Anvil by Dirk Patton Page A

positions.  He wanted
to be onboard the Washington, leading the fight at sea, but knew the Captains
well and had full confidence in their abilities. 
    Still, to
stand on the catwalk outside the bridge and watch his warplanes.  To feel
his bones vibrate from the sheer power of the jet engines as they went to full
throttle a moment before being hurled into the sky by the catapult.  That
was what he missed.
    Chastising
himself for losing focus, he issued the order for the commencement of Operation
Anvil.  The images drew back slightly, allowing for a wider view of the
operational area, and in moments both carriers began launching aircraft. 
The first planes in the air were tankers that would top off each fighter once
it reached altitude, then tag along behind so they could refuel before
returning home.
    As the two
CSGs launched aircraft, the views of the Russian naval bases panned a hundred
miles off shore to seemingly empty stretches of ocean.  On each monitor,
which provided a view of over one hundred square miles, multiple cruise
missiles erupted from the surface and gained altitude before tipping over and
stabilizing into horizontal flight.
    These were
Tomahawk missiles, launched by eight American, Ohio class submarines. 
Each weapon was fitted with a one-thousand-pound conventional warhead as the
Navy had so far been unsuccessful in enabling its inventory of nuclear warheads
in the absence of National Command Authority (NCA) codes.  The Russians
had seen to that quite effectively by eliminating all political and senior
military leadership through strikes on Mt. Weather and Cheyenne Mountain.
    Each sub
carried 154 Tomahawks and would send two thirds of their missiles.  Packard
divided his attention between the launches in the eastern Pacific and the
activity of the CSGs off the west coast of the United States which were busily
sending waves of cruise missiles to Russian targets within the US. 
    That wave
launched from four Ticonderoga Class, Aegis guided missile cruisers.  Each
of the ships disappeared in clouds of billowing white smoke.  Soon, eight
hundred missiles were on their way to a variety of targets in Russia and four
hundred were streaking east to the US mainland, low over the blue waters of the
Pacific.
    Cruising at
five hundred and fifty miles an hour with a range of fifteen hundred miles, Tomahawks
aren’t fast.  But they approach enemy targets so low to the ground that
they are all but undetectable until it is too late to do anything.  They
are also deadly accurate, and nearly half of the airborne weapons were set to
seek and destroy electronic emissions.  Russian radar and radio
communications. 
    Next came
Electronic Warfare (EW) aircraft from the CSGs.  Their job would be to
monitor enemy communications and disrupt them, gaining an advantage for the
attacking Americans.  Finally came waves of F-18s, looking like needle
nosed darts on the displays as they took to the air and queued up to take a
drink of fuel.  
    Full, each
flight group formed up and began heading for the west coast of the United
States.  They were flying slow, staying below the sound barrier to
conserve fuel as well as to not arrive on target ahead of the initial attack
wave.  Throttling back, the F-18s held their speed slightly below that of
the Tomahawk missiles.
    “Turn that
up!”  The Admiral snapped when a snatch of conversation coming over a
console speaker caught his attention. 
    The Senior
Chief Petty Officer operating the station spun the volume control and hit a
button to send the audio to overhead speakers.  Packard listened for a
moment to the fleet communications as first one, then all of the ships in CSG
Eleven reported detecting torpedoes in the water with their sonar. 
    On the
screen he watched as each ship responded exactly to US Navy doctrine,
accelerating to flank speed and maneuvering based on the bearing and distance
to the inbound weapons.  Several of the ships launched countermeasures
into