Chapter 36
The next morning, Brian woke me up early for a run. I had to laugh when I saw him dressed in a tight pair of black spandex shorts and tight t-shirt. He looked damn sexy, but I was laughing because I'd forgotten that fashion trend of the late eighties. Thank God we both had bodies that could show off the fashion trend well.
After our run, we went for a swim in the lagoon's swimming area. Then, back to the apartment for lunch, and another session of lovemaking. I wanted so badly to just stay in that bed with him, but he dragged me out in the late afternoon for an early dinner at the Admiral's house. After the early dinner, he went with the rest of the officer's spouses while I ended up in the Admiral's den, going over the upcoming refitting of the Long Beach with him and the newly-frocked Rear Admiral (Lower Half) J.C. Pollock.
The ship was the first nuclear-powered surface ship ever built. That meant she was nearly thirty years old, which for a warship was very old. Despite her age, she'd been in the heat of battle for over six months and survived more engagements with the enemy than any other ship in the fleet. Because of that, the decision had been made to use this refit period to equip her with the best weapons and sensors available.
During peace time, that would have meant one or two years in dry dock while the old systems were ripped out and new systems installed. This wasn't peacetime though, and the changes would be done in a matter of weeks, not a year or more. In order to do that, all nine hundred-odd crewmembers, the crew of the dry dock, the crew of two ship tenders currently in port here, and nearly six hundred ship builders flown in from the United States would work twenty-four hours a day to make this work.
Four SPY-1A radar panels and their related computer systems that had been intended for a ship currently being built back in the States had been shipped here already. Tomorrow, another two cargo ships were arriving. In their holds were three Mk. 41 Vertical Launch systems. Two were 61-cell launchers originally intended for the same cruiser as the radar panels. The third was a 40-cell launcher that had been intended for the refitting of a Spruance-class destroyer. The destroyer would not need it anymore since she was now on the bottom of the Indian Ocean. The Long Beach's two Mk. 10 missile launchers, and all their related equipment would be removed and replaced with the three Mk. 41 launcher systems.
The three new launchers would hold a combined total of one hundred and sixty missiles. The two 61-cell launchers would be filled with SM2-MR missiles (the remaining cell of each launcher carried a crane for use in reloading missiles at sea). While the missiles only had half the range of missiles the Long Beach currently carried, the new launchers could each fire one missile per second, instead of two missiles every forty seconds. Once installed with the planned six SPG-62 missile directors, we'd be able to engage twenty-four incoming missiles and fire forty-eight missiles at incoming missiles or planes in less than one minute. With our old system we'd only been able to engage, at the most, eight missiles in the same amount of time.
Other changes were almost as extreme. The aft superstructure that had been destroyed by a missile strike during the first week of our battle in the Persian Gulf was going to be re-built. Before, it had been the base of a long-range SPS-49 air search radar, two Phalanx close-in anti-missile weapons system, eight Harpoon anti-ship missiles, and of course the ship's gym and ship's store as well as several offices and two motor boats. All of that had been destroyed, though, when the missile hit.
Like before, it would be the base of the SPS-49 air search radar, but it would also be holding far more weapons than it had in the past. On the port and starboard sides, eight Harpoon anti-ship missile canisters would be loaded, as well as two more Phalanx close-in weapons systems. Another Phalanx cannon would be placed on the aft end, giving the Long Beach better point-defenses than those carried on the carriers. Two of the six SPG-62 missile directors would also be housed on the new superstructure. The last change to the new aft superstructure was even more important with all the submarines now infesting the Indian Ocean. It would be built to accommodate a hangar for two SH-60 anti-submarine helicopters.
In the past, the Long Beach had a helo-pad to land helicopters, and refuel them, but did not have a hangar to base them on the ship. Now, we'd carry two helicopters with us wherever we went, providing an anti-submarine coverage that no other nuclear cruiser in the navy possessed. Hopefully, that would help prevent us from being sunk by the bane of every surface vessel: the submarine.
During the refitting process, one of my main duties would be to supervise the tearing out, and replacing of the wiring for the ship's weapons systems. I'd been chosen for this duty for several reasons, not the least of which was that during my first time around, I'd worked for two years with a telecommunications company installing underground wiring conduits. The principles were much the same for what we were going to be doing, and I therefore had more experience in that field than any of the other officers from the ship.
It was also one of the most important facets of the refit process. Were this to be done during peacetime, all the conduits on the ship would be stripped out, and new conduits installed. The whole process for that would be six months. This wasn't peacetime, so we were not installing new conduit, just running new wire through the existing conduits. Thankfully, we already had enough conduit for all the new wires, but the risk of getting a grounded wire was very real.
All it took for a missile to get through would be one grounded wire that short-circuited any of our key systems.
Between that work, and the planning sessions for our deployment once the refit was completed, I would be working fifteen to twenty hour days. That wouldn't leave a lot of time for Brian, much less sleep, but then it would still be more time with Brian than I'd had in a while. It would also have to be enough.
