Free Jack Ryan, Books 7-12 by Tom Clancy

another fifteen hundred each of JP. Sister ship Deepak has detached from the battle group and is heading northwest, probably for Trivandrum as well, after conducting un-rep operations yesterday.”
    “So they’re working extra hard to keep their bunkers topped off. Interesting. Go on,” Jackson ordered.
    “Four submarines are believed to be accompanying the group. We have rough positions on one, and we’ve lost two roughly here.” Harrison’s hand drew a rough circle on the display. “The location of number four is unknown, sir. We’ll be working on that today.”
    “Our subs out there?” Jackson asked the group commander.
    “Santa Fe in close and Greeneville holding between us and them. Cheyenne is in closer to the battle group as gatekeeper,” Rear Admiral Mike Dubro replied, sipping his morning coffee.
    “Plan for the day, sir,” Harrison went on, “is to launch four F/A-18 Echoes with tankers to head east to this point, designated POINT BAUXITE, from which they will turn northwest, approach to within thirty miles of the Indian battle group, loiter for thirty minutes, then return to BAUXITE to tank again and recover after a flight time of four hours, forty-five minutes.” For the four aircraft to do this, eight were needed to provide midair refueling support. One each on the way out and the return leg as well. That accounted for most of Ike’s tanker assets.
    “So we want them to think we’re still over that way.” Jackson nodded and smiled, without commenting on the wear-and-tear on the air crews that such a mission profile made necessary. “Still tricky, I see, Mike.”
    “They haven’t gotten a line on us yet. We’re going to keep it that way, too,” Dubro added.
    “How are the Bugs loaded?” Robby asked, using the service nickname for the F/A-18 Hornet, “Plastic Bug.”
    “Four Harpoons each. White ones,” Dubro added. In the Navy, exercise missiles were color-coded blue. Warshots were generally painted white. The Harpoons were air-to-surface missiles. Jackson didn’t have to ask about the Sidewinder and AMRAAM air-to-air missiles that were part of the Hornet’s basic load. “What I want to know is, what the hell are they up to?” the battle-group commander observed quietly.
    That was what everyone wanted to know. The Indian battle group—that was what they called it, because that’s exactly what it was—had been at sea for eight days now, cruising off the south coast of Sri Lanka. The putative mission for the group was support for the Indian Army’s peace-keeping team, whose job was to ameliorate the problem with the Tamil Tigers. Except for one thing: the Tamil Tigers were cosseted on the northern part of the island nation, and the Indian fleet was to the south. The Indian two-carrier force was maneuvering constantly to avoid merchant traffic, beyond sight of land, but within air range. Staying clear of the Sri Lankan Navy was an easy task. The largest vessel that country owned might have made a nice motor yacht for a nouveau-riche private citizen, but was no more formidable than that. In short, the Indian Navy was conducting a covert-presence operation far from where it was supposed to be. The presence of fleet-replenishment ships meant that they planned to be there for a while, and also that the Indians were gaining considerable at-sea time to conduct workups. The plain truth was that the Indian Navy was operating exactly as the U.S. Navy had done for generations. Except that the United States didn’t have any ambitions with Sri Lanka.
    “Exercising every day?” Robby asked.
    “They’re being right diligent, sir,” Harrison confirmed. “You can expect a pair of Harriers to form up with our Hornets, real friendly, like.”
    “I don’t like it,” Dubro observed. “Tell him about last week.”
    “That was a fun one to watch.” Harrison called up the computerized records, which ran at faster-than-normal speed. “Start time for the exercise is about now, sir.”
    On