Brown, Dale - Independent 01

by Silver Tower (v1. 1)

  USS MISSISSIPPI

  The GL-25 cruise missiles sped south of the Tropic of Cancer, still without being detected—any ships larger than small fishing vessels had long since abandoned the Gulf of Oman and the Arabian Sea, like townfolk in the Old West scattering off the main street as the sheriff and the outlaws began squaring off. Two of the cruise missiles had guidance-system malfunctions and automatically crashed themselves into the sea, but the rest were precisely on course, speeding toward the twenty American naval vessels now only five hundred miles away. Three hundred miles from the outermost escort vessel the missiles began their preprogrammed descent back to low-altitude cruise mode, maneuver designed to duck under the extreme farthest range of any maritime radar.

  The inertially guided missiles had been programmed as if all of the Nimitz's escorts were still arranged in a protective circle around the carrier. If the fleet had remained in the same defensive formation as when the missiles were programmed some twelve hours earlier, the missiles might never have been detected until it was too late. The target-run point, at which the missile’s homing radar would be activated, was designed to allow for movement of the fleet; but the planners had to work under the assumption that the fleet would stay together and not change course by more than a hundred miles after launch. Secrecy meant everything to the success of the Soviet missile strike.

  But one ship, the USS Mississippi, was no longer with the Nimitz group. After the Backfire bomber attack, the Mississippi had been ordered to the area of the Backfire-Tomcat dogfight to search for Russian survivors. It had taken several hours to steam north to where the battle had taken place, and they stayed in the area for some eight hours rescuing a handful of survivors and retrieving bodies. When they started back toward the Nimitz to retake their place in the cordon they were a hundred miles out of position. Which put them three hundred miles south and west of the first of the GL-25 cruise missiles

  Commander Jeffrey Fulbright, captain of the Mississippi, was on the bridge trying to warm his insides with a fresh mug of coffee.

  “Those Russians were really scared of us,” Fulbright was saying to Lieutenant George Collene, the deck officer. “I guess they thought we were going to put fire to their fleet. Credit doses of negative propaganda.”

  “Or good old-fashioned fear of retaliation, sir,” Lieutenant Collene said. “If I had just tried to bomb an enemy vessel I’d sure as hell think twice about getting on their ship afterward.”

  Fulbright glanced at the young officer, closed his right hand into a fist. “Wouldn’t you just love to go down there and properly welcome those sonsofbitches to the USS Mississippi?”

  Collene looked at his captain over the top of his glasses. “That, sir, is what their political officers tell them we do.”

  “So let’s not disappoint them—”

  “Bridge, CIC. Radar contact aircraft bearing zero-four-zero true, range two-eight-seven nautical miles. Fast-moving, heading south.”

  Fulbright picked up the phone. “CIC, this is Fulbright. Got an ID on ’em?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Feed me the numbers.” He lowered the phone and called to the deck officer. “Lieutenant, steer heading zero-four-zero true. Make it zero-six-zero. We’ll try to cut them off, whatever they are. Make flank speed. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Zero-six-zero true, flank speed, aye, sir.” Collene repeated the command to the helmsman, who repeated it to Collene, steered the ship to that heading, made the speed change to engineering and then read off his instruments to Collene when the course and speed were set.

  “On course zero-six-zero. We are at flank speed, showing two- seven knots, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  “Bridge, contact one now two-six-five miles, bearing zero-four- five. We have a rough altitude estimate of angels ten and descending. Speed estimated six-zero-zero knots.”

  “Any identification beacons? IFF?”

  “No codes, sir.”

  “Lieutenant, steer zero-nine-zero, maintain flank speed. I want—”

  “Bridge, CIC. Radar contact aircraft two, range two-six-zero nautical miles, bearing zero-three-eight, fast-moving, same heading south as contact one. Speed and altitude the same as contact one.”

  Fulbright swore and picked up a second phone. “Communications, this is the bridge. Get Nimitz on FLEETSATCOM. Advise him of our contacts. Broadcast warning messages on all emergency frequencies to all aircraft on those contacts’ course and speed. Tell them to change course and stay clear of all vessels in this area or they will be fired on without further warning—”

  “Bridge, CIC. Radar contact aircraft three, range two-four-zero, bearing zero-three-zero, moving below angel’s five. Same course and speed as the.... Now radar contact four, same course and speed.... looks like a stream of them, sir. New contact five....”

  “Discontinue reports, radar, I get the picture,” Fulbright said. “Lieutenant, sound general quarters.”

  ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

  There was irony in the station’s near-destruction: if the command module had not been as tom up as it was by the previous Soviet attack it would have taken hours, perhaps days, to trace all the wiring and circuitry leading from Skybolt and the MHD reactor to the station’s banks of batteries. As it was, the main, emergency and essential power buses, and the connecting point between the power supply and the circuits powered by it, were all now readily accessible.

  Saint-Michael’s job was to connect the backup power system to the main bus. Finally he stood up from the planter box, clicked on his interphone, and told Ann that he was ready. She reported finishing the rewiring in the Skybolt control module, so he switched the channel to air-to-air and raised Marty.

  “We’re going to fire up the reactor, Marty. Stand by.”

