by Walt Gragg
Finally, the lead controller spotted the immense threat to the fleet’s survival.
“What the hell?” he said. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
“What have you got, Commander?”
“Take a real close look, Lieutenant Boyles. Chief, give me your opinion too. Two hundred and ten miles west, right above the waves.”
The controllers focused their attention on the strange radar images. The trio stared intently at the scores of hazy reflections huddled together near the outer reaches of their screens. The objects, their speed and course constant, were moving east toward the ships.
“Oh God, as much as I don’t want to admit it, sir,” the lieutenant said, “there’s only one thing that flies so low at those speeds and could be launched in such great numbers.”
“Cruise missiles,” the chief added.
“Everyone’s been wondering why the Mahdi hasn’t used any of them. Well, now we know. He’s been saving them all for one big attack.”
“How many do you think there are, sir?”
“Impossible to tell for sure, Chief. The ground clutter’s distorting everything. My guess, from what I see, would be no less than fifty and possibly three times that. One thing’s certain: with so many on the way, we’ve got our hands full. No doubt they’re headed for the carriers. Lieutenant, notify the task force to prepare to repel a massive cruise missile attack. Get the cruisers and destroyers into position for an airborne assault coming out of Libya. Have the carriers get under way and initiate full evasive maneuvers. If all the cruise missiles have is their preprogrammed data to go by in tracking down the ships, they’re going to have a heck of a time hitting a carrier moving over thirty miles an hour. Without a GPS system to help adjust their flight paths, when they arrive the carriers will be fifteen miles away from where the missiles are headed.”
What the Americans didn’t know was that months earlier Mourad’s technicians had figured out how to hack into the American military GPS satellite system. Not only were they using American-made cruise missiles in their heinous task, but also the enemy’s GPS to hunt down their mammoth prey. No matter what the carriers did in the coming minutes, the cruise missiles would know right where to find them.
“Yes, sir.”
“How much time do you estimate before the missiles arrive, Commander?”
“With their present course and speed, I’d say no more than twenty-five minutes.”
“We’ve got to stop them, sir. Can the task force’s ships handle the attack, or should we call the fighters back to knock the missiles from the sky? If they return at top speed, many of the Super Hornets should be well within range before the threat reaches the carriers.”
“We don’t have a choice here, I’m afraid. The ships’ defenses will have to battle the missiles. We can’t expect help from our Hornets. At this point, that’s not even an option. If I call for fighter support and most of our F/A-18s withdraw from the air battle, the skies will be wide open. I’m afraid it wouldn’t take long for the Chosen One’s MiGs to find openings and pour through to attack both carriers. Better our ships tackle Mourad’s cruise missiles than face four hundred heavily armed fighters. I’d rather have the fleet fighting mindless machines coming in at a five hundred miles an hour than bandits with humans in control flying twice that fast. I don’t know if the escort ships can stop that many cruise missiles coming in so close together. We’ve never faced more than one or two in an actual combat situation. Even in the computer simulations the numbers have never been so great. Maybe we can handle them, maybe not. But one thing’s for certain. In the next half hour, we’re going to find out.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do to help the ships?” the chief asked.
“How many fighters have returned to the carriers to rearm?”
“Four F/A-18Fs and a pair of F/A-18Es are on the deck of the Lincoln, sir. Another handful are on the way back to the boats.”
“How long before they’re ready to launch?”
“Ten minutes, maybe a little less for the ’Fs. Fifteen for the two ’Es. None of those headed to the carriers can possibly rearm in time.”
“First priority is getting the ships ready. I’ll coordinate that part. Chief, once the Super Hornets launch, have them attack the oncoming missiles. You’ll handle the six fighters. We’ve got to get maximum use of their AIM-120s and 132s.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant Boyles, you’ll continue to coordinate our efforts against Mourad’s aircraft. Lest we forget, we’ve still got that little problem on our hands.”