As the evening progressed, I was reminded of the legendary drinking habits of J.C. Pollock and his senior officers. By the time we were leaving the Admiral's house, just before midnight, I was so drunk I could barely stand, and the newly minted Rear Admiral Pollock had to be helped to his waiting car by his wife and two junior enlisted men of the base Admiral's staff. Brian was a little miffed at how drunk I was, but then so were all the spouses. As Mrs. McManus told him while we departed, though, he was lucky. I was still eighteen, and much more able to recover my sexual appetite than a man in his thirties.
The next morning, the enlisted crew of the Long Beach had morning quarters at 0715. That's seven fifteen in the morning for landlubbers. The chief petty officers had their morning quarters at 0645. The officers had to be ready at 0600. It was unfair really. I'd griped at the 0715 the first time around, but 0600 was absolutely awful, especially when it took an hour to get to the ship. That meant I actually had to leave the apartment at 0445 in order to be there on time for that first day.
Brian was still asleep in bed when I slipped out the door, and I'd been the one who had too much to drink the night before.
While I'd been relaxing with my love for the past two days, the civilian yard workers had been doing the preliminary review and space measurements on the ship. Now though, it was time to swing into action at full speed. At the officer's briefing, over breakfast in the dry dock's wardroom, I was introduced to the two civilian yard workers who would be the team supervisors for my 'task'. I left the meeting pretty sure I'd impressed them with my knowledge of the magnitude of the task at hand, and with my knowledge of the techniques we'd be using.
From there the day went to total hell. Each division was responsible for disconnecting their equipment from the wire connections, the power connections, and various other items. Meanwhile, yard workers were trying to start pulling cables as soon as they were disconnected, and everyone was stepping over everyone. Naturally, it was my duty to straighten things out and no one seemed happy with my decisions.
I didn't get home until just after nine the next morning. My regular duty shift was going to be the midnight to eight a.m. shift, which meant very little time with Brian. I was too tired to do anything when I got home, but when I woke up just before six that night, I found that Brian was waiting for me to wake. He'd been lying next to me for some time, and my first reaction on waking was to kiss. Naturally, that led to more than just kissing.
"So, Brandon and Sean are still a couple." Brian was saying several hours later. I was snuggled up against him, half-asleep but listening to his 'catching up' news about our friends and family. "They're enjoying going to Cal Poly together. Brandon took your talking about his Internet business to heart and wants to learn all he can about business management and computers. Sean's decided he likes computers better than physics anyway, so he's going with Brandon. Trevor's turned down that football scholarship and is going to USC to study film making of all things. They're all worried about the potential draft starting up, so they're continuing ROTC at those schools. That way they'll get deferred until they graduate and when they do graduate they'll be officers."
"That's smart." I said lazily. Truth be told, I didn't blame them in the least. So far, nearly forty thousand men and women in uniform had died in this war, and that was just the Americans. Nearly half again as many Iraqi and Iranians had died, but only about fifteen thousand Soviet pilots, air crews, and sailors had yet to bleed in the war we were fighting, and they'd been responsible for most of the American deaths.
"Mom and Aunt Wilma, you remember her, the Assistant Principal at our Junior High, have gone into business with each other on this new health food store." Brian continued and I nodded against his chest. "Dad's talked to the tenants in the San Francisco apartment and the last of them plan on leaving in about four months. After that he's going to renovate it for us and it'll be our summer home."
"Our summer home?" I asked in surprise, lifting my head from his chest. He stopped running his fingers through my hair and smiled at me.
"Yeah, I wrote you about that a month ago." Brian said and I let out a sigh.
"Oh, that's probably one of the letters I got today." I said softly. "We had our first mail call in over six weeks so I got like forty some-odd letters from you, about twenty from Brandon, Trevor, Sean, Harry, and a few other friends. I even saw a couple from Nanny, about ten from Aunt Bev, a few from Grandma and one from Dad."
"Your Dad is writing you again?" Brian said with some surprise.
"Yeah, I guess he decided that a gay son in uniform was more acceptable than a plain old gay son." I said with a snort of derision. "I haven't opened it yet, and I don't know if I will."
"You should." Brian said, the first words in our first argument in over half a year. Thirty minutes later we were busy kissing and making up.
That set a pattern for me. I was on duty until the late morning, although sometimes those shifts carried over until after noon. Then I was home with Brian for a bit before going back to my midnight shift. Brian wasn't bored sitting in the apartment alone, though. Mrs. Pollock and the other officer wives took him under their wings and kept him busy helping plan a USO concert that was coming up on the island as well as planning some sports activities for the crew on the half-day off we would get each Sunday. The base Admiral's wife also drafted him to work in the new Red Cross office on the island.
The Red Cross has always provided important services to Americans, and especially to American service members. When a parent or close relative died, or suffered a major accident or illness, the Red Cross facilitated contact with the service member. During peacetime they worked hard at providing support and contact links between service members and their families, during war time, they worked even harder. The Red Cross office here on the island was the key center for all forces deployed in the region, and was extremely overworked.
