by Joe Weber
The entire aft section of the carrier deck was swallowed by the raging fire and billowing black smoke when Landesman saw the first ejection seat blast upward and arc over the fantail. Seconds later, more ejection seats fired through the boiling flames as the trapped pilots and naval flight officers fought for their lives.
Landesman could feel the ship slowing and turning as a frantic pilot jockeyed his burning F-14 Tomcat toward a clear area at the edge of the deck. Like the other aviators, he was afraid that he and his RIO might come down in the inferno if they ejected in the middle of the deck.
The fighter accelerated in afterburner until the nosewheel swept over the side of the ship. At that point, the radar intercept officer initiated their ejection sequence, which fired his seat first. The pilot shot free of the scorched cockpit just as the nose of the Tomcat hit the water.
Landesman was reaching for his direct line to the captain's bridge when the flight-deck emergency-washdown system activated. Water spewed over the length of the crowded deck, but the downpour had little effect as more devastating explosions set a row of fuel-laden jets ablaze. The Admiral had never encountered anything that compared to the magnitude of destruction he was witnessing. Likewise, he had never seen such bravery and self-sacrifice in his long naval career.
"Captain . . ." Carl Witowski breathlessly answered Landes-man's call.
" Jinks, what have we got from damage control?"
An explosion interrupted Witowski's reply. "We've got a lot of men trapped belowdecks, and flaming fuel is running into the spaces and hangar bay."
"Keep me advised," Landesman ordered and involuntarily flinched when another giant explosion rocked the ship.
"Yes, sir," the devastated skipper mechanically shot back. "It doesn't look good, but Cowpens is coming alongside to assist."
" Jinks," Landesman advised while he surveyed the burning flight deck, "I'm going to get a message off to CINCPAC." He hung up the receiver.
Out of the corner of his eye the Admiral saw an officer and two enlisted men toss a loose bomb over the side of the carrier. He turned to watch the three men as they approached another bomb that was rapidly being surrounded by flames. The officer was spraying the 500-pounder with a fire extinguisher when the bomb exploded. Landesman stared in horror and disbelief when the three men simply disappeared.
Chapter 33.
USS BREMERTON
Lamar Joiner was shaving in his cramped stateroom when he heard and felt the first detectable rumble. Curious, he stopped for a moment and waited for another hint of the unusual sound. The only noise was the deep hum of the ventilation ducts.
He dismissed the faint, rolling sound as an anomaly and placed the razor next to his cheek. Joiner again paused when he sensed another low, resonant sound. It's real, but I can't identify the sound or the source.
He knew they were rapidly approaching the rendezvous coordinates to take up station with the carrier task force, but the only sounds he expected to hear were the high-frequency pitch of ship's screws.
The communications speaker suddenly came to life. "Cap'n, officer of the deck, sir," the smooth, confident voice said evenly.
Joiner quickly wiped the shaving cream from his face and toggled the speaker switch.
"Captain," Joiner replied with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. After many years of submarine duty, his intuitive feelings were generally correct.
"Sir, sonar is picking up some strange returns--like depth charges going off."
Joiner tossed the hand towel on the tiny sink. "I'll be in sonar for a couple of minutes if you need me."
"Aye aye, Cap'n."
After hurriedly donning his dark overalls, Joiner walked down the narrow passageway leading to the sonar room. He entered the dim, quiet space and looked at the data on the display screen.
"Mornin', Captain," the senior operator said without taking his eyes off the sonar console.
"Good morning," Joiner replied in a hushed voice and looked over the Petty Officer's shoulder.
The latest contact, other than ships in the crowded strait, was a vertical line on the console. Whatever the source, the loud sounds were coming from far away and the bearing was remaining constant.
"What have you got?" Joiner asked the senior operator as he studied the returns on his sonar screen.
"Sir, like I told the OD, the sounds have the characteristic trait of depth charges." The man slowly shook his head in frustration. "Something exploded in the water--at least twice--dead on the bow."
