9 Days Falling, Volume I k-5

by John A. Schettler

  Aboard CVN Washington, Tanner saw what happened, his jaw slack as the massive column of dark black smoke and fire bloomed at the center of his primary air defense escort.

  “Holy God! One got through. Will you look at Shiloh!” Before he had his field glasses up there came a hard jolt and the sound of an explosion, much closer, as two windows shattered on the main bridge. Tanner whirled about to see the number one elevator forward of the island erupt in fire and smoke, an FA-18 Superhornet smashed to pieces, a segment of its wing spinning wildly along the flight deck to collide with a waiting helicopter. The damage extended into the elevator shaft and well below to the hanger decks where there was a major fire underway in seconds. Then the second missile hit, smashing into his forward deck and tearing a segment from the front of his ship near the bow. The KH-32 had penetrated three decks deep into crew living spaces, but thankfully most everyone who might have been there was at some other duty.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” said Tanner. “We should have had Antietam in tight with us. One damn AEGIS can’t handle a saturation barrage like this.”

  “It isn’t over,” said XO Skip Patterson darkly. “The pickets are engaging the sea skimmers now. We’ve still got over forty vampires inbound.”

  “Well have a good look at Shiloh.” Tanner gestured to the ship on his near horizon, wreathed in smoke.

  “It’s up to the pickets,” said Patterson, and anything our air cover can throw at them.”

  Wilbur, McCain and Fitzgerald were having a field day in the inner screen with their RIM-156 SM-2 medium range SAMs. The missiles were developed with inertial guidance so all three ships could share illumination radars to better defend against saturation missile attacks. They were Flight I construction, and did not have the enhanced Sea Sparrows that had been installed on ships beginning with Flight IIA, but McCain had been refitted with the newer RIM-174 ERAM extended range missile, sometimes called the “Standard Missile 6.”

  Against the big Russian P-700s, the American missiles were more than adequate, and the three destroyers in Tanner’s inner screen were getting the job done. Excited crewmen aboard Wilbur reported one kill after another as their SAMs found and took down the lumbering missiles. But then one got through—the only one that got through out of the entire barrage of twenty-four missiles off the two Oscar class subs. One of the 25mm chain guns got a piece of it, but Wilbur got wacked with the rest. With 750 kilograms of penetrating explosive warhead at the tip of a missile over thirty feet long and weighing 15,400 pounds, the ship took a tremendous hit.

  It had been a very long time since the last casualty of a sea skimming anti-ship missile against a ship of this size had been logged during the Falkland War. DD Sheffield was struck amidships, burned, and eventually sunk by an Exocet in 1982. USS Stark had also been hit by two such missiles in 1987 and managed to survive the attack. But the Exocet was a featherweight champion, weighing only 1500 pounds. The Shipwreck that struck Wilbur was a true heavyweight, weighing ten times more, with a warhead that was 4.5 times bigger and moving twice as fast. Wilbur would not survive. The hull was ripped open, flame and fire gutting the ship in an enormous explosion that sent the vessel careening onto its starboard side, immolated and shrouded in thick black smoke.

  The Shipwreck had been very well named.

  There was a brief interval of quiet, a precious few seconds in all, and then the alert warning was shouted again on the bridge of CVN Washington.

  “Here come the Sizzlers,” said Patterson, the Russian P-900s that Kirov had battered the navies of WWII with were now in their own league, against opponents they had actually been designed to fight and kill—and they were doing that job with lethal efficiency. There were only twenty coming in the barrage off Kazan but, after a slow, subsonic approach, they descended to the wave tops and began a dizzying dance of evasive maneuvers while accelerating to Mach 2.5.

  Tanner heard the battle traffic on the radio, his jaw tight as the frantic calls came in. Lassen in the outer screen had taken a KH-32, the last to get through Shiloh’s brave defense before the cruiser was hit. It was followed soon after by a P-900, and the destroyer was down for the count. McCampbell took a Sizzler aft, its helo deck afire and inoperable now. The two destroyers had been out sprinting and drifting on ASW picket, and now that defensive line was fairly well compromised. McCampbell would survive the hit and continue providing some forward defense, but Lassen was out of the fight. McCain and Fitzgerald were both unscathed, still maintaining an adequate inner screen.