Brian's experiences over the last six years had given him skills that were proving to be invaluable in working with the Red Cross here at the island base. He was able to sit down with a young man or woman and tell them their mother had died two weeks ago in a car accident, and within an hour they were back at their post dealing with their grief and feeling supported. It was Brian who organized the various ship's chaplains into an effective counseling force, rotating their 'clients' as ships pulled in or out, and making sure that when a service member's ship left, their chaplain knew what was going on with them. The few cases where emergency leave had been authorized he also managed to smooth out the rough edges, arranging space on the few flights out of the island capable of carrying passengers.
At least once in those first three weeks I came home to find him still out, working his butt off.
Two weeks into the retrofitting of the Long Beach, it became quite apparent that we were not going to be finished by the initial deadline. We were authorized another three weeks for the upgrade, and I barely imagined the state the crew would be in when we were done. As it was, we were all working far more than the scheduled twelve-hour shifts and we were still behind. When the initial deadline was reached, less than half the work was done.
The old Mark 10 missile systems had been removed, as had the SPG-55B missile directors. The first two decks of forward superstructure were removed, but we were not yet ready to begin installation of the three Mk. 41 vertical launch missiles, nor were we ready for the installation of the SPG-62 directors. The SPY-1A panels were in place, but the wiring wasn't even started yet, and the aft superstructure had been built, but none of the equipment or wiring was even half-finished for installation of the new weapon systems or radars. That night, I got home shortly after two in the afternoon, exhausted after a two-day marathon of work, and found Brian sitting in front of the television with a worried expression on his face.
"Davey, you have to listen to this." Brian said as I walked in the
door. Tiredly, I sat on the couch next to him as he turned up the volume. The
island had several satellite receivers and sent out cable programming to most
of the housing. The set was tuned to CNN and I watched as Wolfe Blitzer was
speaking.
"…the President has yet to respond to the declaration of Open Hostilities
from the Soviet Union." The CNN reporter was saying with a frown. "Certainly
the guarantee on the limitation of hostilities to the Indian Ocean, Red Sea,
and Persian Gulf regions provide some comfort of thought for the American people,
but we don't know yet how the President will respond to the formal declaration."
"But doesn't this specifically guarantee that they won't use nukes on us?" The older male anchor asked. I couldn't remember his name.
"It does specifically guarantee the Soviet Union won't use nuclear weapons in a first strike, and it also guarantees that they won't harass US ships or civilians not in the region of hostilities." Wolfe Blitzer said cautiously. His fellow reporter, Bernie Shaw had died when the America sank.
"That's a relief." Brian said softly and I had to think back to those first days in the White House when the Soviet coup had happened. I'd reflected then on how important it was that the leadership understands that NEITHER side wanted to ever use nukes. It seemed now that the lesson had been beaten into the Soviets by Alexei Shevrenadze. For some reason, that settled uneasily on my mind, and I couldn't really figure out why.
The next morning, when I saw an intelligence file at the base Admiral's office
I knew why it was unsettling. The Soviets were freeing up several surface units
and racing them through the Suez Canal and into the Red Sea, where they'd enter
the Indian Ocean after stopping in their base located in the country of Yemen.
Satellite photos also showed nearly forty more submarines leaving port, and
it was a safe bet most were heading our way.
Two weeks later, the Long Beach was much closer to completion. Most of the wiring was done at last, and the new weapon systems just needed finishing touches to complete installation. The new propellors had been put on the ship, and the damage below the waterline had been completely repaired. Once the initial installation of the new systems had been completed, the dry dock would be flooded and we'd pull out to one of the new floating piers for completion of the systems installations and for loading of our new weapons. The dry dock was badly needed for the Kinkaid. The destroyer had just pulled in with massive damage to its aft starboard section. One of the Soviets new Oscar-class subs had managed to sneak up on the state-of-the-art anti-submarine destroyer and launched four anti-ship missiles from close range. The destroyer's point-defenses had been alert, though, and destroyed three of them. The fourth had been a dud, the warhead didn't explode, but it still had done massive damage and killed sixteen crewmembers.
"Well, it looks like you'll be getting to see your Brian a lot more than planned." Bob McManus said as we ate a quick lunch in the wardroom. His knowing smile was alarming.
"What do you mean?" I asked around a mouthful of corned beef sandwich. It had taken me three weeks to convince the wardroom cooks that I did NOT like mustard on my sandwiches.
"Well, while most of our wives are flying out this weekend, your boy managed to worm his way into a long-term position on the island." The Assistant Weapons Officer and good friend told me with a smile. "I heard this morning that he accepted the position of Assistant Director of Red Cross Operations for the Sixth Fleet."
I shook my head in amusement more than disbelief. I knew the guy who'd been Director up to now had really been out of his league, but didn't expect Brian would take the job. He was supposed to be in school for fall semester. Still, I could see why he'd want to stay here. Once the ship was completed, we'd be heading out again, and Diego Garcia was pretty much homeport until the war ended. Plus, Brian was doing a lot of good and his skills were needed.
