Chapter 37
by Dan Kirk
"No, we don't want to engage the first wave that way." I asserted to Senior Chief Lofton and the senior petty officers manning the primary air defense consoles. We were running yet another simulation while the Task Force finished the underway replenishment. Our conventionally-powered escorts were taking on fresh fuel and all the ships were taking on fresh food, even though we'd only been underway for a little over a day. Most ships ran out of fresh milk after seven days at sea, and vegetables soon after. Taking on more fresh food now meant we would have them for another day at least.
"But how do we engage them when they use the dual-speed attack?" The Senior Chief asked me cautiously. We were studying the new tactic used at the Battle of al-Masirah. It was ingenious really, and I remembered seeing it once before, in a computer game simulation with a very realistic combat simulator. Of course, the Senior Chief could not be told that, just like he couldn't be told that I'd worked out the answer ten years in the future.
"Okay, the first wave of missiles is the slower-speed, low-altitude cruise missiles." I reiterated. "Using Time-on-Target principles, they launch them as a first wave. Then they launch a second wave of high-speed, high-altitude cruise missiles. The second wave is timed to hit our radar detection ranges at the same time we are engaging the first wave. Since they travel at twice the speed of the first-wave, they are hitting our point-defense range before we've finished destroying the first wave attack. If we switch targeting to the second-wave, the first wave hits our point defenses and saturates them to the point where some get through."
"I got that part, but how do we defend against them?" The Senior Chief repeated.
"Well, here's where the intelligence reports come in handy." I said firmly. "The new Soviet low-speed, low-altitude cruise missile is a brand new weapon. They only finished developing it and deploying it to the fleet six months ago. We estimate that they've fired over two hundred of them in the last few months, and we know they've produced less than four hundred so far. They aren't deploying all of them here to this region, so they aren't going to be firing more than a hundred at us. More than likely, we'll see thirty of forty coming our way."
"So, if the escorts engage them, and we engage with only two directors instead of all six, that leaves us four directors for the second wave." Lofton said and I nodded.
"What if we have Hoel stand off as well and engage the second wave?" First Class Petty Officer Gerardi asked and I thought about the idea. Hoel was one of the three Adams-class destroyers escorting us and had the faster Mk. 13 missile system and two directors.
"That would leave us six directors for the first wave and six for the second." Senior Chief Lofton replied. "The only problem with that idea is that all the directors on the older ships can only guide one missile at a time while with four directors we can put sixteen in the air at once. Why don't we just have all the escorts focus on the first wave and we handle the second wave?"
"Let's run the simulation again and try that, and then try the other method." I ordered and they nodded. While the computer was set up, I sat back in my chair and let out a sigh. The CIC had a layer of smoke near the ceiling and I had to put down the urge to bum a smoke off of one of the enlisted men. I hadn't touched them since coming back in time and I didn't want to ruin that now. Instead, I put another stick of gum in my mouth and began issuing orders as the simulation began.
"Damn good." Senior Chief Lofton said two hours later as the ship sailed away from the replenishment group and towards the western part of the Indian Ocean. I pulled the tape from the computer and made sure it was intact.
"I'll take this to Ops and the Captain." I said with a nod of my head. 'Ops' referred to the new Operations Officer. I found them both in the Operations office talking quietly to each other. They nodded when I entered and took the tape while I returned to Combat. It was almost time for my watch to begin. We were moving in a six-on and six-off rotation, which meant we spent six hours on watch and six hours supposedly 'off' watch. At least one of those six hours 'off' was normally used for normal ship's business. The second was for sleep or, if normal work wasn't done yet, to finish that up.
The bad part of my job was the paperwork. In order for a ship to run properly there was paperwork on the status of supplies, on training, on maintenance of equipment, and so on and so on. Then there were the daily inspections of berthing compartments and heads (bathrooms), medical check-ups, dental visits, and on and on. There were three divisions in Operations, and as Assistant Operations Officer it was my duty to work with each of the division officers and make sure that they were doing their jobs and had what they needed.
As the Task Force moved away from the replenishment group, the number of contacts on our screens gradually faded. We were under EMCON Alpha, which meant no electronic transmissions were allowed whatsoever. All of our radar data was coming from passive sensors that detected transmissions from other ships and planes. We were moving at a steady speed of twenty knots. That didn't mean each ship was moving in a steady formation at a constant twenty knots, but rather that was the average speed.
The frigates and destroyers would sprint ahead at flank speed, and then drop to five knots for a little while. That enabled them to search for submarines with passive sonar. Meanwhile four SH-60 helicopters were always in the air, as was one of the SH-2F helicopters from the Knox-class frigates. They weren't using active systems either. Instead they dropped sonobuoys, small floating microphones that transmitted what they heard to the helicopters, and through a data-link back to the ships.
With our speed of advance, they really didn't have the time to sweep the ocean clear, but they did provide a good defensive net. Unless a Soviet sub got very lucky, they wouldn't have much of a chance to close to torpedo range. After my watch was over I went back to my quarters for sleep. Four hours later I was awake again and going over equipment status reports for the sonar division.
For two days the routine continued. I'd stand watch down in Combat, then do paperwork or inspections, and then go back on watch. Then I'd sleep for a few hours before heading off to do something else. At the end of the first day, the Captain ordered a two-hour under instruction watch for me on the bridge. It was to help me learn how to pilot a ship at sea, something he believed every officer needed to know how to do.
We were heading due west, not north-west, the direct route to Yemen. The Soviets probably knew we were coming, and their surface ships were tied up in port. If they stayed in port, it would be very hard to sink them and our mission would be a failure. While in port, they were defended by extensive anti-air missile batteries and several shore-launched anti-ship missile batteries. Trying to approach their port to engage them would give them a huge advantage.
That was part of the reason for our circuitous route.
The other was that once we neared the coast of Africa we'd begin to head north. This would give us, hopefully, an element of surprise since they wouldn't be expecting us to come from that direction. It was on the third day that we ran into our first Soviet submarine.
It was actually one of the SH-60 helicopters that found the sub. The Kilo-class
sub was actually snorkeling, recharging their electric batteries by using a
snorkel from periscope depth. The snorkel would take in fresh air, and discharge
waste gases from the submarine's diesel engines. The Kilo-class submarine
was one of the best diesel-electric submarines in the world, and our helicopter
pounced on it so fast the sub barely had time to lower the snorkel (necessary
before it dived deeper) before the helicopter's first torpedo hit the submarine.
It never stood a chance, and our ESM equipment told us they had not had time
to signal the rest of their fleet.
