B018R79OOK EBOK

by Unknown

  The boy stopped him. “Father, don’t touch me. I can’t feel my legs. I think my back is broken,” he said.

  Danner smiled at him. “Then we need to save the rest of you,” he said. “I’ll help get you down below,” he said as he removed the boy’s helmet.

  Someone yelled to Danner, “There’s more incoming! Father Danner, you need to get below!”

  “I’ll be okay,” Danner yelled back. He turned to the boy again and reached down to pick him up.

  Once again, the boy stopped him. “Father Danner, please, it hurts so bad when I try to move. Besides, you need to get the rest of these people out of here,” he said. Flannigan looked up at Danner. A trickle of blood came from his lips. “Father, I haven’t been to Mass in a long time. Matter of fact, I guess you’d say I’ve not been such a saintly guy lately. Is it too late for me?” he asked with sincerity. There were almost tears in his eyes.

  Danner smiled down at the boy. “Nah, it’s never too late.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small kit. Opening it, he pulled out a stole, kissed it, and placed the purple side up over his neck. Taking out a small bottle of Holy Oil, he clumsily wet his thumb with it before making a thick sign of the cross on the young man’s forehead. There were more tears in the boy’s eyes now as Danner patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let us pray.”

  The second flight of planes began their run. By now, the ship was doing nearly twenty knots and maneuvering radically. Once again, two of the bombs missed. The third struck the side of turret three doing nothing to the turret but showering the area with shrapnel.

  The final flight was making its run when they exploded in midair. The bridge crew looked out to see Royal Navy Lightnings zoom overhead. Calling a cease fire, the bridge crew saw the lead fighter wag its wings at them as it circled by. Rhodes appeared on the bridge to see the spectacle.

  “They are from the HMS Queen Elizabeth,” Rhodes said. “Thank God for the British. Now let’s get back to pick up the rest of our people,” he ordered.

  They stopped as they heard an explosion through the hull of the ship. It wasn’t close, but a far-away sounding noise. One of the lookouts shouted, “Explosion in the water bearing 297 degrees!”

  Everyone on the bridge peered at the area with their binoculars. Several saw a froth in the water where something had just happened. It appeared to be around five miles away.

  “Sir, there’s a submarine surfacing on our port side!” shouted another lookout.

  Rhodes saw the black shape of a conning tower rise slowly above the surface of the water. It was only a few hundred yards away and Rhodes was about to have his secondary battery open up on it when he saw the flashing light from the small shape. He could hear signalmen rushing across the deck above and the clatter of the signal light shutters. In just a minute the signalman rushed down to Rhodes and handed him the hand written message.

  CO TO CO,

  HI DAD. JUST SANK A KILO TRYING TO GET IN TO YOU. THE AREA IS NOW CLEAR.

  LANDRIDGE, CO, USS IOWA

  Rhodes looked at the message and then at the submarine. There was a man waving from the conning station. Rhodes raised his hand in salute. He called the signalman over. Gathering a blank pad, he wrote:

  CO TO CO,

  THANKS SON. I’M BUYING THE FIRST BEER.

  RHODES, CO, USS IOWA

  The signalmen murmured “Cool,” then rushed to his signal lamp and snapped out the message. Rhodes then picked up the 1MC mike and pressed the button. “This is the Captain, speaking. For those who want to see our offspring, USS Iowa, SSN-797, is cruising off our port side. That explosion you heard was her taking out a Russian sub trying to get to us. Why don’t you come up and say hello.”

  The doors and hatches on the port side of the ship opened and men began coming out to have a look. They waved at the small black shape as it moved along the side of the ship. The men on top waved back franticly.

  In the middle of the celebration, one of the phone talkers called out. “Captain, the Damage Control Assistant says you need to get to the fantail. He says it’s urgent,” the young man reported.

  “On my way,” said Rhodes as he turned to make his way aft.

  Rhodes walked out of the after hatch on the port side and saw a small crowd beside the turret three barbette. The crowd was quiet and parted as he approached. Some appeared to be crying.