"That little shit didn't even tell me." I muttered while Bob McManus laughed. "I'll get him though."
"Oh?" Bob asked with a tilted eyebrow and I smiled.
"Yeah, I'm going to tell him I just got orders transferring me back to Washington." I said with an evil smile and Bob laughed his head off.
Brian didn't laugh that night; he just slapped me very lightly and told me to give up trying to trick him.
"This is important to me, Davey." Brian said after I'd apologized for trying to fool him that way.
"Why?" I asked with genuine curiosity. He took my hand and led me to the couch, where we sat, facing each other and his brows furrowed together in the way I knew meant he was thinking hard about framing each and every word.
"It…don't take this the wrong way, love, but this is something that is me, it's mine and mine alone." Brian said slowly. His words didn't hurt, but they did surprise me a little bit. "I got offered this because I'm good at it, and I've earned it over the last few weeks. All those years visiting patients in the AIDS wards, listening to them, and being there as they dealt with what was coming gave me the experience I need to be damn good at this. I'm not doing it because of… your history and role in the government, and I'm not being forced to do it because someone doesn't like that I'm gay. It's something I can choose to do, and it helps other people and our country at the same time. I don't have all the experiences that you do, the things that let you do the job you're doing. If I wanted to help with the war going on, I'd have to enlist and then I'd just be another soldier or sailor among thousands. With this work, I'm helping out way more than I would as just another face in the crowd and I've got it because of my own skills."
"I'm proud of you, Brian." I said after looking into his eyes for a long minute. There were tears there and I moved to kiss his forehead gently. I could feel him sob a little as I kissed him, and moved down to his lips where the kiss turned passionate. That night, we made love on the couch, only moving to the bedroom long after our sweat-soaked bodies had gotten chilly.
Without a doubt I knew what Brian was talking about when he told me those things. For the last few years he'd always been somewhat in my shadow, there with me, an active participant, but almost always what we were doing was dictated in part based on who I was and the importance placed on me. Here, now, he was doing something on his own, that I really had nothing to do with, and his importance was based only on his skills, his abilities.
Some people get scared when their partner looks for independent things to do, but I was not one of them. In fact, I was happier because of this than I had been before. Even if he made a career of this, instead of law, it would be something that would always dovetail nicely with what I was doing, giving him the independence he needed while moving in a direction that was similar to the same path as I was on.
As we lay in bed snuggled up closely, we talked about the possibility of him pursuing a career in counseling. Over the past year, it had been gnawing on his mind as something he might enjoy more than being an attorney. Certainly he had a natural talent for that, and if he wanted to pursue it as a career, he had plenty of time to get the full education he'd need. With his security clearance he could even work for the government at some exorbitant rates. For now, he'd be delaying school until after the war was over.
I saw less and less of Brian as we neared the final completion date of the ship's refitting. Almost every day it seemed a crisis or two happened that managed to keep him busy even past the point of when I got home. It was my turn to wait for him, and to go to bed with him not yet home. I hated it with a passion, but made sure not to let him know that.
Nine weeks after we pulled into the dry dock, the dock was flooded and the United States Ship Long Beach was once again afloat. Two tugs pulled us out into the harbor and up to one of the new floating piers. The nuclear reactors needed fresh water to run the reactors, and it had been decided to not light them up until we were back in the water. They would take at least a day before they were fully operational, so we were tied back to the shore power grid to conduct systems tests.
Brian knew I wasn't going to be home tonight. This morning, I'd brought the few bags I'd carried to the apartment we were sharing back to the ship and settled into my new cabin. I still had a single cabin to myself, but this new one was much smaller. Tomorrow, we'd have dinner aboard the ship with all the officer's spouses who were still on the island. Then, an hour after the dinner we were supposed to pull out to sea.
"NTDS link is up and operational, Mr. Jones." Senior Chief Lofton told me, breaking me out of my reverie. I looked down at my command station and pushed a few buttons until the screen showed what I wanted.
"Very well, Senior Chief." I said firmly. "Begin the link-up with one of the ships currently underway."
"Aye, aye, sir." The short senior chief petty officer said from his station. The Captain (his rank was officially Admiral, but he retained command of the ship so custom was to still call him Captain) was over at the consoles for the Mk. 41 vertical launch systems. We had one SM-2 (MR) in each of the larger two launchers, and one Tomahawk in the smaller launcher for testing purposes. Tomorrow, after the screw test we'd load the rest of the missiles onboard. Normally that wouldn't be done until some more tests had taken place, but this was wartime.
"Sir, um, maybe you should have a look." Senior Chief Lofton's voice held a tinge of fear in it and I looked up sharply before setting my console to see what he was seeing.
The radar image was coming from the USS Lake Champlain, currently sitting off the coast of Jaziraat al-Masirah. Al-Masirah was a small island with an airport that served as the forward supply base for American forces in the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. It was just off the coast of Oman, in the Indian Ocean, and was the most heavily defended base we had in the entire area.