Admiral Pollock recommended a major medal for the young helicopter crewman who had spotted the submarine's snorkel from a range of twelve miles.
By the time we reached the point where we turned north, towards the Soviet base in Yemen, we'd found and sunk three more submarines. Two were found by our outer defense helicopters, and sunk before they knew what was happening. The last managed to penetrate the barriers set up by the helicopters. The Spruance-class destroyer Moosebrugger picked it up on its towed-array and maneuvered at slow speeds to hit it with a well-placed ASROC shot. The sub was aiming for the destroyer, though, and managed to fire one anti-ship missile before the torpedo hit. The destroyer's Mk. 29 Sea Sparrow system managed to shoot down the missile at a range of three miles.
As the task force headed north, still shrouded in complete electronic silence, the opening act of our battle against the Soviet base began. Less than an hour before midnight, we turned into the wind and launched twelve of the Tomahawk land-attack missiles. Further north, two US submarines went to a depth of forty meters and launched sixteen more Tomahawks. Simultaneously, forty-six fighters streaked south from Saudi Arabia and were engaged by the Soviet base's defensive fighters. From the west, six B-52 bombers flying from Diego Garcia launched forty-eight more cruise missiles towards the base. While the base's fighters were engaging ours, twelve F-111 fighter-bombers streaked in from the north and began engaging the base's hangars and airfield installations. Meanwhile, six more F-117 stealth bombers began their first engagement of the war, attacking and destroying the base's fixed surface-to-air missile systems.
Twelve hours later we were heading north at a speed of advance no less than fifteen knots. We broke electronic silence just long enough to download the intelligence report from the base raid. The pictures were delivered to me as I waited with the Captain, the Executive Officer, and the Operations Officer in the Captain's cabin. The raid was a success, achieving all we'd hoped for.
The airfield's runways were totally cratered, nearly half the hangars damaged, and their fuel depots were in flames. At the naval port, severe damage had hit the shore installations servicing the ships, and both the oil pipeline and depot had been hit by incoming cruise missiles. More importantly, one of the ships had been sunk next to the pier it was tied to, and the rest were headed out to sea. Now it was up to the second phase to keep them from heading north and out of the 'engagement zone' established by the Soviets and our government.
The two submarines that had fired cruise missiles for the earlier attack were now moving into position. They would lay a light minefield at the southern entrance from Yemen into the Indian Ocean. With any luck, sometime in the next eight hours, one of their ships or submarines would hit the mines. Knowing that we were mining their sea lane, they would have to send in some mine-sweeping ships to clear the mines. Those were small, but extremely valuable ships and would have to be protected. While submarines could protect them from ship or sub attacks, they could not protect them from air attacks or long-range cruise missiles. With the airfield out of commission, they would have no choice but to send their ships with the minesweepers.
A day later, we were close enough to our target point that we launched four SH-60B helicopters from the Task Force. They were carrying two fuel tanks instead of torpedoes and were going to be our eyes. For the first eighty miles they flew North, North-west, North-east, and the last flew north as well, but twenty miles behind the first helicopter heading in that direction. Two hours ago, we had received a satellite reconnaissance download that showed the Soviet battle group was in the projected area, guarding four minesweepers. The composition of their ships was what we expected, and they were on their guard for any type of attack.
Apparently the Soviets had repaired the airport runway enough that several fighters were in the air. In order to take off, they'd likely be carrying minimal weapons, mainly air-to-air weapons, and short-range ones at that. They were too far to the north and west, though, and would pose little danger to our helicopters. The satellite images were six hours old, which was why we couldn't use them to launch our cruise missiles.
An hour after the helicopters had taken off; every ship in the Task Force went to battle stations. I'd managed to get a full four hours of sleep before this, so was feeling fairly fresh. The large mug of coffee on the edge of my computer station didn't hurt, either. The captain was sitting in his command chair, facing the large AEGIS display with the Weapons Officer and Operations Officer on either side of him. It would be up to them to call the big shots while junior officers like me handled the tactical situation. My responsibilities were mostly for air defense. When the Soviets spotted us, they'd fire everything they had, and it was my job to make sure none of the missiles got through.
"All ships report ready for combat." I said aloud in the quiet CIC. The captain merely nodded as I leaned forward at my station and took another look at the passive display. For now, all the ships were reporting in by signal lights, but once we were spotted, we'd use radio transmission. I glanced over at Senior Chief Lofton who nodded carefully that he was ready.
"All ECM equipment is operational and on standby." Ensign Laura Kathby said in a firm voice, although her eyes showed some fear. She was the new female officer and was in charge of the Electronics Warfare group. When things got started, her and her people would be working hard to jam the enemy's radar, and to minimize the effects of the enemy's jamming systems. "We are still picking up weak signals from zero-two-zero degrees and are unable to triangulate."
"Roger that, Ms. Kathby." The Captain said with a nod. We had very sensitive equipment that could pick up television or radio signals from nearly a thousand miles away, but they had trouble giving more than just the direction of signals. We could triangulate with the ESM systems on the helicopters, but that would require radio transmissions that could be detected by ESM equipment on the Soviet ships or helicopters. At this moment, we had the element of surprise and didn't want to give that away.
Another hour passed by, and the tension in Combat, and throughout the ships of the Task Force was reaching the breaking point. Our helicopters were in position by now, and should be getting ready to climb to their maximum altitude. When they reached that altitude, they'd turn on their powerful surface-search radars. The moment they did that, all hell would break loose.
The transmissions of their radars would tell the Soviets that the US Navy had surface ships within two hundred miles (based on the range of the helicopters). It would aslo tell them that they were under immediate threat of attack. Further, in order to be effective, the helicopters would have to transmit their radar picture back to us, which would give the Soviets an idea of where we were, if not our exact location. They would then vector their aircraft to kill the helicopters, and to find the ships, as quickly as possible. Hopefully the helicopters would find the enemy ships quickly and we'd be able to do a long range firing of our cruise missiles before turning to run.
"We're getting data from the helicopters." I called out as my screen flickered before solidifying with data from four helicopters. I winced before putting the data up on the main screen. The helicopter that had headed due north had the best picture, mainly because it was twenty miles from the enemy formation. With the local time being after one in the morning, it was understandable that the pilot had not seen the ships, but it was his bad luck, as proven ten seconds later by the data from that helicopter being lost, most likely as a result of a surface-to-air missile shooting it down. The second northern helicopter still held a good radar fix though, and was out of range of their SAM systems.