  Lying at the base of turret three were the bodies of Father Danner and Seaman Flannigan. The bomb blast had gone off nearby and had slammed Danner over onto Flannigan. They lay just inches apart. The look on both faces was one of peaceful contentment. Danner’s right arm was flung over the boy. The purple stole had been blown partially off his shoulders and was draped over both men. The sign of the cross on Flannigan’s forehead was caked with dust, and the mirror image of the same sign was also on Danner’s forehead. The bomb had slammed their heads together in this one act of grace.

  Rhodes looked down at his priest. He got down on his knee and said a prayer. The others joined him. After a moment, he stood and turned to the Damage Control Assistant. “Leave them be,” he said. “Take care of the others first. Let the good Father remain with the young man he saved.” That was when he noticed Flannigan’s hair through the dust. A slight smile crossed his face. “Thank God for the redheads,” he mumbled before turning and heading aft toward where Patnaude was waving him over.

  The Iowa slowed as she neared the small flotilla of boats and rafts. As she came to a stop, Rhodes was amazed. The boats and rafts were filled with men. He waved to them and amazingly most of the men waved back.

  As one of the utility boats neared the accommodation ladder, Rhodes called down, “Did you get them all?”

  The Boatswain smiled and yelled back, “Every last one, Captain,”

  Rhodes gave a thumbs up and then looked down at the upturned faces. He could see the relief and appreciation for being rescued. He called back, “How many bodies do you think we need to retrieve?”

  The Boatswain gave him a puzzled look. “Haven’t seen any, Captain. We went all round the area and everyone we saw we picked up,” he said.

  Doc Dickerson heard the exchange and came over. “That can’t be, Captain. This water is around forty degrees. A man can’t survive more than a couple of minutes without some sort of protection. These guys are in wool uniforms,” he said.

  “Maybe they sank,” Patnaude offered.

  “No, they would still float for hours,” said Rhodes. “Get these guys aboard and send the boat to check again,” he said.

  It took another two hours, but in the end, no bodies were found floating on the sea. That is when Captain Rhodes realized he had just witnessed a miracle.

  In the Air over Ukraine

  Major Vasiley led the remaining three aircraft back home. They hadn’t seen the other aircraft come in and there was not much they could do about it. Instead, he had pressed his throttles to the limit and headed home.

  He had watched as the bombs appeared to kill many of the people on the deck. He cursed his superiors with each breath. This was not what he had joined the military service for. He still had some notion of right and wrong in how a war should be fought. This was definitely wrong. Something had to be done. The question was what it would be.

  Berlin

  “The Iowa group is back underway. The Iowa sank the Kirov and the Moskva. The Port Royal and Freedom sank another destroyer and two frigates. Iowa was struck twice with little damage. She currently has over four hundred Russian crewmen aboard that they rescued. The Port Royal has another seventy and the Freedom fifty seven. Too bad they were a little too far away to help the Iowa, but it turned out alright,” said the briefer.

  “So for all intents and purposes, the Black sea Fleet no longer exists,” said Hammond.

  “Pretty much. They have some patrol boats and such, but nothing major,” the briefer said.

  Hammond sat back and let out a long breath. “I was expecting far worse from them. Using the helicopters for d
ecoys was brilliant. Where are the missile boats now,” he asked.

  “They are loitering around about 150 miles away. They were headed toward the landings, but stopped about ten minutes ago.”

  “We’ll need to take care of them too. They probably all carry missiles,” Hammond said.

  “I’ll send a message to Admiral Hustvedt,” said the briefer.

  Aboard the R-44

  Captain Kuroki Potemkin was getting seasick. His little missile boat, R-44, was not really designed for open ocean cruising. At only about 240 tons, she bobbed like a cork. She was also top heavy. Because of this, the delay because one of the other boats broke down was making it much more difficult to keep the ship in any trim. The Shtil, a Nanuchka class corvette had lost one of her engines and was wallowing in the choppy seas trying to fix the problem. The Captain in charge insisted they all go in together.

