First Salvo

by Charles D. Taylor

  While maneuvering to defend herself from torpedo attack, Dale continued to fire her missiles. There were hits. They could not be seen with the naked eye, though smoke was visible soon after, but radar confirmed when a target went off the screen. Dak was one of many ships launching a hail of missiles, and only the computers would ever know which missile and which ship achieved success that day.

  Dale was the first ship in her group to be hit. A missile slammed into her stern between the after launcher and the fire-control radars, detonating on the second deck. The blast decimated engineering spaces, and almost instantly the ship was out of control, her starboard shaft bent, steering control lost. Fuel oil fed flames that threatened the magazine below the aft launcher.

  As damage-control parties fought the flames, attempting to get through to after steering, a tremendous explosion shook the hull as at least one torpedo exploded the NIXIE decoy. But another passed by, undeterred by the explosion, to strike just aft of the bridge below the Harpoon missile canisters. One of the missile engines ignited, sending the vehicle careening into the rear of the pilothouse. The torpedo blast destroyed the engine room that controlled the port shaft. With both shafts damaged, Dale gradually slowed until she was dead in the water. A second torpedo blew up in her bow. There was no longer power for the weapons.

  As she settled quickly, heeling to port, the abandon-ship order was given. A second missile dove through her pilothouse, the blast detonating the warheads remaining in the ASROC launcher. Fires swept back through the survivors. Dale had done her duty.

  ABOARD U.S.S. JOHN HANCOCK

  “Missiles away,” the report echoed through Hancock’s CIC from one of the helos even before it painted on the radars. Two more voice reports followed, each from a different location.

  The submarines had initiated the action. That was to be expected. They could detect and track a surface ship well before they themselves were ever located. That was to their advantage. Once they were found out, they had no other choice but to run.

  Nelson had four ships in line at broad intervals. They were at high speed and each ship had a helicopter working in tandem with it in much the same pattern Nelson had taught them the previous day. It was the equivalent of eight ships, as far as Nelson was concerned. That made it even, perhaps gave him a slight advantage, because the subs had no idea where the helicopters might be until they heard the ping of the dipping sonar. If a helo was lucky and lowered his sonar near a submarine, a homing torpedo could be launched well before the sub could piece together what was taking place.

  But on the other hand, a cruise missile launched from beneath the surface also presented a formidable advantage.

  There were four of these missiles now rocketing toward the surface ships. The lock-on warning buzzer indicated John Hancock was a target. Chaff rockets were automatically fired to draw the missile off target. Deep within the ship, a computer fed continual solutions into the missile-defense system. First Hancock, then Conolly, then Spruance fired Sea Sparrows at the oncoming missiles.

  A submarine-launched cruise missile is intended to fly at low level, low enough to deter radar acquisition, or at least make a fire-control solution complicated. They are not exceptionally fast as missiles go, but they are persistent, designed to correct their course against the actions of their target. They are difficult to defend against. Only one of the Sea Sparrows met with success.

  Three missiles bore in on the destroyers now. An anxious Conolly fired a second missile—too late. Her Phalanx system opened fire; this time she was lucky—the hail of bullets destroyed the warhead within a hundred yards of the ship.

  Spruance had less success. Her radar lost contact with the incoming missile only for an instant, but the time lost in reacquisition delayed the Gatling gun just long enough. When it did open fire, the missile was diving for Spruance’s flight deck. It penetrated through officers’ quarters, exploding in the ship’s laundry. The force of the blast blew upward, unseating the huge ASROC launcher that allowed the luxury of firing torpedoes from a distance.

  The last missile was drawn off her target by the chaff and exploded harmlessly, well away from Hancock.

  Two of the helos were able to pinpoint one of the missile-firing submarines. They released torpedoes less than a minute after the missiles had broken surface. The run time was quick. A resounding underwater explosion rewarded them.

