Chapter 102 — Tomcats at Yokosuka
The warm sea breeze drifting in from the Pacific rolled gently across the coast of Honshu Island. Despite its northern latitude, the island never truly felt the bite of East Asian winters. Here, women strolled the streets in skirts and bare calves year-round. It was a land blessed with temperate comfort—and strategic significance.
At the entrance of Tokyo Bay, a forest of warship masts rose above Yokosuka Port. Moored in tight formation, vessels of steel and power reflected sunlight off their angular hulls. This was the pride of the U.S. Seventh Fleet—forward-deployed, ever vigilant, and fully entrenched in one of the finest naval ports in the East.
Yokosuka, nestled south of Yokohama, had once served Imperial Japan's navy. Now it belonged to the victors. Since the American occupation following World War II, the base had become a fortress of U.S. naval power. Ship repair yards, ammunition depots, and recreation facilities stretched across the hills and into the city itself. So many Americans had moved here with their families that Yokosuka's economy now revolved entirely around them.
And there, dominating the port, lay CV-63—the USS Kitty Hawk. Her hull cast a long shadow on the water. Number 63 emblazoned her island. The last of the U.S. Navy's conventionally powered aircraft carriers, her 80,000-ton bulk boasted four steam catapults and enough space to host over 80 aircraft.
On the flight deck, rows of aircraft rested with folded wings—sleek F-14 Tomcats, bristling with potential.
Inside the tower bridge, Captain Steve Blanche stood beside the carrier air wing commander, Colonel Ted Petrobori. The two were locked in quiet discussion as they overlooked the sea and the carrier's flight deck.
"The MiG-25s are a serious threat," Steve muttered, glancing at the gray horizon. "Ever since we lost that Blackbird, we haven't dared send a single recon sortie over the Far East. Now that Kitty Hawk is in position, our job is clear—remind the Soviets who owns the sky."
Ted crossed his arms, nodding. "The Tomcats are ready. Our boys have been waiting for this."
"Pentagon wants a naval exercise east of here," Steve said, voice tinged with irritation. "But Jonard's plan to do it out in the Pacific is worthless. A waste of aviation fuel with no deterrent effect. I've decided we'll conduct our drills in the Sea of Japan."
Ted looked toward the distant coastline, then turned back with a slight smirk. "Fine by me. Let the MiG-25s come. They'll find out the hard way what the Tomcat can do."
Though the Seventh Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Jonard Williams, had directed otherwise, operational authority at sea often blurred. Once in open waters, command decisions fell largely to the carrier captain and the air wing commander. Steve's plan would hold—if no one got in the way.
"Let the Air Force keep losing their nerve," Ted added. "The Navy knows how to fight."
Their moment of coordination was interrupted by the sight of a staff car approaching the pier. A junior officer knocked once, then entered the command room.
"Sir, Admiral Jonard is boarding."
Steve and Ted turned simultaneously, eyes narrowing. Both men knew what it meant.
A few moments later, Vice Admiral Jonard strode into the room with confident ease. Dressed in a perfectly pressed service uniform, his general's star shone beneath the bridge lighting.
"You two wouldn't mind a tired old man staying aboard for a few days, would you?" he said, voice light but unmistakably authoritative. "I brought my sheets."
Steve smiled tightly. "Of course, sir. Your stateroom has been prepared."
Jonard nodded, satisfied. "Good. I plan to observe the exercise personally. As scheduled."
With that final sentence, the conversation died. The course change to the Sea of Japan was off the table.
Ted and Steve exchanged a brief glance. Their plan had just been overridden. The Kitty Hawk would now conduct its drills in the eastern Pacific—far from Soviet airspace, far from the MiG-25s, and far from proving anything.
The towering might of the Tomcat would have to wait.