“Will do, Commander.”
“All right, gentlemen, let’s see how good at this we really are.”
* * *
—
The approach to security for the great ships was to layer the defenses. The Super Hornets normally comprised the first line of protection. Flying twice as fast as a cruise missile, they could easily close with an invader. Once the cruise missiles were in range, AIM-120s would be launched from over one hundred miles. After the AIM-120s were expended, the shorter-range AIM-132s would be sent to search and destroy. With plenty of luck, and much skill, a Super Hornet could eliminate six cruise missiles.
Under normal conditions the carriers’ fighters would have handled the oncoming threat with relative ease. Unfortunately, the initial element of the American defenses was tossed throughout the far-flung heavens. Nearly all were tied down by the air-to-air conflict. Fifteen minutes before the first cruise missile’s arrival, four Super Hornets would rise from the Lincoln. With ten minutes to spare, Blackjack Section would careen off the same deck loaded with four radar-guided AIM-120s, a pair of AIM-132s, and two heat-seeking Sidewinders.
Even if the six aircraft destroyed an incoming assailant with each of its radar-guided missiles, sixty-four undeterred thugs would be left unharmed. And with the targets small, close to the waves, and little time remaining to find and eliminate, the fighters might not come close to so great a number of successful engagements. At this early stage, it was evident the majority of the battle groups’ defenses would have to come from the support ships.
Each carrier was being escorted by two cruisers and four destroyers. Of the eight destroyers, three were equipped with Aegis air defenses. Among the potential threats it had been built to address, the Aegis system had been designed to defend against cruise missiles. The three Aegis ships had a Sea Sparrow quadpack ready to fire on a moment’s notice. Each also carried a five-inch air defense gun, one Phalanx gun capable of firing forty-five hundred rounds per minute for close-in defense, and two chaff launchers to fool the approaching missiles. The entire process was computerized and fully integrated to obtain the maximum from the system’s components.
The remaining ships of the task force, and the aircraft carriers themselves, also were equipped with ample weapons. The first to spring into action would be the eight Harpoon missiles on each of the cruisers. Seventy nautical miles was their range.
The ships bristled with air defenses. There were more than enough missiles and guns to destroy the intruders many times over. With each passing minute, another protective measure would become available to the fleet. The only question was whether there’d be sufficient time to use them before so impressive an arrangement of lethal armaments arrived. It was time, not missiles that was the Americans’ true enemy.
The task force sprang into action. The cruisers and destroyers aligned to confront the threat.
One hundred trudging missiles were headed their way. Death’s sadistic shadow skirted over the rolling seas. In twenty-five minutes, unless stopped, Muhammad Mourad would reach across the shimmering waters to claim his prize.
For the Americans, the seconds were slipping away. With each sweep of the clock, the Mahdi’s grand ambitions were nine miles closer to ending the game.
25
5:58 P.M., OCTOBER 18
/> BLACKJACK SECTION, FIGHTING SQUADRON VF-57
USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN
OFF THE COAST OF EGYPT
As Mitchell and Sweeney appeared on deck, four F/A-18Fs filled the catapults. In rapid succession, they ripped down the runway and tore into the sky. There was scarcely a quarter hour remaining before the first searching killer would arrive.
* * *
—
Mitchell’s Super Hornets rocketed off the Lincoln. Beneath both aircrafts’ wings, four AIM-120s and two AIM-132s glistened in the late afternoon sun. A Sidewinder hung from the end of each wing.
“Echo Control, this is Blackjack Section. Where do you want us?”