"Captain, you need to see this." I said loud enough for Admiral Pollock to hear. A few quick pushes of several buttons had the image I was looking at relayed to the main screen in the Combat Information Center. There were low mutters from all over as people in the crowded space looked up at a major battle underway.
NTDS stands for Naval Tactical Data System. The NTDS system was designed to allow ships in a battle group to 'see' the radar picture from each other's systems, and to permit a battle group to fight more effectively as a unit. With satellite communications, the NTDS picture from any ship can be seen by any other ship with the proper authorization and capabilities. The AEGIS system of the Long Beach communicated quite well with the AEGIS system of the Lake Champlain, which was the battle group control for the forces defending al-Masirah.
To a civilian, the picture would have been a mess of triangles, letters, circles, and squiggly lines, but everyone in the CIC knew what was happening and cringed at the picture. Heavy jamming was affecting the radar picture, reducing its range greatly. However, the powerful AEGIS system was breaking through the jamming and showed over forty incoming missiles. The Lake Champlain and the Normandy would have been able to handle those incoming missiles easily, but they were not the only threat.
Nearly two hundred aircraft were heading in at high speeds from the North and West, while more missiles, nearly a hundred in all were heading in from the East. With the information from intelligence sources, I knew the aircraft from the North and West were from the base in Yemen, while the missiles from the East were likely launched by bombers that had flown through Iranian airspace. In order to get in range, those bombers must have fought through the fighter patrols we had in that area.
The ships and base put up a good fight. Al-Masirah had six Patriot batteries, and eleven Hawk batteries. Both were surface-to-air missile systems and were knocking down the incoming missiles like mad. Both AEGIS cruisers were also firing, knocking down the anti-ship missiles and more missiles heading to the base. The other ships in their battle groups with surface-to-air missiles were also engaging the incoming missiles, as well as some of the incoming aircraft. Fighters from the base were dog fighting the incoming fighter-bombers as well.
While we watched from over a thousand miles away, more threats appeared. This time they were long-range, wake-homing torpedoes from submarines. At the same time, about twenty missiles made it through the defensive screens. Point defenses, like the five Phalanx systems that had just been installed on our ship destroyed all but five of them. Two missiles hit the Texas, destroying it totally. Another hit the last of the Kidd-class destroyers, sinking her. The other two hit the Roanoke and the Wichita, both of which were supply ships.
At the same time, the fighters defending the base were overwhelmed while six more missiles from the western bombers landed within the base itself, destroying several hangars. Fighter-bombers from Yemen streamed through the holes in the defenses, taking losses from some Hawk batteries before dropping their bombs. Minutes later, the torpedoes began to hit, sinking two older destroyers, one of the newer Spruance-class destroyers, and the Normandy. Anti-sub helicopters were vectoring in on the area where the torpedoes came from, but another round of shots had been detected.
When the picture went black two minutes later, we knew the Lake Champlain had not been as lucky as us. The torpedoes aimed at her had hit. Before we'd lost the picture, we'd witnessed two more frigates being hit, and more importantly three more supply ships had been hit.
"Well, at least we know our system works." Senior Chief Lofton said in the silence that followed, and although I was pretty sure he was trying to lift the sudden oppressiveness of what we'd just witnessed, I gave him a very dark look. A moment later, a phone rang in CIC and the Captain answered it, speaking very softly.
"Gentlemen, and ladies, make all preparations to get underway as soon as the reactors are up." Admiral Pollock said as he hung up the phone. He'd added 'ladies' after a moment's pause. We now had thirty-six women on-board, including a female Ensign I knew from the Academy. She'd been a classmate in my year. He paused after that sentence, took a deep breath and continued. "Weapons division, ready your personnel for weapons on-load. We'll be taking on a full load of SM-2 (MR), Tomahawks, Harpoons, five-inch ammo, and all necessary ammo for the Phalanx and our small arms. As soon as the reactors are ready, we set sail. I don't think I need to tell you where. We'll conduct calibrations and drills once we are underway. Expect no sleep for the next few days. Those of you with dependents ashore can call them over the landline in order of rank and seniority."
"Hop to it!" Commander Dyson, the new Operations Officer ordered with a clap of his hands. The man was familiar with the AEGIS system, which was why he was transferred aboard. Our old Operations Officer was now the Commanding Officer of a Knox-class frigate whose old captain had been killed during a gun battle with an Iranian corvette. Nearly a third of our officers had been transferred to other ships needing experienced, command-ready officers.
Most of us had not slept since the previous morning, but that didn't stop us from working like mad through the night. By two in the morning it was my turn to make the phone call to Brian. I tried the apartment, and he was not there. Then I tried his office, and likewise he was not there either. His absence worried me, almost as much as not being able to say goodbye. When it became clear I was not going to get in touch with him, I took the time to write a note and leave it at the quarterdeck. The Officer of the Deck assured me he'd get it to someone pier-side and they'd get the note to Brian.
Then it was back to work. Topside, yard workers and crewmembers scurried around trying to get last-minute things done. Before the ammunition arrived, we conducted live-radiating tests on all the missile directors. We discovered a synchronization problem with the aft-most director, and I went back there to work with the Fire Control men on finding the problem.