  Eight Sizzlers tried for the prize and bored in on Washington, but the flattop was not without defensive teeth of its own. It fired twelve RIM-24 Sparrows, and the combined defense took down five of the eight vampires in a stunning duel off the starboard side of the ship. The RIM-116 Rolling Airframe close in missiles on the carrier got two more, but the last missile made it through the gauntlet of hissing SAMs.

  Tanner saw it coming, heard the chatter of his last ditch Phalanx CWIS systems, but the missile skipped away like a skilled boxer. He was transfixed by its approach just as the British, Italians and finally the Japanese had stood spellbound by the deadly, seductive dance. Then it ended with fire. The missile struck dead amidships, penetrated the hull and started a second fire below decks near the number two elevator.

  When it was finally over, ten of the seventy-four missiles had punched through the SAM umbrella, one missed, but nine others struck five ships, with the carrier taking three significant hits. Yet US carriers had been born from the cauldron of war in the Pacific long ago. Washington was a massive ship, well over a 100,000 tons, and her design drew upon the hard experience gained in WWII. All the main hangers were segmented in to three fire bays, each separated by thick steel bulkheads and fire doors that would could be closed to contain the damage in any one given area. The crews were well trained and expert at damage control. They would get the upper hand in time, and the damage to the forward deck was close enough to the bow that it would not yet impede flight operations. CVN Washington would live on to continue the fight, just as so many of her ancestors had taken hits and fought on in the last great war.

  Like two men fighting a measured duel, Karpov had fired first and hit his enemy square in the shoulder, but the offensive might of the American battlegroup was already airborne before his salvos struck home, and now the Russian fleet would face the wrath of three experienced naval air strike squadrons.

  It was just the beginning.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aboard Kirov Karpov listened intently as Rodenko reported on the battle, his fist tightening with each apparent hit. Nine hits in all, he thought. Twelve percent! That was an exceptionally good tally, but he was not yet certain of the real damage he had inflicted on his enemy. His opponent’s left hook, coming in over the coast of Hokkaido, was now being engaged by his S-400 SAMs, and he hoped the new missiles would do their job.

  Samsonov sent up four salvos of eight missiles each, half the entire inventory on the big long range missiles. The American planes were still in formation, cruising at about 1400kph as they made their approach. Kirov fired at a range of 450 kilometers knowing the that would diminish as the missiles and planes approached one another. The S-400 accelerated to the eye popping speed of Mach 12 in the first 22 seconds after launch. At the half minute mark they acquired the incoming strike packages and began to register and home in on targets.

  The US pilots saw them coming on radar, surprised that the enemy would fire this early. Flight Lt. Cap Anson leading in the Royal Maces heard chatter from the Vipers, the F-16s from the 13th Squadron Panthers out of Misawa up front on escort.

  “Somebody jumped the gun! I’ve got vampires coming up at eleven-o-clock. Damn fast!”

  “Roger that, Lucky Thirteen,” said Anson “Wasn’t expecting company for another five minutes. Must be nerves. Russkies haven’t been to a real dance for decades.”

  Anson knew better than that. If the Russians fired they had the range to do so. This had to be an advanced missile, prob
ably one of the newer SA-21 Growlers, the NATO reporting name for the S-400 Triumf. He keyed his Squadron comm-link. “Ready on ECM and open up the throttles, gentlemen. Here comes our fifteen minutes of fame!” It was going to take them that long to reach firing range on the enemy fleet targets, and they would be tangling with these advanced SAM defenses the whole way in.

  Yet they were now committed. This was the strong left hook of Tanner’s strike plan. The Vipers of the 13th would lead, and their Scalable Agile Beam Radar (SABR) in the nose of the plane was giving them a good look at what they were facing—salvos of lightning fast missiles coming at amazing speeds. Lt. Col Kurt Brillings was in the lead, dubbed the “Brillo Pad” for the way he would scrub the skies clean of aggressor fighters in training—but these were not fighters.

