Soldiers and Marines Saga, page 38
Thirteen minutes later at 2154 a general order will go out, ostensibly from the Russian military intelligence directorate, based on information it supposedly just received, warning that NATO is about to attempt to throw off the attack schedule with intense localized firing and air attacks.
The 2154 order will again remind all Warsaw Pact units, except the artillery batteries assigned to fire in retaliation, that they have been ordered to maintain fire discipline and must hold their fire until the appointed time even if they come under fire in an attempt to provoke them. It’s a pretty clear order. I ought to know, I wrote it.
At 2214 the Russian communications system, we devoutly hope, will automatically send an order to those artillery units open fire. At the same time, as a backup, British intelligence will also once again tap into the Warsaw Pact communications system and order the Russian retaliation artillery batteries to open fire on their assigned targets. The backup orders will require the designated “retaliation” units to expend all their available ammunition as rapidly as possible “to teach the fascists a lesson.”
Also at 2214 all of our entire planes and helicopters, the entire inventory, will be in the air and ready to turn on their transponders and attack, including those carrying our swimmers and the German long-range penetration units going into Russia.
If the Russian artillery opens fire the war will start four hours and four minutes earlier than the Warsaw Pact has planned. Hopefully we will catch them with their pants down and let us get in some good “sucker punches” before they are ready to respond.
All’s fair in love and war and launching an attack on West Germany and the American and other NATO troops defending it is definitely war.
I did not reveal the possibility that the war would start early to the President and the Security Council until today, and then did so very casually.
“Oh by way, mistakes happen in war all the time so we’ll be at full alert and ready to go in case some of the Warsaw Pact units open fire early. It happens, you know. A typo in a message caused one of Germany’s artillery units to begin firing on Poland exactly one day before the German invasion was scheduled to start.”
What the President doesn’t know is that I’ve made up my mind to give the war order no later than 2219 even if the Russia’s “retaliation artillery” doesn’t fire first. It’s necessary to cripple the invaders and minimize our casualties even if it means I get removed for doing the right thing.
The Israelis did the same thing in 1967 when they didn’t wait for the Egyptians’ carefully planned invasion to start. Hopefully it will have the same result for us—win faster with fewer casualties.
******
My three deputy commanders and the Commandant are on open lines with all their major commands. In between tending to business I have been periodically watching and listening to an open video conference line on the wall with the President and the members his National Security Council for over an hour. It’s been mostly political appointees telling each other silly things and asking silly questions, the kind of inane talk that fills the time when anxious people wait together. Klausen and Peavy have been going through the same thing with their political leaders.
I know exactly how they feel; I’m so anxious I’m about to jump out of my skin. I feel like a guy with bare feet jumping up and down on the proverbial hot tin roof.
We are all simultaneously conferenced-in with the director of the National Security Agency, the NSA, which is conducting a massive real time monitoring of Warsaw Pact communications using, so its director claims, every one of its several thousand analysts who speak a Warsaw Pact language.
NSA’s director has just once again reported that there is no doubt—at 0217 in the morning the Warsaw Pact’s planes and tanks will cross the border and commence hostilities. I must have said “we are as ready as we can be” a dozen times in the past thirty minutes alone.
At 2209, with four minutes to go, a NSA flash message reported the “stand by to fire” and the “maintain fire discipline and follow the time schedule” orders issued to the Russian retaliation artillery at 2154 have been received by the commanders and political officers of the artillery regiments which have been honored by being selected as retaliation units.
The NSA report turned up everyone’s anxiety and I could hear the increasingly hysterical Secretary of State blather on about “negotiations.” So far the President appeared to be holding up although I could hear the anxiety in his voice when he reported that he had just tried to call the Russian president and had not gotten through. The anxiety in his voice is no surprise. I am sure everyone can hear the anxiety in mine.