While we were up there, the ammunition began arriving. Every crewmember that was not specifically exempted by his division officer, or a nuclear engineer working on getting the reactors going, came up on deck and formed up long lines. Four cranes were in place, and within fifteen minutes one of them was lifting pallets of ammunition to the stern flight deck.
These pallets were filled with 5" gun ammunition and powder casings. The gun magazines and fire control centers had been remodeled during the refit as well. By removing the ship's library and chaplain's office (they were moved to a new space being made available by removal of the second Mk. 10 missile system), they were able to double the storage space for the 5" guns. That meant a lot more rounds could be fired than before, and for now it meant that crewmembers were lugging fifty pound projectiles. Two lines were formed, one going down the port side, the other down the starboard side. Each crewman stood in line and would pass each individual shell or powder casing down the line. It was faster, and less strenuous on each crewmember than having them actually carry the shells the two hundred feet.
On the forward part of the ship, two cranes were being positioned to begin lifting SM-2 missiles into the new vertical launch tubes. After the surface-to-air missiles were loaded, they'd move to the smaller, forty-cell launcher, and load Tomahawks. We'd get twenty-four anti-ship Tomahawks (nearly all that was left in the inventory of the United States), twelve land-attack Tomahawks, and four nuclear-tipped land-attack Tomahawks.
The last crane was positioning itself amidships. It would be loading the ASROC weapons for the launcher amidships. The Anti-Submarine Rocket (ASROC) was an old system first deployed during the late 1950's, but it was still quite effective. A basic rocket was connected to a Mk. 46 torpedo in an 8-cell box launcher. The rocket would fire the torpedo out to about six miles where the torpedo would separate from the rocket and drop into the water. It was designed to kill submarines and so far had proven to be very effective. There was also a depth charge version, with a nuclear warhead. We were getting thirteen regular ASROC weapons and one nuclear-tipped depth charge warhead.
After the crane loaded the ASROC weapons, it would shift slightly aft and begin loading twenty-six regular Mk. 46 torpedoes. They could be loaded on the two helicopters stationed on our aft (the helicopters would fly out to us once we left port) or they could be fired from the two triple-mount torpedo tubes. If we ever got close enough to a submarine to use the ship's torpedo tubes, we'd likely be dodging submarine-launched torpedoes at the same time. After loading the torpedoes, the crane would move slightly further aft again and load the sixteen Harpoon anti-ship missiles.
It took nearly two hours to find the problem with the missile director, and when we did there were groans all around. One little nut on a bolt had been loose. With a curse, Lt. Marshall, the fire control division officer, ordered his men to go over every director to make sure there were no other similar problems.
By this time, the five-inch magazines were full with one thousand two hundred and ten rounds. The aft crane was now loading ammunition for the Phalanx defense cannons. The 20mm six-barrel gatling guns fires shells filled with depleted uranium. The substance was only slightly radioactive and was so heavy it would knock the warhead of a missile out the tailpipe when it hit. Then they would load the ammunition for the 25mm Bushmaster cannons. These were essentially the same gun as carried by the M2 Bradley fighting vehicle and were designed to combat small boat attacks. Finally, that crane would load ammunition for the fifty-caliber machine guns, shotguns, M-16 rifles, and other small arms carried by some of the crew.
As for me, I went back down to combat. While we were loading ammunition onboard, we couldn't turn on any of the radars or directors, yet there was still plenty to do. The missile crews were checking each weapon as it was loaded into the forward launch cells and making sure it could communicate with the ship's systems. This was important because in order to launch, it would have to get preliminary directions and flight path commands from the ship's AEGIS combat system.
Sure enough, four cells had problems that had to be dealt with, and again it was faulty installation of some wire or a computer board.
By six in the morning, the sun was coming up and the weapons on-load was only half-completed. Admiral Pollock ordered the officers to take a few hours rest and then to relieve the officers working with the men on the loading crews. As I moved to leave the CIC, he told me that in two hours we'd be receiving an intel package and he wanted me to begin reviewing it immediately. I nodded silently and made my way back to my cabin. It was lonely there, without Brian next to me, but I fell right to sleep. Three hours later, a radioman appeared with a thick packet. Ten minutes after that, a crewmember who was working in the officer's wardroom appeared with a breakfast tray for me.
While I reviewed the intelligence and satellite pictures, I was amazed at how effective the Soviet attack on al-Masirah had been. They'd sunk fourteen ships, destroyed six aircraft on the ground, and shot down nearly twenty more. In order to do that, they'd taken some heavy losses. One hundred and sixty-four attacking planes had been shot down, and three ships (a frigate and two destroyers) had been sunk. We'd also gotten eight submarines.
The packet included the orders for the surviving ships. Amphibious assault ships Tarawa, Iwo Jima, Tripoli, and Coronado were using helicopters to rescue survivors from the al-Masirah base. They were defended by eight ships, but were very weak when it came to air defense. The Adams-class destroyer Barney was the best air-defense ship left in the area, and would not be able to hold off a coordinated attack.