The Captain studied the display for a brief moment. He agreed with the Petty Officer, but he had grave reservations about the unusual sounds.
Joiner looked at his watch. Bremerton wasn't scheduled to go to periscope depth to receive the latest satellite radio transmissions, but Joiner needed information before he continued toward the strange sounds.
"I'll be in conn."
"Yessir." The sonar operator glanced at Joiner. "We'll stay on it, sir, till we have it figured out."
"Very well," Joiner responded and stepped out of the confined space. He thought about the perplexing sounds while he made his way to the control room. If someone is dropping depth charges, I sure as hell don't want to blunder into the middle of the kill zone.
Joiner walked into the control room and approached the officer of the deck at the navigation chart behind the periscope stand.
"What do you think, Frenchie?"
The Lieutenant absently tapped the chart with the end of his pencil. "Cap'n, I know it's early to go to PD, but we're getting mighty close to the Hawk, and I think we need some fresh info."
Joiner was about to answer when he, the Lieutenant, and the chief of the watch heard and felt another tremor reverberate through the attack submarine.
"Frenchie," Joiner said, "let's get between the shipping channels and take her up to periscope depth."
"Aye aye, sir."
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE, MARYLAND
The President had just boarded Air Force One when he received the word about the errant Japanese missile and the ensuing conflagration on Kitty Hawk.
He and Scott Eaglehoff had sequestered themselves in the communications compartment while the big Boeing took off and turned on course to Anchorage.
Refusing his usual evening cocktail, the President opted for a Pepsi while they waited for a conference call with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the civilian Secretaries of the armed forces, the National Security Advisor, and prominent members of the security council. He also wanted to confer with his Vice President, who had been on an extended visit to European countries.
"Sonuva-bitch," the President swore to himself and shoved his glass out of the way. "Accident?" he posed a question and then answered it himself: "Bullshit!"
"Sir," Eaglehoff began cautiously, "we've seen a number of accidents at sea over the years. It's possible that this catastrophe was accidental. Men and machinery sometimes fail, and I think we have to take it at face value."
The President glanced at his closest adviser and scowled in his unique way. "You can never take the Japanese at face value," he half-muttered and tapped his fingers on his desk.
Eaglehoff let the uneasy silence settle over the compartment before he spoke. "I think we have to remember the Stark incident, the Iowa disaster, the Vincennes debacle--people make mistakes and things fail.
"I sure as hell remember the Forrestal and Enterprise fires," Eaglehoff asserted. "I was on the Forrestal when it happened."
Both aircraft carriers suffered devastating fires during the Vietnam War when Zuni rockets attached to F-4 Phantoms accidentally ignited during prelaunch conditions.
The President brushed off Eaglehoff's remarks. "Do we have a casualty list yet?"
"No, sir. It's too soon to get anything that's accurate."
A buzz interrupted the President's response. He lifted the receiver and began issuing orders to the men and women gathered in the War Room at the Pentagon.
KITTY HAWK
T
he ship was dead in the water as flames and dense smoke spewed from the flight deck and the aircraft elevator doors leading to the hangar bay. Her escorts, except for the cruiser Chancellorsville, were alongside the mammoth carrier.
"It's fine," Isaac Landesman insisted as the ship's senior physician adjusted the sling for the Admiral's left arm. Although his wrist was broken, he wasn't going to sick bay for further treatment until the carrier was out of danger.
The weary doctor mumbled a few words and hurried below to help the multitude of burned and injured sailors and officers. The ship's hospital and dispensary were filled to capacity, forcing the medical team to use nearby spaces for the overflow of injured men.
Landesman surveyed the flight deck and felt sick to his stomach. The fire was still raging on the aft section of the deck, and damage-control reports indicated the blaze had spread to berthing compartments and the hangar bay from the last expansion joint to the fantail.