And I hope the President holds up because he and his staff seem to have forgotten that it is I, not he, who is in command of the NATO forces and that a lot of other nations are involved. I have an open line to British Intelligence and I’m going to launch a preemptive strike at 2214 unless NSA picks up something suggesting the Warsaw Pact invasion is going to be called off.
Klausen is sitting across from me with phones glued to both ears and I can see Peavy, Macefield, and Dick Shelton on video screens. They’re monitoring the status of our planes, helicopters, and other forces. Pug is sitting quietly at the other end of the table from me taking it all in and the senior members of our staffs are standing and sitting all around the room.
Almost everyone is visibly nervous and there have been a number of last minute visits to the toilet, including mine. There is a discernible odor of fear in the air. It’s sharp and rank. Little wonder – about thirty minutes ago the staff and the President were finally informed that the war is likely to start earlier than 0217.
At 2207 a haggard but increasingly excited Macefield gave me a thumbs up and mouths, “We’re all up.” Seconds later Klausen mouthed “helicopters are almost all up.” Then a few seconds later gave a thumbs up and said “helicopters are in order.” Dave Shelton had reported “my boys are ready” a couple of minutes earlier and so had Admiral Peavy.
Sweat was dripping off Klausen’s face. The staff sitting and standing around the edge of the room were pasty-faced to a man. I felt numb and the room suddenly seemed terribly warm.
A German brigadier, a member of my staff, sitting on a chair next to me, was listening intently to phones pressed to both ears. He has direct lines to our officer observers who, with the busload of journalists each has brought with him, are watching four of the target zones assigned to the Russian retaliation artillery.
At 2211 I picked up the open line to British Intelligence. My Sandhurst buddy “Boots” was on the line himself as he has been every time I picked it up.
“Stand by.”
When the clock on the wall reached 2212 I spoke emphatically to Boots. “Send Coyote Two at exactly 2214.”
Then I turned to Macefield, Klausen, and Peavy and said “stand by” as I punched the phone button that will let me listen to the observers’ instead of British Intelligence. It’s done.
Time seemed to stand still and I could hear frantic questions and talking on the phone I was holding up to my other ear. I ignored the noise and watched as the second hand on clock on the wall crept slowly to 2214 and started around again. Then, almost at the same moment, all four of our observers began reporting massive artillery bombardments with almost the same shouted words.
“Artillery flashes” ...”Standby”... and “Explosions nearby.” The last being shouted over the roar of explosions in the background.
The news network crews with our observer officers are carrying it live and within seconds the entire world was listening to the initial reports of the excited and incredulous news correspondents—and knew that it was the Russians and their Warsaw Pact allies who fired first. We can see the firing for ourselves on the two TV sets in the corner of the conference room.
“Now” I instantly barked with an emphatic downward chop of my finger pointing hand towards the men sitting across from me with phones glued to their ears.
“Respond with NATO plan G17.”
G17 is a non-nuclear response to a non-nuclear attack. All we can do at this point is anxiously wait to see if the Warsaw Pact uses nuclear or other mass destruction weapons.
One of the American staff officers attracted a few sideways glances by barfing into a wastebasket without taking his ear away from the phone he is holding. He waved his hand apologetically and began wiping his face with a handkerchief in his free hand as he continued to talk into the phone without missing a beat.
******
Macefield, Klausen, Peavy, and many of the staff officers immediately shout into their phones “Jackson.. Repeat.. Jackson.”
“Jackson” is the signal for every commander of a NATO unit to order his men to immediately to engage the enemy. It is also the signal for every NATO plane and helicopter to turn on its transponders, begin squawking a Warsaw Pac identifier, and attack. Those with ground attack missions heading for the Warsaw Pact airfields will switch to the Warsaw Pact frequencies as soon as they cross the border and head eastward.
During the past hour the Russian commander of the Warsaw Pact frontal aviation had responded to the rapidly growing number of NATO planes and helicopters orbiting over West Germany by sending up more and more of his own planes even though the Warsaw Pact’s invasion was not scheduled to begin for almost five hours. The skies over East and West Germany had become increasingly packed with planes and the controllers on the Russian-made AWACS were already beginning to lose control.