"Okay, Mr. Lambough, start feeding the data in to the Tomahawks and Harpoons." The Captain ordered coolly. Ensign Jim Lambough, one of the Operations division's officers, coolly began putting the data feed through to our missiles. When his board came up green, he nodded to the Captain. Through the earphones I was wearing I could hear verbal reports coming in from the other ships that they had all completed targeting their own missiles. Each ship had criteria for selecting their targets, kill zones they would aim their missiles towards once the order to fire was given.
"All ships commence firing." Rear Admiral (Lower Half) J.C. Pollock
ordered in a rock-steady voice. Almost immediately the ship shook slightly as
the distant roar of missile launches came from the ship. I looked up and saw
the monitors tied to cameras circling the ship go completely white from the
flame of the launches. In the third VLS on the forward part of the Long Beach,
twenty Tomahawk anti-ship missiles roared out into the night, lifting straight
up on its booster before tipping forty-five degrees. Once it was parallel to
the water, the booster ejected off of the missile, and the Tomahawk's jet engine
roared to life. Each missile then would dive until it was just ten to fifteen
feet off of the water and headed towards its target. In twenty-seconds, twenty
Tomahawks had fired from the smaller launcher, leaving it empty except for the
four nuclear-tipped Tomahawks. Then it was time for the Mk. 141 Harpoon launchers
to fire. The enemy was only sixty-eight miles from our current position, well
within range of those missiles.
.
Each Harpoon was stored in its own canister, and on this ship, there were eight canisters on the port side and eight on the starboard. One missile launched from each side every second so that it only took eight seconds for all sixteen to be launched. Around us, each of the other ships were firing their Harpoons (none carried Tomahawks). The two Spruance-class destroyers fired from canisters just like ours. The Adams-class destroyers fired them from their surface-to-air launchers. The Mk. 11 launchers would fire two every twenty-two seconds until all six were gone. The Mk. 13 launcher on the third destroyer fired one every eight seconds until all four were gone. The two Perry-class frigates used the same Mk. 13 launcher while the two Knox-class fired Harpoons from their ASROC launcher.
No matter how they were fired, within sixty-six seconds, every ship had launched every anti-ship missile in their inventory, except the two Knox-class ships. Those two ships had two reloads each in their weapons magazine. On those ships, crews were scurrying in the dead of night to reload those launchers. It would take them about five minutes for each missile, or ten minutes total. We weren't waiting around for them to get done, though.
"Okay, tell the bridge to set course one-one-four true and make rotations for twenty-three knots." Admiral Pollock ordered firmly, and seconds later the ship tilted slightly and the deck plates thrummed as we accelerated.
"Sir, we're getting detection value returns on the box!" Ensign Kathby said in a somewhat high-pitched voice. Almost everyone let out a small curse at that statement. It was bad news, but not unexpected. What she meant was that the enemy had turned on their surface and air search radars after they were detected by the helicopters. While we were out of range of their surface search radars, the Long Beach's large forward superstructure, commonly referred to as the 'box', was being detected by the enemy's air-search radars. For most ships, the higher-powered air-search radars would not be a problem, but our 'box' was over one hundred and eighty feet high. That meant the enemy now knew where at least one of our ships was, and could fire at us.
"Very well, signal the task force to go active." Admiral Pollock ordered and then he looked at the air defense stations and at me specifically. "Mr. Jones, implement defensive formation Charlie and prepare for missile attack."
"Aye, aye, sir." I answered quickly before stridently issuing orders through my radio set. With the push of a single button, the ship's radars were turned on, sending out their signals. The surface ships of the enemy were too far away for detection on our surface systems, but we knew where they were from the helicopters. Our air defense radars immediately picked up their helicopters in the air, and while I calibrated the SPY-1A display, we began picking up missiles being launched towards us.
"Vampire! Vampire!" Petty Officer 3rd Class Cormoran said in a voice on the verge of panic. He was one of the new guys, not someone who had faced this before.
"We have multiple inbounds, all constant speed." I said into the microphone, my voice much calmer than I felt. Classify vampires one through twenty as SS-N-22. AEGIS to engage at maximum range. Twenty-one through thirty are SS-N-24, their new slow-speed missile. Perry and Adams class to engage in order."
"Aye, sir." Senior Chief Lofton's voice was also calm and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Cormoran's handsome face relaxed slightly at the calmness of our voices. He shook his dark hair for a moment and I knew he was telling himself this was just another simulation.
"Open fire." I ordered, switching the AEGIS key to the auto position. The ship shuddered as SM2-MR missiles shot out of our forward two launchers. Every second, one missile was launched from the two launchers. All six directors were locking on to an incoming target missile, sending initial intercept vectors to the missile still in the launcher tube and then switching to the next target and doing the same to another missile while the first was launched. Six seconds, and twelve missiles were in the air, speeding towards those heading to us. The launch speed slowed slightly as the directors switched back to earlier targets and sent terminal phase targeting data to the SAMs already in the air. This took a bit longer, but the first six launched missiles scored five hits. Another missile was launched immediately with a dedicated feed from one launcher to hit that one while the other five began terminal guidance on five more targets. Then the other ships began firing.
Within twenty seconds, the Long Beach had shot down eighteen of the twenty targets that were our responsibility. The other nine were shot down by the escorting ships with their less-capable systems. Two leaked through the outer-defense ring and were engaged by the two Spruance-class destroyers. Their short-range Sea Sparrow systems splashed both of the incoming missiles that we'd missed. Everyone started to let out a sigh of relief, but something niggled at the back of my head.
"Vampire, vampire, we have more vampires inbound!" Cormoran shouted and my gaze switched from the captain back to my screen in a flash. At first I thought the vampires were the Soviets own surface-to-air missiles engaging our Tomahawks and Harpoons, but their speed said they were more SS-N-22.
"Vampires thirty-one to forty-six are Long Beach." I said firmly into the radio set. "Forty-seven through sixty are escorts in same pattern."
Less than a second later, the ship shuddered again as we fired more of the SM2-MR missiles. In the first salvo, we'd fired forty-six of them. This time we fired another thirty-two and didn't miss any of the incoming targets. Our escorts did miss some though, and to make matters worse, both Spruance-class ships missed as well. Two anti-ship missiles hit the line of escorts, both plowing into the Adams-class USS Waddell. The ship had served in Vietnam, fired hundreds of rounds at Vietnamese ground targets, and since the new war had started, shot down two Iranian aircraft and sank an Iranian patrol boat. Now she blew up in four seconds as both Soviet missiles hit her and blew up her magazines.