Although many aircraft had been shoved over the side of the ship, Landesman could see the charred remains of eighteen planes scattered around the blackened flight deck. He also counted twelve gaping holes where bombs secured underneath attack aircraft had detonated.
Forward on the flight deck, he counted thirteen aircraft that were not damaged. Those planes, plus a dozen on the forward section of the hangar bay, were the only salvageable aircraft left from the original eighty-seven planes on board, not counting the aircraft that were airborne when the missile hit Kitty Hawk.
The crews waiting to land had been diverted to Singapore, where they would refuel and provide a constant combat air patrol over the U. S. ships.
Both Independence and Lincoln were steaming toward the strait to offer assistance to the Hawk and her escorts. Aircraft from both carriers would supplement the planes from the damaged ship.
Landesman watched the guided missile cruisers Worden and Leahy while the crew assisted in the firefighting effort. The sailors from the cruiser Cowpens had successfully rescued the men in the water and were also attacking the blaze.
The Hayasa offered help, but was asked to stand clear near the Chancellorsville. The distraught Captain of the Japanese Aegis destroyer had requested an opportunity to meet with the battle-group commander and the Captain of Kitty Hawk. Landesman had approved the request, explaining that he was welcome once the fire had been extinguished.
Landesman peered down at the valiant crewmen who were battling the fire. The wet and exhausted sailors were surrounded by the crushed and burnt fuselages of several aircraft. The significance of the tragedy was difficult to fathom. Landesman lowered his head and said a silent prayer for the safety of his men.
USS BREMERTON
Commander Lamar Joiner turned toward the control-room sonar console and watched a sloping trace appear on the red display screen. He studied the readout for a few seconds and then examined the navigational chart that displayed the north-and southbound Strait of Malacca traffic lanes.
"Sonar, Captain," he said with an edge to his voice. "We've got a contact bearing three-four-zero."
"Conn, sonar, aye," the sonar Chief Petty Officer crisply replied. "The contact is a surface vessel now bearing threethree-zero--seven thousand yards."
"Very well."
The target was passing to the portside and would not be a factor during the ascent to periscope depth.
"Conn, sonar. I hold several faint contacts bearing zero-onezero. Surface screws turning at low RPM."
"Sonar, Captain. Keep me informed."
"Aye aye, sir."
The minutes passed slowly while they proceeded toward the rendezvous with the carrier group. News travels at the speed of lightning aboard a submarine, and the 127 sailors and officers of the nuclear-powered boat sensed that something was amiss. Their normally confident and relaxed skipper was restive and the men noticed the subtle change in his behavior.
Finally, Joiner looked around the cramped control room and exchanged glances with the chief of the watch and the sober-faced diving officer. The helmsman and sternplanesman were strapped tightly to their seats, and the officer of the deck was waiting for his orders. It was time to surface and the CO was moving more slowly than usual.
Checking the inertial navigation coordinates for the third time in ten minutes, Joiner was surprised when another tremor ran through the hull of the submarine.
"Conn, sonar." The pitch of the Chief's voice suddenly changed. "Something detonated bearing zero-one-zero--in close proximity to the sounds of the screws."
"Sonar, Captain," Joiner responded while he tried to hide the ominous feeling that was slowly engulfing him. "Could you tell if the explosion was on the surface or if we're dealing with depth charges?"
"I couldn't tell, sir."
"Very well."
Joiner noticed the looks of concern from everyone in the control room. He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple and turned to face the officer of the deck.
"Let's go to periscope depth."
"Aye aye, sir."
The OOD issued orders to the helmsman and the diving officer, then spoke to the chief sonarman. "Sonar, conn. Ascending to PD."
"Sonar, aye."
A moment later the OOD raised the periscope and stepped aside for the Captain. Whenever Bremerton surfaced, Joiner was always at the primary periscope.
The deck inclined slightly as the fast-attack submarine rose toward the surface of the strait. Working with the precision of a surgical team, the ship-control watch-standers steadied the boat at the prescribed depth. Their reputations were on the line every time Bremerton maneuvered.