They lost it totally when Macefield gave the Jackson order and all the NATO transponders and jamming equipment came on at the same time.
All eyes were on Macefield as he listened intently. Then with a joyful whoop he shouted the news that the Russian AWACS radar receivers had failed.
“They’re out. The Russian AWACS are off the air.”
I immediately pointed to Klausen and the German major holding the open line to General Doppelfeld and ordered all penetration operations to begin forthwith.
“Send Marigold Thirteen; I say again, send Marigold Thirteen.”
Then I rocked back in my chair and took a deep breath, and waited.
Dear God I hope I made the right decision. The chaos and loss of radar coverage is our best chance to get our long range penetration and swimming teams through to their objectives intact.
Almost instantly our missiles began to fly and the first contact reports began pouring in.
****** Colonel Robin “Buck” Owens
Colonel Robin “Buck” Owens and each of the fifteen other planes in his squadron of F-15 Eagles, the Jolly Green Giants, had been in the air for more than thirty minutes and had already been assigned targets by their air controllers in one of our seven NATO AWACS planes. Their controller is in an old E-3 Sentry currently orbiting over West Germany and France.
The Sentry locked the Green Giants on to their current targets almost four minutes ago during their current eastward swing towards the border. To the Green Giant pilots it seemed like hours ago and they still had no idea if the war will start or when.
The “Marigold Thirteen” order and their controller’s shrill cry of “Engage. Fire. Fire.” caused Owens and every weapons officer in his sixteen plane squadron to instantly flip on their transponders and simultaneously press their fire buttons for each target they’ve already been locked on to by their controllers.
The Green Giant F-15s were each carrying a maximum war load, six of the latest long range advanced Sidewinders and a full load of shell belts—and their AWACS was simultaneously tracking and locking each of them on to at least two enemy planes, and sometimes three.
Owens’ F-15, call sign Jolly One, shuddered slightly as two of his six Sidewinders roared off about half a second apart, one for each of his two designated targets, both newer model Sukhoi Su-27s according to the icons on his screen. Out of the corner of his eye he could see flashes indicating that some or all of the rest of his squadron are also firing.
Almost immediately a terse order from one of the squadron’s air controllers in the AWACS turned the Green Giants to the right and, a few seconds later, the blips of two more Su-27s appeared on some of the squadron screens. Owens and five other planes each instinctively fired a single missile at almost the same instant.
Then, in response to their controller’s command, the entire squadron pushed their throttles to the wall and roared into East Germany after one of the Russian AWACS, an old Tupolev TU-126 Moss radiating about 100 miles east of Berlin. There were Russian Sukhoi SU-27 fighters positioned over East Germany to guard it.
The sudden frequency jamming and the shutting down of their radar screens with blinking and flashing caused mass confusion among the Russian fighters and among the controllers aboard the orbiting Tupolev. The Russian controllers were still desperately trying to restart their systems seven minutes later when the Tupolev’s partially-jammed independent missile warning system sounded its urgent flashing and began beeping a “missile in the air” alarm.
“Fuck your mother. Dive. Dive,” the Russian pilot screamed to his co-pilot as he pushed the throttle in and shoved the controls forward and put the plane into such a tight diving turn towards the east that three of the Russian controllers who’d been standing in the aisle between its consoles were literally thrown off their feet.
The Russian pilot’s efforts were too little and too late. One of Owens’ missiles, or perhaps one of his wingman’s, Harry “Rooster” Cogburn, who had also fired every one of his missiles, impacted the Russian AWAC’s right wing. The big one-winged “Moss” slowly fluttered to the ground in great turning circles. The Russian pilot and everyone else in the plane screamed all the way down.
It was 2226 and the Warsaw Pact’s invasion of Germany was not scheduled to start for another three hours and fifty-one minutes.