Three hundred and sixty men died in that moment, mostly because their older ship did not possess a Phalanx gun system. We could see the explosion on the ship's cameras and knew there would likely be no survivors. Nevertheless, Admiral Pollock ordered the Knox-class frigate USS Kirk to take her place in the line and to search for survivors. The Kirk was the Knox-class frigate with the Mk. 25 launcher for the Sea Sparrow missile and could provide some missile defense if a third wave attack was launched.
"Helicopters are reporting bright flashes from the direction of the Soviets." One of the crewmembers who was tasked with communicating with our scouts shouted.
"We've got debris cluttering the screens." I added as I looked at my own display.
"Massive chatter coming from their direction over the radio circuits." Ensign Kathby added. "It's in the clear but very frantic and distorted. I can't understand much more than calls for help."
"Pipe it to Mr. Jones." Admiral Pollock ordered brusquely. "His Russian is pretty damn good."
"We got the Kirov." I said a moment later as I listed to the chatter in Russian. It was pretty distorted, and only my years speaking it at home with the Rush family enabled me to understand it all. Cheers from throughout Combat greeted my translation. "The person speaking seems to be an officer on a Udaloy destroyer. He says that they shot down all the missiles approaching their ship but they are pretty much the only undamaged ship in the group. All the others are burning or sinking. Oh, he says the Chervona Ukrainenya suffered a massive explosion when they tried to launch their missiles and is now sinking. That's probably why we didn't have too many inbounds, wait…"
I froze as I listened to a new voice on the radio circuit. It ordered the first voice to quit transmitting over an open channel and to switch to a secure circuit. The first voice replied that they'd taken damage to the radio from one of the missiles that were destroyed by their point defenses. The second voice reiterated for him to stop broadcasting in the open, and that their surprise for the Americans would exact revenge for the destroyed ships. Then he said something that took me a good thirty seconds to translate.
"Sir, we better go active on our sonar systems and get some helicopters to the west." I said rapidly, barely keeping panic out of my voice. Admiral Pollock didn't hesitate, issuing orders for all ships to switch their active sonar systems on and to launch helicopters to lay down sonobuoys to our west.
"Vampire, vampire, we have multiple vampires from three-five-five true." Cormoran's voice rang out and I looked back to my screen while switching my radio back to the tactical frequency. There was still jamming from the single Udaloy destroyer, but forty-three inbound missiles were clearly discernible, and they were not coming from the direction of the ships we had just destroyed.
"Vampire sixty-one to eighty-one are Long Beach's." I spoke firmly, but with a worried frown. Senior Chief Lofton had to reset the firing protocols. We were short on missiles and couldn't fire two per target anymore. "Vampire eighty-two through one-oh-five are escorts. Good luck."
I added the last because we were going to need all the luck we could get. The loss of the Waddell and her Mk. 13 launcher meant the escorts would have to pick up the slack. The missiles were coming in from farther out and so we had to wait five seconds before the computer started firing. With two full Mk. 41 launchers, we carried one hundred and sixty SM2-MR missiles. We had already fired seventy-eight of them, and the last forty-two were fired in less than half of a minute. They scored hits on all but three incoming missiles.
Our escorts faired worse. The loss of the Waddell meant they had to fire faster and kill more inbounds than before, and their older systems were just not up to the task. The Kirk fired her Sea Sparrows at an incoming missile at the same time that Moosebrugger and Leftwich fired their own Sea Sparrows. All three ships hit their targets, leaving eight more missiles inbound. The inbounds were traveling at just over twice the speed of sound, giving the Sea Sparrow equipped ships not enough time to retarget. That left the defense up to the gun systems. Every destroyer, and the Long Beach, fired their 5" gun mounts to create a cloud of deadly fragments between them and the incoming missiles. With pure luck, one of the missiles was destroyed by that cloud, leaving seven more to head into our formation.
The first two missiles found the Adams-class Towers. In the blink of an eye, another three hundred and sixty men died when two warheads, each filled with two-thousand pounds of high-tech explosives, hit the ship. Three more missiles focused on the Moosebrugger. The Spruance-class destroyer was launching clouds of chaff, which fooled one of the missiles. Two more streaked for the modern destroyer, whose Phalanx cannons were armed and ready. The six-barreled, 20mm, radar-guided cannon spat out four hundred rounds at the first missile, detonating it a half-mile from the ship. It shifted faster than the blink of an eye to the second missile and pumped out two-hundred more rounds before the missile hit the destroyer. One missile was enough to send another three-hundred and eighty-two men and women to their death. That left four more missiles and one of them focused on the Kirk, the frigate that had taken the place of the Waddell. Like the doomed destroyer, the Kirk went up in a fireball, and another two hundred and eighty-five men went to a watery grave. The remaining three inbound missiles all focused on the Long Beach, and it was our turn to whisper silent prayers while the ship's automated defenses went into action.
Before our refit, we had only possessed two of the Phalanx cannons. Now we had five of them, and three were pointed at the incoming missiles. As fast as the speed of light, the central computer assigned a Phalanx cannon to each missile. Each Phalanx mount spun towards the missile, and computed a range to fire. When the missiles reached the point where bullets would travel one mile (their maximum range) in the time it took the missile to reach the same physical point, they began to fire. Hundreds of rounds poured out of them, sounding like a chainsaw in action. The first missile blew up at three-quarters of a mile. The second blew up at a half-mile range, and the third at slightly less than half. I joined everyone else in breathing out a sigh of relief, most especially because of all the hours I'd spent making sure the wiring for those cannons was done properly. All those hours away from Brian in Diego Garcia had just paid off.
When you figure that since I was still alive I'd eventually be able to spend much more time with him than a few stolen hours during the ship's refit, it made a lot of sense.
"Where did those missiles come from?" The Captain demanded and I returned my mind to thoughts of the present, not the future in Brian's company. I did a quick recount of the number and type of missiles that headed our way and came up with several possibilities.
"Sir, the Kiev was heading north last week with two escorts, supposedly leaving the area for good." I said after some thought. "If they turned it around after the last satellite pass over that area, we would be on the maximum end of their range. That would match with the time delay for those missiles to get here, and the number and type of missiles. One of her escorts has more missiles but they are shorter range, about the same as our Harpoons. Plus, the Kiev still has six Yak-38 Forger aircraft. They can carry bombs and short range missiles."
"I concur." The Operations Officer said with a nod of approval for my analysis. Admiral Pollock just frowned as he chewed his lower lip.
"I don't want to run into a nest of subs if we dash to the west, so we might as well head south for now." Admiral Pollock ordered. "Recall the helicopters and let's head South-west until we get out of radar range of the surviving ship."