"Periscope depth," the OOD announced with a hint of trepidation in his tone. This was the first time he had ever seen his skipper tense.
Joiner grasped the periscope handgrips and embraced the scope and optic module. He started to rotate the periscope at the same time he saw a dark, billowing smoke cloud in the distance. He stopped in place and stared at the distant flotilla of ships. The island superstructure of the burning carrier towered above the other vessels.
"Kitty Hawk is on fire," Joiner observed while he remained transfixed in amazement. He watched a giant crane on wheels shove a burning jet fighter over the side and then vanish in the dense smoke. "They must have had a helluva crash on the aft flight deck."
Although he was concerned about the unfolding tragedy on the carrier, he felt a personal sense of relief. "We've been hearing explosions caused by the fire. Probably ordnance that was thrown over the side."
A low murmur ran through the control room as the collective tension began to dissipate. They finally had an answer to the threatening mystery, and the news flashed through the submarine in an instant.
Joiner began to rotate the periscope to sweep the horizon, then stood immobilized in shocked disbelief when he saw the Arafura Sea. He was staring straight at the bow of a 260,000-ton supertanker carrying 77 million gallons of crude oil. The 1,132-foot behemoth, which was propelled by 37,400-shaft horsepower, was outside the normal shipping lanes in order to get a closer look at Kitty Hawk. The Arafura Sea was only seconds from colliding with the hapless Bremerton.
"Emergency deep! Emergency deep!" Joiner shouted in horror to the officer of the deck as he snapped the periscope grips up and quickly lowered the scope. "Rig for collision! Rig for flooding! This is not a drill!"
Everyone leaped into action while a depth-control tank was being flooded. They had to force the submarine into a steep diving angle in the next few seconds or face certain death beneath the colossal ship.
The frightened CO glanced up at the overhead. "We've got a tanker right on top of us."
Joiner's mind raced, thinking first about how he broke one of his cardinal rules. He had paused to look at something before he swung the periscope all the way around to check for surface vessels and other obstacles. He would have relieved a junior officer for an infraction of that magnitude.
Along with his fellow submariners, Joiner knew only too well the dangers of dealing with the supertankers.
Sonar often didn't detect the big ships, and there were many sea stories about close calls with the enormous vessels.
The huge volume of crude oil stored between the bow and the engine compartment in the stern of the tankers completely absorbed the engine and screw sounds. The latest generation of stretched supertankers was stealthily quiet and extremely dangerous to submarines.
Joiner was praying and counting down the seconds when the 260,000-ton oil tanker plowed into the side of the small attack submarine. Drawing seventy-six feet of water and traveling at 15.2 knots, the tanker's tremendous kinetic energy crushed the sub like a roll of aluminum foil.
The double hull of Bremerton was severed behind the conning tower. Joiner was thrown across the control room and slammed into a bulkhead. He momentarily heard screams of agony as the lights went out and the forward half of the submarine rolled inverted. He tumbled end over end, then tasted blood and gasped for air as the cool seawater poured over him and his crew.
Both halves of the doomed submarine plunged to the bottom of the strait while the crew of the supertanker shrugged off the slight shudder that rippled through their ship. They would not become aware of the damage to the bow until they made a port call in Taiwan.
Chapter 34.
THE SUBMARINE HARUSHIO
Like his crewmen, Commander Shigezo Takagi experienced a moment of paralysis when he heard the crunching sounds from the destruction of the American . attack submarine. Takagi rushed into the sonar compartment, grabbed a set of earphones, then listened to Bremerton as the sub purged air and sank to the floor of the waterway. The sound of quadrillions of air bubbles rising to the surface was intermingled with popping and scraping noises.
The startling destruction of the hunter-killer submarine caused Harushio's short, chunky skipper to relive his worst nightmare. On rare occasions, usually before a deep dive, he dreamed about being trapped in a sub and helplessly sinking to the bottom of the ocean.