****** Captain Robert “Robby” Ridgeway
SSN-321, the United States nuclear powered attack submarine Kingfisher had been silently stalking a Russian Tovarny class nuclear missile boat ever since its sonar had picked it up two days earlier.
The Russian sub, on a long and carefully planned course towards a position a couple of hundred miles west of Chesapeake Bay, had made an inadvertent mistake that put the Kingfisher on its tail; two days ago it unknowingly passed near an American sonar buoy permanently anchored on the ocean floor off Greenland.
The Russian boomer was about 20,000 yards ahead, 20,192 yards to be precise, and slowly and silently moving westerly at just under five knots when the NATO war announcement was received over the Kingfisher’s ultra-low frequency receiver.
The Kingfisher’s captain is Robert Ridgeway, “Robby” to his friends, Virginia Beach neighbors, and fellow captains and he'd spent more than half his life practicing for this moment. He was not about to let the Russian boomer escape.
Hours earlier Ridgeway had decided to fire four of his General Dynamics 9120R high speed torpedoes in a standard 20,000 yard spread with a dogleg to the right in case the Russian attempts to return fire down the incoming torpedo track, then wait a few seconds and fire two more in an intercept heading in whatever direction the Russian decided to run.
If the Russian quickly fires back, which it is almost certain to do, Robby had long ago decided to fire four of his decoys, turn hard left and climb as rapidly as possible towards the surface, and be ready to instantly fire four more decoys and then another four if necessary. Moving up instead of zigzagging deeper in a downward spiral is not the conventional maneuver the Russian skipper would expect. So he hoped.
The Chief of the Boat, Harold Mangin, an overweight white haired navy veteran with almost thirty years in subs and the boat’s executive officer, Joe Cloud, read the Marigold Thirteen war announcement message over the captain's shoulder at the same time the captain read it. They are as determined as Ridgeway is to get the Russian boomer.
Chief Mangin’s face was drawn and worried and he repeatedly crossed himself as he read the brief message. Dear Jesus protect us. Please protect us.
“Standby…”Open all doors.”… “Fire tubes 3, 7, 1 and 8.”
The entire firing procedure took less than eleven seconds. To say things became even more tense on the boat is a massive understatement.
The first report came seconds later.
“All torpedoes running normal. Estimate 77 seconds to target”… “Target is accelerating 52 seconds” … “Target acquired”… “Target opening doors”…..”Target firing decoys, possibly two”….. “Target firing additional decoys, possibly two” … “Target coming to 292 degrees. 312 degrees. 342 degrees”… “Confirm target depth 950.. 910...”
Then the inevitable.
“Vampire in the water bearing 232 degrees” … “two Vampires in the water bearing 228 degrees”… “Launch decoys 1, 2, 3, and 4”…full speed maximum rise….turn to 187 degrees. 2000 revolutions….18 seconds…6 seconds…”
None of the Russian boomer’s frantic efforts to escape were successful. It never reached the surface and the torpedoes it fired didn’t even come close.
Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds after the first explosion Ridgeway's sonar operators began to hear the unique and unmistakable sound of the Russian’s hull being crushed as it sank deeper and deeper below its maximum dive level.
Captain Ridgeway nodded his approval when Chief Edwards asked if he could put it on the speaker so everyone could listen.
A disposable communications buoy was immediately released to beam the Kingfisher’s message on three special navy frequencies used by three separate orbiting satellites. In about thirty minutes the Russian’s death would be posted and the totals will change on the lists of active Warsaw Pact and NATO submarines being kept in Washington and at NATO’s naval headquarters.
The lists will change rapidly over the next several hours. Most but not all of the initial changes will be on the Warsaw Pact list.
****** Robin “Buck” Owens
Owens and his fourteen remaining F-15 pilots returned as quickly as possible to their base, and then spent more time circling in a racetrack pattern waiting to land than they had on their mission. When they finally were cleared to land they quickly taxied to their parking area and were absolutely swarmed over by each plane’s anxiously waiting crew chief and his men.