  Conolly’s helo reported a solid contact close to its sonar but was experiencing trouble with the torpedo-release mechanism. Within moments, the mother ship fired her ASROC as a backup. The rocket-propelled torpedo, keying in on the ship’s helo, hit the water less than half a mile from it. Immediately the homing device locked on the target and moments later a second submarine had been hit.

  There had been eight Soviet subs divided into three wolf packs. One sub remained on the port bow, two directly ahead, and the helos were bothering them. The intact three-sub pack on the starboard bow had apparently now raced out to the starboard beam of the approaching destroyers. In a one-two-three effort, they launched missiles, then sonar showed them closing in for a probable torpedo attack.

  On the port beam, the remaining submarine of the two-boat pack was able to break into torpedo range of Spruance. Unable to use her ASROC, the ship was forced to recall her helo to her defense. As the craft’s sonar lowered onto the water, the first sound that came was that of torpedoes. The water was seemingly filled with them, the high-pitched scream cluttering the entire scope. The first hit Spruance on the port side, exploding into the forward engine room with a force that knocked the outboard turbine engine into the other. Blazing fuel wiped out the entire crew in that space. Still reeling from the force of the first torpedo, a second struck amidships. The hits were so close that the port side of the ship opened to the sea for more than fifty feet. Watertight compartments, intended to limit flooding, were ripped open by the pressure. Immediately, Spruance listed heavily to port, her speed cut to only a few knots to slow the flooding. She was out of the battle.

  Nelson saw that the integrity of his line was breaking up. The Soviet tactics were obvious; they intended to separate the ships, isolate them. One submarine, the one that hit Spruance, remained to port. The hell with it! Two more were dead ahead but were dodging helos. The immediate threat was to starboard—still three of them out there. They had just launched missiles and were now closing in!

  He wheeled his three remaining ships to starboard. In a ragged column, they raced down the throats of the closing wolf pack. Briscoe was point and the only ship not yet required to defend herself. Turning slightly to port, she fired her Sea Sparrow launcher. The closest incoming missile had been diverted by chaff and was flying an erratic course. The Sparrow brought it down. Conolly’s Phalanx activated as the next missile raced directly at her. She had turned to starboard to open her radar-controlled gun. The missile burst at forty yards, showering the superstructure with debris. The interior of her pilothouse was shattered. Conolly, with no control from her bridge, steamed blindly away from the column.

  Nelson ordered one of the helos ahead of them to cover for the damaged ship. John Hancock and Briscoe continued at flank speed toward the submarines. At maximum range, they fired rocket-propelled torpedoes from their ASROC launchers. In concert with the two ships, the one helo in front also dropped its remaining torpedo.

  Before the ship’s torpedoes even hit the water, their sonarmen identified high-speed screw noises. The Soviets had torpedoes in the water ahead of them. Doctrine said that each sub would fire a spread of at least two torpedoes—as many as six could be heading toward the ships.

  The second helo coming into the area was vectored over a sonar contact by Hancock and, without taking the time to dip her sonar, dropped another homing torpedo. It was contrary to everything Nelson had learned, but he had once run a program to determine hit possibilities in such a case; the chances weren’t much less in this situation than in a controlled attack. There were at least three submarines down there making noise tha
t would attract a homing torpedo.

  An explosion astern of the damaged Conolly accounted for the first enemy torpedo; it also meant one less decoy. A second blast lifted the ship’s stern clear of the water. Seemingly before she settled, a third torpedo struck under the forward gun mount. The resulting explosion was a combination of torpedo warhead and the forward magazine. Nelson heard the bridge report that Conolly had neither a bow nor a stern; what remained was swept with flames. Two ships left!

  The sea ahead of them erupted. Briscoe’s lookouts reported wreckage boiling to the surface at the same time her sonarmen reported secondary underwater explosions. A submarine had been hit! The second helo, arriving on station, had just reported torpedoes still running when another undersea blast occurred less than a mile away. A second sub!

  Two destroyers and one submarine were left in that sector. But there was no way to locate it. No sonar could penetrate through the underwater mess to locate the last sub. And nothing was more dangerous than a high-speed submarine, one that knew it was free to move for a period of time without detection.