Three more re-supply convoys were now out of a base. One of the three was being re-deployed up into the gulf where it would operate out of Dubai. The other two were heading south, towards Diego Garcia. The evacuation group led by Tarawa would head south as soon as they'd picked up every soldier and sailor stuck at the smashed al-Masirah base. One of the two re-supply convoys was still fully stocked, and would be rendezvousing with the task force that Long Beach was preparing to lead.
Our new orders were also included, and they were big. The Battle of al-Masirah was the latest defeat for the United States. On land, we were holding our own, and in the last week had even driven the attacking forces further away from Kuwait City. At sea, though, we were losing. Submarine and air attacks had sunk nearly forty surface ships, including four carriers, and severely damaged twenty more, including two carriers.
With nearly half our carriers at the bottom of the ocean, the United States was not able to send more to the Indian Ocean. They were needed to guard the shores of the country itself, and to guard key sea lanes. That meant our primary air power came from Air Force planes that weren't really equipped for naval warfare, and Harrier jump jets from ships like Tarawa and Tripoli. While a good plane, the Harrier could not survive dog fights with planes like the Mig-29 and Su-27 Soviet fighters.
It seemed like every time we moved a carrier to the Indian Ocean, they knew where they were and hit them hard. Worse, they'd begun hitting the supply convoys hard, as they did during the Battle of al-Masirah. The loss of each supply ship meant more of our warships would have to make the thousand-mile trip back to Diego Garcia for more food or fuel. With another month like this, the United States would not be able to operate its ships effectively, and we'd fail to re-supply the troops in Kuwait. That was a recipe for defeat.
Our new orders were for the Long Beach to form Task Force 67 and head into the Arabian Sea and the Gulf of Aden where we would seek out and engage all enemy surface and sub-surface forces. We were going to sail to Yemen, destroying the ships and subs guarding the base, smash the base, and then seal the Indian Ocean off from any Soviet reinforcements that would head through the Red Sea. That would be the first step in re-establishing the flow of oil. The carrier Enterprise was on her way, with a sizeable task force, and would begin escorting oil tankers through the Indian Ocean. Once they were out of the Indian Ocean, they'd no longer be under threat of attack and could move unmolested to the United States, Europe, China, Japan, and other countries.
In order to do this, Task Force 67 would have to fight heavily armed surface ships, some aircraft, and a lot of submarines. Unfortunately, the Navy couldn't spare the best ships to group them all together, so we were getting a mixed bag. Naturally, Long Beach would be the flagship, and most powerful warship in the group. As of right now, we were the second most powerful surface ship afloat, challenged only by the Soviet Kirov-class battle cruisers, one of which we'd be facing soon.
The rest of the Task Force was made up of destroyers and frigates. Two of the modern Spruance-class destroyers would be joining us. The class had been built primarily as anti-submarine platforms, and neither the Moosebrugger nor the Leftwich had yet been given the Mk. 41 VLS for Tomahawks. Instead, they had the Mk. 16 ASROC like that on the flagship. Their only surface-to-air missile system was the short-range Mk. 29 Sea Sparrow system. However, their towed array sonar and the two helicopters on each ship would help find and sink those enemy submarines. Each ship also carried eight Harpoon anti-ship missiles for sinking enemy ships.
Three more destroyers of the Adams-class were joining us as well. Two carried the ancient twin-armed Mk.11 surface-to-air missile system. It held thirty-four Standard Missile 1's and six Harpoon anti-ship missiles in a launcher. Each had two directors that could lock on to one target each, and the launcher itself could fire two missiles every twenty-two seconds. They also had an ASROC, torpedo tubes, and two five-inch gun mounts, but no Phalanx defenses or helicopter hangar. Their sonar was outdated, but still somewhat effective.
Two of the frigates sailing with the group were Perry-class. Probably the best general-purpose frigates in the world, the Perry-class featured a single-arm Mk. 13 SAM launcher. It held 35 SM1-MR missiles and four Harpoon anti-ship missiles. With a reload rate of eight seconds, it could put seven missiles in the air in less than a minute. Unfortunately, it only had one missile director and required constant lock-on with the target, so it could only fire those missiles at one air target. (The third Adams-class destroyer in our task force also carried the Mk. 13 launcher but had two directors.) The ships also had some of the most advanced sonar equipment available, and rounded out their weapons systems with a rapid-fire 3" gun mount and single Phalanx anti-missile cannon. Both the Carr and the Hawes also had two SH-60 helicopters in hangars on board. That gave us a total of ten SH-60 helicopters for anti-submarine and radar picket duties.