"Vampire, vampire, short-range!" Cormoran shouted and I looked at the screen before giving a short prayer. There was nothing to do because in the time it took the young petty officer to say that, the missiles were inside our formation. Four missiles had been fired from the same direction as the Soviet ships had been, but from a much shorter range. That meant they were sub-launched. The point defenses of the Leftwich got the one that was aimed at her while the other three headed for the Long Beach. Once again, the point-defense cannons that had recently been installed performed flawlessly, destroying all three. The last one got very close though and shrapnel from its explosion peppered the forward superstructure.
"Minor fire reported on the O-6 level forward!" One of the crewmen shouted loudly as we cleared our ears from the sound of the explosion. The Adams-class Hoel was nearest the launch point and took off at flank speed. While we assessed the damage to our ship, minor really except for two dead crewmen, the destroyer reached the range needed to launch an ASROC. In the zeal of battle, she launched four instead of just one. It took three minutes for the torpedoes to hit, and three of them managed to puncture the sub's hull. To our surprise, a very large submarine surfaced moment's later with its crew bubbling from the hatches and diving into the cold water. It lasted for two minutes before disappearing to the bottom forever.
That was more than long enough for us to see it was an Oscar-class submarine, one of the newest and best in the Soviet fleet. While all this was going on, helicopters were launched and began dropping sonobuoys to the west of us while the other ships combed the water for any survivors from the ships that had been hit. The Hoel moved close to where the submarine had been and began to pick up the Russian crew from the frigid waters.
It was the law of the sea that even an enemy sailor was to be saved from the sea when their ship had been sunk.
"The bastards ought to be glad we didn't let them go to Davey Jones' locker." Senior Chief Lofton muttered as the Hoel reported twenty survivors from the Russian sub. The term was one common in the Navy as a reference to a watery grave. He did a double-check and blushed as he looked at me. "No offense meant, Lieutenant."
"None taken, Senior Chief." I said with a chuckle. Our helicopters reported picking up one sub and prosecuted it closely. It dodged both torpedoes launched at it by the helicopter just as the scout helicopters returned. They'd be re-armed with torpedoes and sent back up as soon as possible.
"Dammit, this is not going to be easy." Admiral Pollock muttered ten minutes later after another helicopter had failed to destroy the detected sub. It was trying to work its way into the formation as we moved southwest. "They must have been deploying them to take out the replenishment convoy heading this way."
"Sir, if we can't get out of this area, why don't we prosecute our attack?" I offered as a suggestion and was instantly pinned down by the stares of most of the people in Combat.
"What do you mean, Mr. Jones?" Admiral Pollock's voice was stern, and tinged with disbelief. "Our SAM magazines are empty, we have no more Tomahawks. Only the Barbey has any Harpoons, and that's the two they reloaded in their Mk. 16 launcher. The Perry frigates have a grand total of twenty-three SAMs between them. The Hoel has another sixteen SAMs and the Leftwich has the eight Sea Sparrows in her launcher and another four reloads. With what would we fight?"
"Sir, there's only a Udaloy left near us, and if the two Harpoons from Barbey don't sink her we can close to gun range and finish her off." I said firmly and confidently. "More than likely that Oscar was the only sub between us and them, and if we helo a Russian-speaker over to the Hoel we can interrogate their officers and find out for sure. If we're very lucky, that Kiev carrier will try to take us on. She's got one escort left that carries eight anti-ship missiles. It's a risk, but I'm pretty sure the air defense we have left can take care of them and all six of the fighters from that carrier. If we get on the horn to Diego Garcia, they might be able to muster up some fighter attacks on their air base in Aden, Yemen. That will keep the fighters from going after us. They have to re-strike that air base anyway to keep those fighters from harassing the ships that are going to re-establish the al-Masirah base."
"What exactly are you thinking of, Mr. Jones?" The Operations Officer asked me with a speculative look.
"Sir, if we go so far as to shell the Aden harbor, that Kiev is going to have to come after us." I said while my brain spun thinking of all the permutations. "We don't have the missile punch to take them out, but we do have the gun punch. Meanwhile, those two US subs that mined the area are probably rearmed by now. They can come back in and tangle with the subs that would be rushing back to defend the base, and our re-supply convoy is so well defended that they can afford to push another hundred miles further in to meet back up with us. If we play it right, we can walk out with all their ships sunk, their mini-carrier sunk, and their harbor severely damaged. We have to control this corner of the ocean for the next four weeks, and doing this now won't give them time to recover."
"It also means we'll corner their subs in the Indian Ocean between us and our subs and ships to the west." The Weapons Officer said with a nod of his head. "They'll be forced to leave the area either to the south and east or south and west, taking them out of action for several months. If it works, we'll turn the course of the war."
"If it doesn't, we'll be dead." The Operations Officer countered, but not as severely as he could have.
"Ben, get the formation set up for a holding action and a tight ASW screen in place." The Captain ordered the Operations Officer. "John, Mr. Jones, let's have a cup of coffee in my cabin."
"Senior Chief, you have air defense." I said to Lofton as I stood from my station. I was surprised at how weak my legs were and almost stumbled as the ship tilted slightly in the light waves. My legs were weak for a different reason as we climbed through the battle-closed hatches. Normally they'd be lifted open, but since the ship was still at battle stations, they were shut. Round scuttles just barely wide enough for my large frame was what we crawled through, shutting them as we finished. If I were fat instead of fit, I'd never have fit through them.
"Get us some coffee and whatever bread you have ready and then leave us alone." Admiral Pollock ordered his cook, Van, when we entered his cabin. It was just him, the Weapons Officer, and I. When we had coffee and some buttered bread in front of us, Van left and I was the focus of attention. "Why do you think we can succeed if we push onwards, Mr. Jones?"
"Sir, this is the first time we've directly engaged the Soviets on this scale, much less won a battle." I started my explanation carefully. "More than likely they know Long Beach is here, and by now they know we have AEGIS on board. What they don't know is that we don't have any more SM-2 missiles to fire. They'll assume we still have plenty if we move forward, and they'll know an air attack against us isn't likely to succeed. They'll try surface or submarine attacks. If we can fend them off, get the Kiev or push it back, and bombard the Yemen harbor, we might just convince Yemen to abandon the Soviets, either declaring themselves neutral or on our side. That will ground any planes the Soviets still have on land, and deny them their only base near the Indian Ocean. It will clear up the huge amphibious convoy we're going to be assembling soon. They'll have nearly uncontested travel from Diego Garcia to the Gulf."
"After tonight, the Soviets aren't going to lightly call our bluff." The new Operations Officer said confidently.
