Staff. "You can secure everyone now, Bill. Reverse formation course in twenty minutes to wait for Wainwright and put the action report out to Washington. As soon as they can, I want your electronics people to get those tapes on that new missile frequency into the machine for analysis by the games people. You can be sure Alex is going to be a lot tougher on us next time." He turned to the commanding officer of California. "Sometimes I wonder if we weren't just as well off with those old ships bristling with guns . . . and a man aiming them!"




FROM THE LOG OF ADMIRAL DAVID CHARLES

I HAVE been reading back through this log again. As a matter of fact, I even went back to some of the earlier entries when this started out as my JO's journal. I thought perhaps that as an ensign on the old Bagley I might have learned something, now long forgotten, that would keep Alex and me from intensifying this game. But somehow there just wasn't anything I could get a handle on. There was too much back then about daily routine, just like the old journal that had to be turned in to your department head in the earlier days. I found entries about splicing line, diagrams of the steam cycle that I had learned my second year at Annapolis, shipboard electrical systems that I never learned, damage-control procedures, and so many more things that were stuffed into the head of an ensign. But there was nothing there I could dig into.

I did find some entries I made about Sam Carter after I decided this was going to be my journal, and that no department head was going to be allowed to read it. He hasn't changed much. He still follows a very narrow path that makes it easy to understand him. He didn't kiss anybody's ass in those days, and he still doesn't. He's no politician either, so he'll never make Chief of Naval Operations, but I'm sure he never thought he'd get this far.