“Blackjack Section, cruise missiles are seventy-five miles out. Unless stopped, they’ll arrive in eight or nine minutes. The bulk of the attack’s coming from the southwest. Estimate approximately seventy missiles in that grouping. They appear to be heading for the Lincoln. First four Super Hornets are closing in to cut them down to size. All four cruisers are concentrating on that formation. If they have time after the Super Hornets are finished, the cruisers will fire thirty-two Harpoons at the survivors. Two Aegis systems are also going to be sent against this primary grouping, along with one of the five remaining destroyers. There’s another group of thirty that’s broken off from the rest. They’re trying to sneak in from the west. At the moment, with nearly everything we’ve got focused on the main body, we’re as concerned about the second formation as the bigger one. From their latest course change, we believe they’re aiming for the Eisenhower. All we’ve got left to stop them is one Aegis and three regular destroyers. And you. We want your Hornets to go after the smaller formation. You’ve got to handle as many cruise missiles as you can.”
“Roger, Echo Control. We’ll do everything possible to knock ’em down. We’re picking up both formations on our radars. We’ll drop this instant to hug the waves and hit them head-on. Intercept of thirty cruise missiles is estimated at three minutes.”
“Roger, Blackjack Section. Good luck.”
Mitchell dove for the ocean’s swells with Sweeney on his tail. Flying directly into the sun, a dozen feet above the blinding waters, they raced west.
Both of their radars tracked the approaching targets. The pilot’s job was to get his aircraft to the attack point, and once there, unleash his AIM-120s and 132s. While they flew toward the cruise missiles, the F/A-18Es’ computers would select and prioritize their victims.
* * *
—
To the southwest, a Super Hornet fired its first AIM-120. The initial clash of the desperate defense had begun. This opening match, the precursor of many to come, would be no contest. At six times the cruise missile’s speed, the streaking bird of prey roared across the relentless waves with sharpened talons raised. The AIM-120 soon plucked the helpless pigeon from the low skies. The impacting projectiles exploded. One cruise missile would never reach the fleet.
Ninety-nine to go. And seven minutes left.
A second AIM-120 leaped from its perch beneath a Super Hornet’s wing. A third and fourth went in search of conquest moments later. Three more cruise missiles would never reach their monumental goal. Another took up the chase. And another. Few would miss the mark.
Even with the extreme pressure, most of the aircrafts’ air-to-air missiles would find the speeding sharks. The game would go on until the last of the F/A-18Fs’ munitions reached its implacable adversary, or failed in its quest and, its fuel expended, spun into the sea.
Behind the sea-hugging Super Hornets, the cruisers’ Harpoon missiles waited. The first of the cruise missiles already was well within range of the ships’ air defenses. As soon as the Super Hornets finished their task and cleared the area, the Harpoons would fire. And behind them, the Aegis, missiles, and guns of the destroyers sat at the ready. It was all a matter of time.
Yet with so few ticks of the clock remaining, time was not an ally of the Americans.
The unrelenting moments continued to run. Another minute passed. The fatalistic enemy reached the fifty-mile mark. In fewer than six minutes the Mahdi’s minions would find the fleet.
* * *
—
Blackjack Section neared the release point for its AIM-120s.
“All right, Worm, looks like we’re all set. Computer’s got them prioritized. I know we’re in a hurry here, but let’s attempt to eliminate as many as we can. Six kills in six shots from each of us would make me quite happy.”
“There’s not much time left, Blackjack. And the cruise missiles are awfully small targets.”
“I know. But we’ll do our best and hope the ships can handle the rest. Okay, my first shot’s all set. Here we go.”
Mitchell fired an initial missile. The fast-flying armament leaped from the Hornet. The tables had been turned on one of the oncoming killers.
Another frantic chase had begun a few feet above the cool Mediterranean. And the result would be predictable. The selected cruise missile was overmatched. The smaller pack of Mourad’s assassins would soon be down to twenty-nine.
Sweeney had a parrying shot lined up. Away went a second slayer. Mitchell fired another a moment later. The F/A-18E pilots were methodically knocking one after another of the Chosen One’s dreams from the low skies.
There were less than five minutes left.