"Jones, you're our best Russian-speaker in the task force." Admiral Pollock said calmly. His eyes bored into me. "I'm going to push north towards that Udaloy. It's probably running at top speed for the Kiev. Barbey can fire her remaining Harpoons as soon as we are back in range, and then we can close in for the kill and to pick up any Russians in the water from their sinking ships. While that's going on, I'm having you flown over to the Hoel and you can start interrogating the prisoners. I want you to find out whatever you can about other subs in the area and general disposition of their forces."
"You know, Hoel doesn't even have a landing pad." The Operations Officer said with a wry grin. "You'll have to be lowered onto their deck by rescue wire."
"Should be fun." I said with a smug grin of my own while he chortled.
"Depending on what you find out from the prisoners, I'll make my decision on whether we continue forward or retreat." Admiral Pollock said firmly and I took a deep sip of the hot coffee. Why, oh why, did I have to open my mouth?
An hour later, I was being lowered onto the small destroyer by a wire from the helicopter. The smaller ship pitched and heaved in seas that were becoming rough as a storm approached, and my legs hit the deck hard. By the time I thumbed the release though, I was five feet above the deck. Luckily my reflexes were good and I rolled when I hit the deck, only bruising my ankle instead of breaking or spraining it. Still, I limped slightly while two of the destroyer's crewmen helped me inside the ship. A distant roar just before the hatch closed announced that the nearby Barbey was firing her two remaining Harpoons.
"Welcome aboard, sir." One of the crewman said as the hatch was shut. The destroyer rolled a lot more than my ship did, and I was glad I'd been through heavy seas on the cruiser or I'd have been turning green already.
"Thank you, petty officer." I said carefully as I got out of the life jacket and flight helmet I'd worn. The other crewman, a junior enlisted man, took the gear and moved off to stow it somewhere. "Where are the prisoners?"
"They're being held on the mess deck for now, sir." The petty officer said quickly, pointing in the direction of the forward part of the ship. "We have one officer who speaks a little Russian and he's been doing the interpreting. The Captain said to show you there directly. He'll be happy to greet you at your convenience, but he wants to stay in Combat for now."
"Not a problem, if you'll lead the way." I replied. Normally, it was protocol to introduce visiting officers to the Captain, but this was wartime and I needed to get a move on with interrogating crewmembers. "Oh, is there a room near the mess deck where I can interview them in private?"
"Yes, sir, we're clearing out the mess office for you to use." The petty officer, who was probably a year or two older than me, said as he undogged a hatch and we went through.
I spent four hours interrogating the enlisted men and officers that had survived the sinking of their submarine. The results were far less than I would have liked, yet still very informative. Their political officer had been good at convincing the crew that they were fighting to 'keep America from gaining control of the world's oil supply in order to feed their capitalist greed'. It was a good thing they were all handcuffed after being brought into the office because I also learned they'd been told I was with the fleet in this area and a reward had been offered to the crew of any ship, submarine, or aircraft that managed to sink the ship I was on.
They all figured killing me personally would achieve an even greater reward.
Despite their hostility and unwillingness to tell me much, I did get some vital
pieces of information. With that information, it was important that I get back
to the Long Beach as quickly as possible. The weather had grown worse
while I was interrogating the prisoners, so a helicopter pick-up was impossible.
Instead, a small boat was lowered into the water and I made my way back to my
ship through large swells. After climbing back on board the Long Beach I was
thoroughly soaked, so I had to take the time to change before joining Admiral
Pollock in the CIC.
"Barbey got the Udaloy with her Harpoons." Admiral Pollock told me with a grim smile as I entered. My hair was still wet, but I smiled at the news. "We'll be in the area where we sank their fleet in an hour and pick up any survivors we find."
"Can we separate out the officers and house them here?" I asked him cautiously. "They provide the best information."
"Sure, we'll secure them here and divide the rest up among the other ships." He said with a short nod. "So, what did you find out?"
"There's a price on my head, but I kind of already knew that." I said with a smarmy grin that caused him to chuckle. We were far enough away and speaking quietly enough that there was little risk of being overheard. "They have two sub tenders in the area. One of them is with the Kiev. The other broke down and was sitting at sea anchor about two miles north of the Aden harbor. Taking those ships out will hamper any sub operations they have in the area, pretty much forcing the subs to abandon the Indian Ocean after a week. I couldn't get much more about the harbor defenses, but I firmly believe that if we attack that harbor, we'll force the Kiev to come further south and try to sink us."
"Washington agrees with us taking the risk." Admiral Pollock informed me softly. "Get with Ops and start planning our maneuvers and attacks for a run on the harbor and for finding that disabled Sub Tender. Then we'll turn to engage Kiev and her escorts."
"Aye aye, sir." I said firmly and left towards the Operations Office.
Over the next two days, the Red Sea and northern Indian Ocean became a blood
bath for the Soviet Navy. Twelve aircraft opposed our entrance into the Aden
harbor, as did six small gunboats of the Yemen Navy. All twelve aircraft were
shot down by our escorts with SM1-MR or Sea Sparrow missiles. The twelve gunboats
were sunk by 5" guns from the destroyers and frigate, and the Long Beach
herself joined them in the harbor to lay waste to ammunition and fuel dumps
along the shore line. The Leftwich even fired one hundred Rocket-Assisted
5" rounds into the distant airport, destroying another fuel dump and about
fifteen aircraft on the ground. Fourteen helicopters tried to attack us at that
point, but all were shot down by either Sea Sparrows or fire from our gun mounts.
The Carr and Hawes actually shot down eight of them with their
rapid-fire 3" gun mounts.
Two hours later, we pulled out of the harbor and hunted down the disabled Soviet Sub Tender. It posed a short moral debate on whether we should just sink her or give the crew time to abandon ship. The laws of the sea prevailed and the Soviet sailors were given thirty minutes to abandon their ship. The vessel's motorboats linked up with the floating life rafts and began to tow them to shore. Since we couldn't take on over a thousand more prisoners, we let them go while three Mk. 46 torpedoes were modified to hit a surface target. When that was done, the Long Beach took the honor of sinking the ship by launching the torpedoes from her port side torpedo tubes.
As we watched the stricken ship sink, radar picked up several small, high-speed air targets heading our way from the north-west. The Carr and Hawes started firing before they hit thirty miles out. The Hoel opened fire at the same time. Four of the attackers were shot down at a range of twenty-five miles. The three ships opened fire again and this time three planes went down at a range of fifteen miles. Two of them opened up at a range of twelve miles with small anti-ship missiles at the same time that the three ships opened up again with their SM1-MR missiles. Four more went down at a range of eight miles. While the Long Beach's Phalanx cannons destroyed the two small missiles, the Leftwich fired two Sea Sparrows and shot down the last fighter before it closed to bomb range.