  “Take aim, gentlemen!” he called to his squadron mates. “Fox Two!” The Russian SAMs were fast—too fast—and had closed too quickly. The entire run of the missile out to its maximum range would be completed in just 100 seconds, a minute and a half, with no time for idle chat on the part of the defenders. Brillo was firing now while he still could, and using his more agile AIM-9 Sidewinders that would home on infrared. Anything moving at Mach 12 in the sky would be hot as a meteor. The rest of the squadron followed suit and seconds later they were breaking left and right for evasive maneuvers, as the P-400s came howling in to the attack.

  ‘Dandy Randy’ was the first to die, Captain Randal Brooks would not be returning to Misawa. An S-400 found his plane in a high speed turn, pivoted, and closed with four times the velocity of the fighter to strike it head on. The broiling explosion lit up the azure blue of the sky with orange fire. The Sidewinders got to two of the first salvo of eight SAMs, the remaining six detonated close enough to targets that their withering fragmentation warheads sent a hail of shrapnel through wings and windshields within twenty meters. Four other F-16s went down with Brooks, but the others evaded or spoofed the last three missiles. It was a high cost to pay, and the Vipers bore the brunt of that salvo. Now the SEAD support group of eight F/A-18s with radar seeking HARM missiles were next in line.

  Behind them came the strike package of twelve Superhornets with four harpoons each, and a Growler on standoff trying to jam the enemy radar. Thanks to the presence of the F-16s, all the planes that would have normally flown TARCAP assignments were re-designated for strike. This baker’s dozen were the hard fist of the left hook in Tanner’s attack, but they had nine more minutes of hell ahead of them before they could get close enough to fire.

  Chapter 24

  Captain Tanner was in his own ‘Situation Room,’ the Flag Plot for his strike group on the wounded carrier Washington. The electronics had been upgraded with the latest flat panel displays indicating the positions of every ship in the immediate region, with a host of arcane symbols used to indicate aircraft aloft, from the strike groups he had bearing north to the support assets like AEW and air refueling tankers, their positions indicated by telltale race tracks in phosphorescent green. Radar displays, a sonar watch team, and numerous comm panels were attended by midshipmen and operations specialists of every stripe. He was patched in to the CAG, the Air Boss, his Damage Control Chief, the Tactical Action Officer and the OOD up on the main bridge. His XO Skip Patterson was at his side.

  “One hell of a mess,” said Tanner. “They sucker punched us square in the face.”

  Patterson nodded grimly. “We’re naked out here at the moment, sir. Shiloh has restored power and propulsion but is still fighting fires amidships. And she’s fired all her SM-3s anyway. The Russians send any more of those ALCMs at us and we’re history. Out in the screen, Lassen is going to have to be towed and McCampbell is fishing Wilbur’s crew out of the water with swift boats. They lost their aft helo deck and all the ASW assets on both ships have had to divert to Japan. We’ve no ASW coverage on the outer screen now. On the inner screen, Wilbur took two hits and I’m afraid we’re going to lose her.”

  “And we took three,” Tanner folded his arms, shaking his head with disgust. “We were too damn thin with our close in SAM coverage.”

  “AEGIS was always front man in the game, sir,” said Patterson.

  “Well it wasn’t enough, damnit. Now I’ve got a bloody nose up front and two elevators good for little more than scrap metal.”

  “That bug on the number one lift got slammed pretty good. They’re clearing the wreckage there now, but Chief Wilson says we might be able to get the number two elevator functional again. This new Russian missile packs one hell of a wallop. Fires are out but there’s a fifteen foot hole on our starboard side near that number one elevator, and the missile penetrated over forty feet deep. Thank our lucky stars the fire doors were closed.”

  “Alright, let Chief Wilson sort out the hanger deck. We need to regroup. We’re spread too thin. As soon as McCampbell has completed her rescue operation I want her to take Lassen in tow and head south to rejoin big George here. She may not be able to run helo operations but we can, and McCampbell can coordinate the USW delousing operation if we position her correctly. All we need now is for some rust bucket of a sub out there to get lucky and slip inside while our guard is down. As for McCain and Fitzgerald, we’ll need them in tighter until Antietam gets here.”