  Nelson wheeled the two remaining ships about, reversing course. The sub had the upper hand for the time being. There was no reason to offer two perfect targets. Only John Hancock had a second helo available. She couldn’t recover, but Nelson could launch the remaining one. It had been armed and was ready in one hangar, and now he ordered it rolled out for launch.

  As best they could determine, there were four submarines left against two destroyers. Each wolf pack had been hurt. Now the packs were independent, no longer able to present a united front. The initial part of Nelson’s plan had worked.

  “Missiles away.” The buzzer echoed the voice, once again indicating that at least one missile was locked on to John Hancock. The source was in the vicinity they had just left. The one remaining submarine persisted! These must be its last missiles, unless the sub could reload tubes under trying conditions faster than Nelson anticipated. If only Hancock could get through this….

  Nelson overheard the report of Sea Sparrows launched. He heard the report that they failed to bring down any missiles. Shortly thereafter, he could hear the thump of the automatic five-inch guns vainly pumping shells in the direction of the incoming missiles, hoping for a lucky hit. Then Hancock hummed to the shattering noise of the Phalanx system pumping three thousand rounds per minute at a point the fire-control system determined would intercept the missiles. There were two distinct explosions. One, Nelson was sure, was a hit on a missile. The second followed so quickly that the two were barely distinguishable—except that John Hancock reeled from the impact of one of them. The missile struck to the rear of the ship, perhaps near the aft gun or the Sea Sparrow launcher. It did not penetrate the lower decks of the ship before blowing up, but detonated on impact. The explosions that followed were Sea Sparrow warheads still in their launcher, and a combination of the helo on the flight deck and her torpedoes. The after section of the ship was shattered and fire raged out of control, fed by the fuel in the helo. Yet Hancock continued on her way, her engineering spaces untouched, her steering gear still functioning. Her only defenses were forward—a single five-inch gun, the remaining torpedoes in her ASROC launcher, and her Harpoon missiles which were useful only against a surface ship. She no longer could defend against missiles—her Sea Sparrow and Phalanx systems were destroyed.

  There were still submarines ahead. One of the helos had regained contact but no longer had weapons to fire. Nelson sent Briscoe to its aid. Using the helo to pinpoint the approximate location of her contact, Briscoe fired ASROC torpedoes, hoping to home in on the submarine before it went deeper to reload its tubes. They assumed it must have been a stern chase, the submarine running and diving at the same time, but the torpedoes were faster. Sonar soon confirmed a sub breaking up. That left three submarines. The Russians’ undersea attack had been neutralized. Three subs could still fight, but their strategic capability had been destroyed.

  Briscoe came back alongside Hancock to assist in the fire fighting. Now Nelson had to make a decision. Should he shift his command to Briscoe? To the north, Nicholson had three destroyers and three frigates, all with helicopters—a more formidable force than Nelson had started with an hour before. From the position reports, Nelson was positive the Russian strategy had been for both forces to join, probably forming a southern submarine line to act both as decoy and secondary cruise-missile group for the Soviet surface forces as they swept toward Kennedy’s battle group. Nicholson was experiencing some contact, but the reports seemed to indicate that those submarines intended all along to head south toward a meeting point. If they did not attempt to break through Nicholson’s line, they could also be isolated.

  In the end, there was no argument that could keep Nelson aboard John Hancock. The battle was to the north, an hour or so away. His ship could no longer fight a meaningful battle or defend herself. He was the overall commander. His XO could handle the ship. He was highlined to Briscoe to see his part of Pratt’s war through to the end.

  ABOARD U.S.S. JOHN F. KENNEDY

  Admiral Pratt had seen such attacks before; some had been even more overwhelming than this one. But they had all been simulated. Sometimes NATO prevailed; other times the Russians had won. Some said it was all a matter of throw weight—the explosive power launched at you at a given time. Those who felt the U.S. would always win were absolutely sure it was a matter of tactics—if those tactics were coupled with superior American technology. And there were those few who said these arguments were unnecessary if the enemy were removed from the face of the earth before he could attack.