The attack told us that the Kiev was now within a hundred and fifty miles of our location, so we sent up two SH-60B helicopters to search for the carrier. We were surprised to find the carrier within sixty miles, and Task Force 67 went to flank speed to hunt them down. It took twelve hours and they were closing in on the safety of Egyptian waters when the two escorts turned back to attack us and slow us down.
As the two escorts closed for a gun battle, having uselessly expended their remaining missiles, Admiral Pollock smiled ferally. He ordered the Long Beach to our maximum speed and we literally flew through the water as we accelerated to forty-three knots. One of the attacking destroyers fired a few rounds at us, but did not come close. It took another hour before we reached sight of the carrier, and when we did several of her helicopters lifted off, armed with machine guns.
Twenty five-inch rounds were fired at them, and all but two were destroyed before they got within range to use their rockets. The two that survived got close enough to fire some rocket rounds, all of which impacted on the forward superstructure, doing minor damage and luckily missing the SPY1-A radar panel. They didn't get a chance to fire a second round though as the Phalanx cannons opened up on them, destroying them thoroughly.
Five minutes later we were in gun range of the small carrier Kiev. It had several defense cannons, but none could reach us at this range. She even had two gun mounts, but they had shorter range than ours. The first five rounds from our guns were typical high-explosive rounds and managed to knock out both their mounts. The ninety-five 5" rounds that followed were White Phosphorous rounds. The WP rounds exploded with a chemical that would burn through anything. Once we had expended every WP round on board, we switched back to the high explosive rounds.
As the sun set, the rest of our Task Force joined us in shelling the carrier that was now dead in the water. Our helicopters reported six surface ships heading down from the north at high speed, and they were almost within missile range. As we prepared to turn back, the Kiev signaled her surrender and the crew began to abandon ship. With more of their ships on the way, we decided to let them be rescued by their own side and headed back towards the Indian Ocean and relative safety.
By the time it was over, every ship in our group had taken some damage, although none was heavy or serious. Our helicopters sped before us, sweeping the ocean for submarines to the best of their abilities. Unsurprisingly, they found and sank two of them before we rendezvoused three days later with the replenishment group.
The greeting we got from the ships of the replenishment group was extreme. We'd had victories in this war before, but none like this. An entire Soviet surface battle group was destroyed, as was a carrier, and several submarines. Their only base in the area had been smashed, and a radio message from Washington announced that Yemen had officially closed their country to the Soviet Union. The only problems we faced were that rearming our missile systems at sea was difficult at best, and in rough weather all but impossible.
It took three days to restock our weapons system, transfer the prisoners and wounded, and receive replacement personnel. The Hoel was going to have to go back to port for repairs after some damage she'd taken grew worse. The ships we'd lost, and the Hoel were replaced by two more Perry-class frigates, a Knox-class frigate and two more Adams-class destroyers. After the re-supply, we went back out to where the Red Sea bordered the Gulf of Aden in order to set up an anti-submarine barrier.
Three long weeks went by while we were on that station, sailing in circles or zig-zag lines. Every few hours we'd get a contact we'd prosecute. Most of the time it was a school of fish or some other sea creature, but in those three weeks we did sink four submarines heading out of the Indian Ocean and two heading in from the Red Sea. The Egyptian Navy sent patrol boats towards us once, but a radio message informing them any warship getting within a hundred miles would be sunk sent them scurrying back to safer waters.
Late on October 24th, 1988, I was sitting at my duty station in the Combat Information Center, reading a letter from Brian while we patrolled our assigned area. I had the eight at night to two in the morning watch and was tacitly in command of the Task Force while on duty. With a surprise attack, I'd be the one giving the initial orders until the Captain arrived. Otherwise, I just made sure everyone was doing their job, and after three weeks on patrol, they knew it in their sleep.
Back home the election was nearing. Next week, the citizens of the United States would choose between Michael Dukakis and George H. W. Bush for President. I had already voted for George Bush by absentee ballot, and I knew Brian had done the same. To be honest, Dukakis scared me silly when it came to the Soviet Union. His platform included a plank that would essentially guarantee a Soviet Union existing for another several decades and that alone was reason enough to vote for Bush.
The fact that Bush had announced last month he'd seek to make permanent the removal of the ban on gays serving in the military made the choice a hell of a lot easier. His announcement pissed off the religious conservatives, but Dukakis gave them waking nightmares, so they were doing their best to keep their supporters motivated enough to get them to actually vote. Brian and I had already told people we'd be voting for the man. Still, it would be a cold day in hell before I voted for his son in a dozen years. The only problem I could see was if the vote was close and the religious conservatives managed to claim credit for the victory, then gays might be in trouble from Bush.
Before the Battle of Yemen, as it was now being called, Dukakis had been gaining support. News of more ships sunk, more planes shot down, and more soldiers dying on the ground all led the American people to fear we were going to lose the war. Our successful fight had changed that belief, as had the events of the last few weeks.
The day after we met up with the replenishment group following the battle, the world got to see part of what we'd done. First, a BBC reporter had been present in the Yemen harbor when we entered. He had great footage of our ship, and the others, shelling everything that had military value in the harbor. Then, he'd gotten interviews with the crew of the Soviet sub tender we'd sunk later in the day. Yemeni fisherman had picked most of them up, and before the shattered Soviet troops on the ground could get to them, the reporter had interviewed several of them. Their description of the loss of their ship was quite colorful and boosted morale throughout the nation.
Later on that same day, a French reporter with a bunch of Egyptian fisherman had gotten a chance to meet up with one of the survivors from the Kiev. The contacts we'd picked up heading south had been the fishing boats, not military vessels and they'd rescued most of the crewmen from the carrier. One of them had been recording the fight since we started shelling the carrier, and his tape made it into the hands of the French reporter for several hundred dollars. That tape was shown around the world, and George Bush's approval ratings went through the roof. Thanks to those two tapes, his chance of winning the election over Dukakis was almost guaranteed.
The fact that the carrier Enterprise had finally entered the combat area didn't hurt either. With the loss of the Yemen base, the Soviet subs hunting the Indian Ocean were now fleeing for their very lives. Already two diesel subs out of fuel had been found and surrendered to US forces. Their nuclear boats were running to get to safety before they were sunk or ran out of food.
With the Enterprise heading north, her aircraft also cut off all the bomber raids the Soviets had been sending through Iran and India. Constant bombing of several Indian bases had forced them to also declare neutrality and to forbid use of their air space to the Soviets. Iran's air force was shattered, as well as their air defenses, which meant our fighters could hit any refueling tankers that tried to help bombers flying over that area.