* * *
—
A final Super Hornet’s AIM-132 went forth to seek and destroy. One last kill from the F/A-18Fs. Of sixteen missiles fired, fourteen had found the mark. Still, in the main group, fifty-six of Mourad’s avenging angels remained in the air. With single-minded determination the survivors came on. The quartet of Super Hornets had done what they could. They raced skyward. It was now the cruisers’ turn. The ships fired. An initial volley of Harpoon missiles filled the air in search of prey. Others would soon follow.
More cruise missiles were about to be destroyed.
Four minutes before death’s arrival. Thirty-six miles out and coming on fast. But the first of the Harpoons would soon be upon them.
At three minutes, the destroyers entered the fray. A barrage of Sea Sparrows soared forth. An immense curtain of readying destruction rushed west to meet the invaders. The cruisers raced to prepare their Harpoons once again. Scores of defensive missiles were on the way. The covering ships gave it everything they had.
A hastening Tomahawk fell. It was followed seconds later by another, and another, and another . . . The action was so fast and remarkably furious it was impossible for Echo Control to follow. The steady elimination of the Mahdi’s missiles was relentless. It seemed to go on forever. Explosion after explosion flashed on the western horizon.
No one had a handle on what was occurring. One thing was certain: Mourad’s brutal clans were being destroyed in huge numbers. One by one, and in dying handfuls, their shattering fragments tumbled into the deep waters. In the space of sixty frenetic seconds, nearly thirty were pulled from the sky. Twenty-seven remained in the main group.
The survivors came on.
The second hand reached twelve once more. The sands remaining in the hourglass were few. Two minutes before the interminable enemy would reach their objective.
* * *
—
Sweeney brought down another target. In the distance, his impacting AIM-120 tore apart a crusading missile. So far, Blackjack Section had knocked down seven ducks with eight shots. The smaller gathering of steadfast huntsmen was reduced to twenty-three.
Their radios crackled to life. “Blackjack Section, how many missiles do you have left?” Echo Control asked.
“A pair of AIM-132s each and our Sidewinders,” was Mitchell’s reply. “But with the nominal heat source emanating from the cruise missiles and so little time left, I don’t think the Sidewinders will be of any use.”
“Hold your AIM-132s for now until we see how many the ships can handle. We�
��ll send you back in to eliminate any surviving cruise missiles once the ships complete their volleys.”
“Roger, Echo Control.”
The pair roared skyward, intent on circling behind the onrushing formation. Blackjack Section would position itself and wait to see where the last of their missiles was needed.
The swarming destroyers took over from the Hornet pair. Twelve ships were firing everything they had at the two groups of oncoming assailants. Explosion after explosion filled the western horizon. The feverish invaders were dwindling. Seventy would fly no more. Mourad’s grand plans were resting on thirty sets of stubby wings. The fixated survivors wouldn’t relent in their determined quest.
The Americans had a scant minute to go. Death was nine miles out and drawing near.
Panic was setting in. The carriers instituted severe evasive actions. The fleet’s immense array of guns prepared to enter the contest.
Blackjack Section’s Hornets chased the cruise missiles across the buffeting waves, hoping to do what they could. The fleet’s incessant firing never faltered. And cruise missiles steadily fell. But the Americans’ time was nearly up. And the lurid clock refused to stop.
The destroyers never gave in. They fired missile after missile at the incoming threat. A steady destruction of the little Algerian’s twisted plan could be traced across the ocean’s crests. Another Tomahawk exploded. The others maintained their unwavering course. Twenty missiles left . . . seventeen . . .
Forty-five seconds to go. Fifteen missiles remained. Thirteen . . .
“Blackjack Section, we’re almost out of time and there are far too many on the way to the Eisenhower. Select your targets on your own initiative and knock them down!”
Mitchell instantly responded to Echo Command’s directive. A first AIM-132 sprang into action. Sweeney was brief seconds behind. Neither would have the luxury of watching his lethal missile hunt down its perishing prey. They had to act without delay.