  Dave Pratt knew it was a combination of the first two, plus a dollop of luck. During war games, his computers could destroy his entire battle group if the Soviets were allowed an unlimited number of Backfires. But that would never be the case because, after warning of the initial launch, his own forces would rise to the attack, and the Air Force would set about destroying Soviet air bases and their resupply system.

  As he analyzed the development of the attack, Pratt quietly congratulated himself on his initial determination a few weeks before. If he were willing to accept heavy losses at sea, there might definitely be a chance of turning back the crucial land battle for Central Europe.

  The nuclear cruiser Arkansas was his next ship to face Soviet missiles, although the number of missiles that might have been targeted for her was much more than ever came close to hitting her. Some were drawn off by the chaff that affected their homing radars, others were decoyed away from the real target. Arkansas brought down at least six of them herself, but there were those that got through. The first dove deep into the bow, the explosion lifting the forward missile launcher out of the deck. When fire threatened the magazine, her captain ordered flooding. The increasing weight of the water began to slow her forward progress. A second missile struck aft just moments later, passing through the hangar deck. The blast damaged the steering gear, and now Arkansas was forced to steer with her engines. Burning fuel threatened the after magazine, and the captain was forced to flood there also. The huge nuclear-powered cruiser was now unable to operate her main battery, the formidable dual missile launchers. She was limited to two automatic five-inch mounts, less firepower than a tiny World War Two escort.

  Arthur W. Radford, out on the antisubmarine screen, located the first submarine to break through. Her first warning came through sonar, the scream of approaching high-speed screws. As her captain threw the rudder over in an effort to evade, two torpedoes hit close amidships, about fifty feet apart. The explosions were simultaneous—Radford broke in two. She never had the chance to fire a weapon.

  The first hit on Kennedy was on the port quarter, disabling the elevator. The fires there were quickly controlled and might have been insignificant if a second missile had not penetrated the hull on the same side. The flow of water to the fire hoses was instantly cut off. Then the first fire began spreading, igniting a helo poised to go up to the flight deck. Fuel tanks exploded
and burning fuel spread to ammunition. In moments, a conflagration shrouded the after section of the hangar deck, and a third missile slammed into the starboard side under the island. With power to the upper levels cut, Dave Pratt found himself in darkness in flag plot. Kennedy was suddenly very alone, unable to monitor the battle outside. Luckily her engine rooms remained untouched, and she was able to continue under her own power. Yet in the real world of electronic warfare, she was proceeding blindly toward the enemy.

  ABOARD U.S.S. YORKTOWN

  As Carleton had explained earlier to Dave Pratt, Yorktown was everything they had designed her for—and more. Without AEGIS, there would have been no doubt about the outcome of the Battle of the Mediterranean. The Soviets’ first salvo was intended to eliminate resistance, and the ferocity of the effort could only be understood by those who had studied Soviet strategy. With the exception of the use of atomic weapons to end the war in Japan, never before had so much explosive been used at one time by mankind.

  As the Backfires crossed the southeastern Greek islands, Tom Carleton ordered AEGIS into automatic. Then electronic warfare devised by man took over man’s battle. The computer was able to search and catalogue hundreds of contacts at one time; it was fed information on aircraft and air-to-surface missiles by the giant fixed-array radar. Secondary radars catalogued all surface contacts, and sonar delivered data on the undersea picture. The computer also received information from Hawkeye aircraft hundreds of miles out on the perimeter, from individual ships in outer stations, and would have accepted everything sent to it by recon satellites.

  Once an object was recorded by the computer, it was then identified as either friend or foe and appeared on the appropriate display console or status board. The next step was threat evaluation—to determine which of the hundreds of catalogued targets offered the most immediate threat to the battle group. AEGIS would then select the appropriate weapon, whether on board Yorktown or on another ship attached by LINK to the battle group. Once the weapon was fired, AEGIS remained in touch with the situation until the threat no longer existed.