Within another week, a huge fleet of amphibious ships would carry forty thousand more troops and their equipment to the gulf. They'd land in Kuwait, and with those additional troops, the Iraqi army would face total obliteration. When they arrived, the war would be essentially over, our victory inevitable.
Brian and I were already planning our actual 'wedding' ceremony. It would be held in Canada, just to keep the religious conservatives from really complaining, and would be very private. It all depended on when I'd be given enough leave for that to happen, but it would happen. All of our family would be there, and it was going to be wonderful.
"Ah, caught you at last, Mr. Jones." A female voice from behind me caused me to want to curse suddenly, but I bit it back.
"It's not that big of a ship, Helen." I said quietly to Helen Cantrell, the reporter that had been sailing with us for the last two weeks. I knew her from a few years ago, when she'd been an affiliate reporter that covered one of the attempts by my old school board to kick me and Brian out of their district. Now, she was a reporter for NBC and got the luck of having been assigned to the ship to do a story on the recent battle.
"Yes, but you seem to always evade me when I want to talk to you about an interview." She countered with a smile, coming into my view and tossing her head.
"I just don't want you focusing on the 'gay sailor' aspect like you mentioned." I explained carefully. "Nor do I want you to focus on me being a friend of the President, or only eighteen or anything else like that. Most of the men and women on this ship had as much, or more to do with our victory than I did and you should focus on that."
"My, you are still modest, aren't you?" She asked me sweetly, leaning in slightly. "I've already interviewed Admiral Pollock, all the other senior officers, most of the senior enlisted and other people who work with you. You know, they all say the same thing: It was your idea to hit the harbor and chase down the Kiev. It was your strategy that made it relatively easy for the ships to destroy all the missiles the Russians fired at you. You are gay, and until this war started you wouldn't have been able to serve. You are only eighteen, but you're a commissioned officer in the Navy with the rank of Lieutenant. Not only all that, but you are personal friend of the President and the man credited with coming up with the strategy that put the United States back in this war. Now, why won't you sit down and answer a few questions? You deserve the honor you've earned, don't you think?"
"Helen, if we win this war, and I get to go home with my loved ones, I'll have received all the honor I ever want in life." I said softly but with firmness she could not deny. "I don't want acclaim, I don't want my name in the papers or in the history book. I just want to live my life as normally as possible when all this is over."
"I understand your Captain has put you in for the Medal of Hon…"
Her voice was cut off by a frantic shout.
"VAMPIRE VAMPIRE VAMPIRE!" Senior Chief Lofton's voice rang out and I leaned forward to turn the Phalanx keys to full auto. With the radar coverage we had, it could only be a sub-launched missile. The Senior Chief could have said more, but it was drowned out by the sound of three Phalanx cannons roaring. One glance at the tactical screen showed me just how screwed we were. Five missiles were heading for us and the Phalanx cannons had gotten three of them. The fourth hit the ship just above the port side waterline, and the ship shook with the explosion. If I hadn't been wearing a 'seat belt', something all the chairs were equipped with, I'd have been thrown to the floor. Before that explosion had even faded, the fifth missile hit, this one a little higher, slamming into the O-3 level of the forward superstructure. With that hit, the tactical screens flickered.
"Report!" I yelled out loud, barely even able to hear my voice through the ringing in my ears.
"Port side radar array is out!" Senior Chief Lofton yelled back, his voice barely audible even though his neck was bulged out from the effort of his yelling. "They must be sub-launched but we have no contacts!"
"Go active on sonar!" I ordered. I was going to ask what was happening with the other ships in the task force, but I could see it for myself on the screens. Every ship was engaged by missiles or torpedoes. Already the Barbey was off the screen, as was the Carr. We were in the fight for our lives, obviously the subs we were facing had some of the best captains in the Soviet fleet.
"Active sonar contact bearing two-six-four relative!" The call came in from our sonar room and the icon appeared on the tactical screen. "Launch transients!"
"Tell the bridge to get our starboard side facing the enemy!" I yelled to one of the crewmen who immediately complied. It was too late for this attack though, and the same Phalanx cannons had to face the new attack. Fortunately it was only three missiles and they got all three before they could hit. One had been close though, and I knew we had taken damage.
"Forward port Phalanx is down!" One of the Operations Specialists yelled. "Aft port is empty. Center aft has fifty rounds left."
"Reload center aft." I ordered quickly. "Do we have a solution for ASROC yet?"
"He's out of range of ASROC." Senior Chief Lofton replied. That left me with a big decision. The sub could be closing to torpedo range, but we could outrun him. It would take ten minutes to get our remaining helicopter lifted off, but we'd lose him by turning and running. That would mean the helicopter would have to hunt him down. Plus, all the other ships in the task force were engaged with subs of their own, and leaving them would either allow the one attacking us to gang up on them, or to pursue us and possibly get another surprise shot. He was good, or he'd not have gotten this close in the first place. I glanced at the entrance hatch, hoping a more senior officer came in to take the burden from me, but none did.
"Maximum speed, head in until we get into ASROC range." I ordered. "Set up a frame shot with three rockets. We fire and then turn out as fast as possible. Stream the nixie decoy but don't activate."
"Aye, aye, sir." Senior Chief Lofton said, relaying the orders to the junior officers in the room. They were all looking at me like they were scared shitless, and had been frozen since the first explosion. They acted now, issuing the orders needed to make this happen. We raced in for two minutes until we got within ASROC range, and then slowed to get a fresh sonar bearing.
"Damn, fire ASROCS and get us the fuck out of here!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. We had two incoming torpedoes and the enemy sub was damn close. He must have gone to flank speed to close for a torpedo shot, and then slowed before we did. That gave him about a thirty-second jump on us, more than enough in modern warfare. "Activate the Nixie decoy!"
"Nixie is running!" The reply came as the ship heaved to starboard
and we accelerated again. The damage to the waterline wasn't slowing us much,
but I knew that between the water coming in through the hole and fire raging
above it, we would not be able to keep this speed up for long. Less than a minute
later, the ship shook with another impact, this time from a torpedo. We'd lost
contact with them when we turned and went to flank speed. This explosion did
throw me from my seat, the belt tearing away with the force of the impact. I
managed to get back to my feet and was about to yell out for a report when a
second explosion happened as the second torpedo hit. Without a shadow of a doubt
I knew this was it, and that I had ultimiately failed, because a dark wave of
frigid water swept into the Combat Information Center. As darkness took me,
all I could think about was Brian, and how I'd never get to hold him again.