  “Antietam sir? Isn’t she assigned to the Admiral’s command ship?”

  “At the moment, but as you can see, it was a mistake for us to leave Antietam down south with Blue Ridge. Now that Shiloh’s hurting we’ll need her here as well.”

  “Very well, sir, but Admiral Stone will be the devil to pay.”

  “Stone? He can sit down there issuing orders all day if he wants, but it’s my ass in the sling out here on the duty line. Stone still has Stetham and Mustin, and that’s more than he needs down south for my money. Make the request. Be polite, but firm. We need Antietam up here on the double. If the Russkies get off another one two punch like that we could be the first carrier sunk since the last war, and I don’t want my name in the history books on that score, or my ass in the god damn drink. Get it done, Skip.”

  “Sir, Aye, Aye.”

  Patterson knew just what to say.

  Tanner folded his arms on his broad chest, eyes playing over the big wall panel displays. “Our boys should be bringing the heat up north in another five minutes,” he said glancing at the chronometer. “This Karpov is the real devil to pay, XO. He can dish it out pretty damn good, but now let’s see if he can take it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The S-400s had taken down six F-16s and two SEAD planes, and now the last salvo of eight was up after the Royal Maces. Their combined defensive fire was only good enough to get three of the speedy SAMs and five got through. In the wheeling dance of evasive turns and countermeasures, three of the twelve strike planes were hit. Yet it wasn’t over. Varyag was also carrying sixty-four S-300s, and that ship had followed up Kirov’s barrage with thirty two more of the deadly SAMs. Their speed and 300 kilometer range were now proving to be formidable. When a missile of that speed obtained a hard radar lock it was very difficult to shake it off, if not impossible. Two more planes in the SEAD group went down, leaving four to fire their radar seekers in a desperate attempt to suppress the target’s acquisition radar systems, but their range was limited—that was becoming the salient difference in the engagement. The US missiles were good, but they had short legs. The American planes were forced to fly through a SAM envelope 200 to 300 kilometers deep before the F/A-18s could get in range to launch their Harpoons. Now they were learning just how good the Russian missiles were, and how valuable the assets of speed and long range were in combat, and it hurt.

  By the time the strike wave was in close enough to launch, there were seven of twelve strike planes left. They had endured what the Japanese had faced, pressing on in the heat of the intense engagement, watching their buddies wheel in desperate attempts to evade the lethal SAMs, hearing their last words as they shouted and cursed the enemy they were facing. But seven got through to fire, and within seconds th
e sky was scored by the thin fuming rocket trails of twenty-eight Harpoons.

  Fired at altitude like this, the missiles quickly descended to the deck. They weren’t fast at 860kph, nor were they particularly stealthy. But they were dogged, low flying lances that would be difficult to track and kill. The S-400 and S-300 systems were not going to be agile enough to get at them down on the deck. If a missile got through it would hit with a 500 pound warhead, nowhere near the wallop of the heavier Russian missiles, but more than enough to damage or disable a modern ship.

  Aboard Kirov Rodenko saw the incoming barrage and informed Karpov. The ship and crew were ready at air defense action stations and within seconds Kirov’s medium range system dubbed the SA-N-92 by NATO was firing. The crab like Kashtan CIWS and 30mm chain guns were also armed and ready.

  Two Udaloy class destroyers were in the first defensive screen, Marshal Shaposhnikov and Admiral Vinogradov. Once called Russia’s answer to the US Arleigh Burke class destroyer, they were in no way worthy of that claim. These were Udaloy I class ships, optimized for ASW duty, though they did carry both the SA-N-9 Gauntlet system, the earlier version of the same weapon Kirov was firing. Together they lit off a barrage with everything they had, eight missiles each. Kirov was the heart of the medium range defense, however with 128 upgraded missiles. It had more raw firepower than all four of the Udaloy destroyers in escort, and then some, but the destroyer Captains knew they were the screen and weren’t going to just sit there waiting for the American missiles to arrive. The barrage was thick enough to thin the soup a bit and when the Harpoons began their terminal approach to the fleet, there were eighteen left.