  He felt it coming and couldn’t stop it. Rushing to the bridge wing, he leaned over the side and let go. After heaving for almost a minute, he opened his eyes only to see a trail of vomit running down the side of the ship to the main deck. He instantly felt better, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The embarrassment was worse. To lose one’s lunch in front of your crew was not something to instill respect.

  He heard a whistle blow and saw the Shtil begin to move. At least they were underway again. Giving the order to return to base course and speed, the R-44 began to ride much better in the seas. He watched the Nanutchka corvette plowing along. Potemkin wondered why she came along at all. Of all the missile boats, hers had the least range. Even worse, they were the least reliable. It would take another thirty minutes before they reached launch range. He couldn’t wait to get there and get this job over with. Any moment now he expected the American navy to swoop in and blast them from the sea. At least his boat had the best chance of getting away. The R-44 was a hydrofoil and he could be up on the foils and out of any situation in a matter of seconds.

  Potemkin breathed in great lungfulls of air. It helped clear his mind and possibly keep the seasickness away for a time. His crew was doing their jobs, making sure the ship was exactly where it was supposed to be. The radio suddenly crackled to life. Someone screamed “American aircraft!”

  Coming in high, they had been given away by vapor trails. The aircraft were still at some distance away, but the Russian commander wasn’t taking chances. “Launch all missiles,” came the order.

  One by one, each boat fired its anti-ship missiles. They were various types, some supersonic, others not. The last to fire was the old Shtil. By that time, Captain Potemkin had ordered the foils lowered and his diesels were running at full revolutions. Long before the aircraft began their bomb runs she was doing 42 knots back towards Sevastopol.

  USS America

  The Eyeball system immediately put the missiles through Link 16 and the landing forces went to full alert. Unfortunately, through dumb luck, the missiles were all tracking straight toward the landing forces. The cloaking systems were still on and Hustvedt was counting on it to keep the ships safe.

  Captain Donner was in a sweat. He had almost been that way from the moment the ships had entered the Black Sea. He paced around the ship’s combat information center plying his people with questions, often interrupting the work they were doing trying to protect the ship. “How many now?” he asked.

  “There are twelve missiles spread out over a distance. Most are within a ten degree arc. Only about three are coming anywhere near us. All have a bearing drift. We’re safe as long as they can’t see us on radar. So far that cloak has worked pretty good,” said the Ship’s Weapons Coordinator.

  “How do you know we’re in the clear?” demanded Donner. “It looks like those three are coming right down our throat!”

  “It’s not as it looks, Captain. We are seeing a right bearing drift on these two and a left one on this one.” the coordinator assured him.

  “But how close will they come?”

  “Closest will be around 1,000 yards.”

  “That’s too close for me,” shouted Donner already in a lather. “I want you to bring the ship’s weapons systems online. Shoot those missiles down!”

  “But Captain, they are going to miss us. If we turn the systems on, they will lock into us and we run a much greater risk of…”

  “I ordered you to engage those missiles! Do it now!” Donner screamed as he reached over and turned off the cloak.

  Almost immediately the three missiles and two others turned toward the America. Getting the weapons systems up and tracking took time – something they did not have with missiles traveling beyond the speed of sound. The missile launcher spun to starboard. One of the missiles flew out of the launcher and exploded an incoming missile just three miles from the ship. The Close-In Weapons System got another. The next was just too close.

  “We’re going to get hit!” shouted the Coordinator. “What do you want me to do now, Captain?”

  Donner stood and stared at the screen. His eyes were filled with terror. He let out a whimper.

  “You bastard,” growled another officer.

  The missile hit just over the Combat Information Center, tearing into the compartment and exploding, killing everyone there and starting fires over a wide area. A second missile came in striking the starboard side of the bridge overhang. A third struck just forward of the midships refueling station on the starboard side. With each hit, the ship shuddered violently. Flames engulfed the area of the hits and smoke began billowing out of the ship.