The other two frigates were the older Knox-class frigates. Their main mission was anti-submarine warfare and that was reflected in their weapons and sensors. They had a decent hull sonar, a good towed-array sonar, and basic radars. Their armament consisted of an older model 5" gun mount (but still newer than those on the Long Beach), a Mk. 16 ASROC launcher, four torpedo tubes, and a point-defense system for missiles. One of the frigates carried a Mk. 25 launcher with Sea Sparrow missiles inside. Like the system on the Spruance-class, it had a very short range of nine miles and could only target one missile at a time. The other frigate carried the Phalanx defense cannon. Both of the Knox-class frigates also had a hangar for a single SH-2F Seasprite helicopter. The helicopter was a dedicated anti-submarine machine with less range, less-capable sonobuoys, but the same torpedo as the more-capable SH-60 Seahawk. While the ships would contribute to defense against submarines, they would do little for defense against cruise missile attacks. However, their Mk. 16 ASROC system had been modified to also fire Harpoon anti-ship missiles from two of the launcher cells. There were also two more Harpoons in their magazines for reloads.
All these numbers and details were confusing for most non-naval personnel. For experienced sailors, and maybe war gamers of the computer age, they were the bread and butter of an at-sea engagement. We would be going against a Kirov-class battlecruiser, a Slava-class heavy cruiser, a Kara-class cruiser, a Kresta-class cruiser, two Sovremmeny-class destroyers, two Udaloy-class destroyers, and three Krivak-class frigates as well as an unknown number of submarines.
On paper, we were about even with the enemy. They had more anti-ship missiles, but weaker air defense. Who would win the battle would depend largely on who detected who first. If we found them first, we could engage with our missiles before they could, thereby causing damage to them before they hit us. If they found us first and destroyed enough ships, they'd be able to reduce any damage we hope to could inflict.
This was what we were facing, and it was not a pleasant picture. By mid-morning I was back in the Combat Information Center replaying the tapes of the Battle of al-Masirah. I was paying special attention to the tactics used in the missile strikes. They really were first-class in their design to overcome the AEGIS system. By sunset, the last weapons were loaded, and the ship's food stores were fully stocked. As we prepared to get underway, I was summoned to the quarterdeck.
"Hi." Brian said with a goofy grin as I approached the forward quarterdeck. I was surprised to see him, and he had a woman I recognized as working for him standing nearby, talking to the Officer of the Deck.
"Hi." I replied back to him with a lopsided grin. A quick nod from the Officer of the Deck told me it was okay to take Brian somewhere a little more private. Brian followed me aft to a nearby hatch leading inside the ship. It was a little more private than the quarterdeck, so I gave him a quick hug and a kiss once I'd shut the hatch behind us.
"You got my note?" I asked him after the hug.
"Yeah, I was at the Admiral's office when it arrived." Brian said with a slightly hoarse voice. His eyebrows were furrowed together, a clear sign of agitation. "He told me you guys were leaving, and your mission."
"I love you." I said softly, not quite sure what else to say.
"I love you, too." Brian said with a long sigh. "Becky is going with you guys."
"Huh?" I asked with some surprise. Becky was the woman who was on the quarterdeck.
"I was at the Admiral's office because the Tarawa managed to pick up fourteen Soviet pilots and aircrew." Brian explained in a rushed voice. "According to the Geneva Convention, the Red Cross is supposed to examine prisoners of war and make sure they are treated properly. There's a Red Cross team in Kuwait handling stuff up there, but the team with the fleet died in the attack. The Tarawa is going to transfer the prisoners to the hospital ship Comfort as they sail south. I have to send someone up there so Becky's going with you guys until you hit that replenishment group halfway to your target area. She'll transfer to the Mars and they'll transfer her to the Comfort the next day."
"Oh, well at least I got to see you in person before we left." I said softly. When his brow furrowed deeper I got a little worried.
"I could be the one going, if I wasn't the Acting Director." Brian said sadly. "The Admiral even hinted that I could still decide to go myself, but I have responsibilities here. I can't just pack up and leave so I'm with you for one more day. It wouldn't be right."
"No, it wouldn't." I agreed just as sadly. "I wish I didn't have to leave as well."
"No you don't." Brian countered as his furrowed brows relaxing slightly as he smiled at me in a way that sent shivers down my spine. "You are doing something that you love, David Jones. I've seen that over the last few weeks. I see now that you love being a sailor, an officer, and I've talked with some of the men serving with and under you. According to them, you are one of the best officers on the ship, and damn good at your job. I've even accepted that when this war is over you'll probably want to stay in the Navy for some time, maybe even command your own ship. It's okay, it's something you want and I can live with."
"Thank you, love." I replied to his statement, leaning my head briefly on his shoulder while he wrapped me in a hug. When I looked up into his face he kissed me briefly.
"Kick some Soviet ass, Davey." Brian said fiercely. "Make them pay for what they've done so far."
"I will." I answered just as fiercely. He just nodded and opened the hatch, heading back to the quarterdeck. I understood instinctively that he didn't want to talk anymore, rather he wanted to just savor the last words and last touches we had together. For some reason it seemed… final this time. Maybe it was because of watching the data feed from the Battle of al-Masirah, or just that when I'd first been sent over here I really hadn't been able to say goodbye. As he gave me a brief hug before leaving the ship, I did my best to smile and wave one last time.
This was not going to be the last time I ever saw him.
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