  In Flag Plot, the lights and displays went out. The emergency lights came on and Hustvedt went over to the bitch box. “CIC, Flag plot.” There was no answer. “Bridge, Flag plot.” Again no answer. He happened to glance at the gyro repeater and noticed that the ship was turning. “Have you got coms with the bridge or CIC?” Hustvedt asked.

  The talker shook his head. “No sir. The last thing I heard was that the Captain turned off the cloak.”

  “He what?!” shouted Hustvedt. He turned to Jeffers. “Rod, get up to the bridge and see what’s going on. The space is getting hotter and my guess is we have fires, so watch your step,” he said.

  “On the way, Admiral,” Jeffers said as he dashed for the door. As he opened it, some thin smoke came into the room from the passageway. Jeffers made his way to the starboard side and took the first ladder going up. It took time. The smoke was getting thicker. In the middle of his trek he heard the Damage Control Officer shout over the 1MC, “Fire, fire, fire, fire in CIC, and on the hangar deck. Away damage control parties. Activate hangar deck sprinklers.”

  By the time Jeffers got to the base of the island structure, some of the bulkheads were mangled and holed. Inside the structure firefighting parties were already at work trying to halt the fires within. The route to the bridge was completely blocked.

  Undaunted, Jeffers went back out onto the flight deck and went aft to the rear of the island and entered the structure from there. At least the smoke was less. He made his way to one of the ladders and made his way up three levels onto the deck next to Pri Fly. Making his way forward, he could see some of the deck was scorched and buckling. Smoke still billowed up from below on the starboard side so he kept to the port side and made his way.

  Below on the flight deck three of the Ospreys were sitting next to the island. They had just come in and had been refilled with fuel and equipment to ferry to the beach when the ship had been hit. A number of crewmen were working to get the aircraft ready to take off. But the most horrifying sight was just ahead of the ship. USS Enterprise was still at flight quarters launching aircraft, and USS America was turning right toward her.

  Rushing forward, Jeffers made his way to the bridge wing and was about to enter when another cruise missile struck the Ospreys on the deck. One of the aircraft had been filled with a bladder of diesel fuel. Flames shot into the sky and pieces of aircraft flew everywhere. Jeffers felt something strike him in the back and fling him against the bulkhead. Stunned, he slowly got back to his feet. H
is left leg didn’t want to move as much. Looking down, he saw a tear in his pants and blood leaving a spreading stain on them. Looking back, he saw the flames completely covering his only escape route. Turning back toward the bridge, Jeffers noticed the ship was getting even closer to the Enterprise. He knew that when launching aircraft, the ship would not be able to maneuver. Cursing, he staggered on, reaching the door to the bridge.

  There was nothing left of the windows in the front. The steel had been peeled away almost like a banana with one end still attached on the port side, but the rest lying across the missiles launcher forward. The bridge itself was a shambles. Charts were burning on the chart table and wires hung from their attachment points along the bulkheads and overheads. Several bodies were splayed across the deck. The ship’s helm was in the center of the area and had several holes in it. The binnacle, with the magnetic compass, was completely gone. Jeffers made his way and saw that the rudder was only a degree or two to port. He spun the wheel to starboard to change the ship’s course. He was gratified to see the ship’s rudder angle indicator begin to swing to starboard. He hoped there was enough time.

  Aboard the Enterprise the bridge crew began to panic when they realized that the America was not changing course away from them. Orders were given to halt flight operations and her rudder was swung hard over. Second after agonizing second it seemed the two ships would hit, then suddenly the America began to turn. The captain of the Enterprise saw the change and ordered the ship’s rudder to hard left. As the stern of the Enterprise began swinging in the other direction, the America’s turn seemed to increase. The ships passed within 150 yards of each other. Only after the ships had passed did they see the damage to the America.

  Jeffers made sure he was not steering toward another ship, then placed his rudder amidships. He grabbed the enunciators and ordered a reduction in speed. Looking around the bridge, he saw some movement in two of the people on the deck. One was a seaman who was bleeding from a gash on his head. The other was the ship’s Executive Officer. Jeffers went over to help.