  “Roger, General.... hey, wait a sec, I’m picking up UHF broadcasts from... the Seychelles, or someplace like that. It sounds like the navy. Something’s up....”

  “Okay, listen in and give me a report later. We’re going to fire her up and see what happens.”

  Ann maneuvered herself to the one control panel in the entire module that was illuminated. It was a simple switch that would allow power from the backup batteries to flow to the ignition circuits. “Jason, when I start up the reactor it’ll go full bore until I get power to my main reactor controls. I only hope the batteries can handle it....”

  “Look at it this way: if something goes wrong we can’t be in any worse shape than we are now. Any explosion will be out on the keel where the batteries are. Plug ’er in.”

  Ann touched the switch and closed her eyes. “Here goes everything. ...”

  The Soviet attack on the Nimitz carrier group was going as planned.

  Five minutes after the last GL-25 cruise missile hit its initial point, the Kiev and Novorossiysk attack carriers began launching the first of a dozen Sukhoi-24 Fencer supersonic bomber aircraft off their ski- ramp launch platforms toward the American vessels. Each swingwing bomber, a synthesis of technology borrowed from the American F-lll and British Tornado strike bombers and modified for carrier operations, was armed with four “launch and leave” AS-N-16 laser- guided antiship missiles, a thirty-millimeter cannon and an undercarriage pod with twelve laser-guided missiles. The missiles would be used to attack random targets as the fighters left the target area.

  The bombers’ task was to penetrate the Nimitz's outer fleet protection immediately after the GL-25 cruise missile attack, when the fleet would be at its weakest, and attack the Nimitz itself with its high- explosive antiship missiles. Using their advanced jammers and flying only a few meters off the water, the Fencers would be hard if not impossible to spot after the havoc of the cruise-missile strike. On withdrawal the fighters had the weapons to pick off any targets of opportunity.

  USS NIMITZ

  In the opening activity after the Mississippi sounded the alarm, the Fencer launches from the Kiev and Novorossiysk went almost unnoticed.

  The missile-frigate F
FG-48 USS Vandergrift was the first naval vessel to feel the impact of a Soviet GL-25 missile. She was the northernmost antisubmarine ship protecting the Nimitz, and because she was primarily an antisubmarine vessel her antiair capabilities were limited: she carried only one Mark 13 antiaircraft missile launcher on her forward deck. Although the Nimitz rebroadcast the Mississippi's warning for all her escorts it was impossible for the Vandergrift to defend itself against the attack. Once the oncoming missile had acquired and locked onto the frigate with its homing radar, it accelerated to nearly mach two for the last thirty miles of its flight and hit the Vandergrift square in the center of her helicopter hangar before she could fire a shot. The frigate was nearly sawed in half....

  Some escorts fared better, but one by one a path was being cleared by the GL-25 s that led straight to the Nimitz herself. The Aegis-class cruisers were set to confront the Arkhangel carrier group to the west and were not positioned for such a massive assault from the north. Though the newer, faster Standard-ER and the new NATO Valkyrie vertical-launch missiles did a credible job against the oncoming swarm, the older Standard missiles could barely keep up.

  The GL-25s were winning. Although only one ship was killed for every three GL-25 s, the northern escorts were giving way to the Soviet attackers.

  “Get as many Tomcats airborne as you can, Captain,” Admiral Clancy said over the phone to Air Ops. “I want two air patrols to counter the Arkhangel to the east. The rest head north with the Hawk- eye radar planes and find those damned cruise missiles. Keep four Tomcats and two Hornets on alert.... Yes, that’s right, only four. If we don’t chase down those cruise missiles it won’t matter how many we keep in reserve.”

  “Aye... .”

  The sound of staccato thunder penetrated the noise of the flight deck below Nimitz's bridge. Edgewater and Clancy hurried over to the port observation deck, and saw one of the northern escort vessels lighting up the night with a spectacular rocket display, rapid-firing missiles.

  “Bridge, CIC. Shiloh engaging hostile targets.” Shiloh was one of four Aegis-class antiaircraft vessels operating with the Nimitz assigned to protect the carrier’s northern flank.

  As the message was transmitted to the bridge an explosion lit the horizon, silhouetting the entire five-hundred-thirty-two-foot cruiser. There was no fire, no magazine explosion, and the sudden glare subsided.

  “Got ’em,” Edgewater said. “Shiloh must’ve tagged the cruise missile—”

  Edgewater was cut off by a boom that erupted just across the flight deck from their observation position. At the same time a loudspeaker blared, “Collision warning, all hands, collision warning______ ”

  The direct phone to CIC rang, but Clancy had no chance to answer it before a blinding flash and a wall of fire washed over the flight deck of the Nimitz, thick clouds of oily smoke obscuring everything, even the enclosed bridge.

  “Damage report, all decks,” Edgewater shouted but from behind the heavy steel wall of the bridge. “All decks—”

  Another explosion, this time on the flight deck itself. One of the F-14s ready to launch had caught on fire, the loudspeaker was calling for fire crews and crash crews on deck--------

  The phone rang again. This time Clancy snatched it up.

  “Bridge.”

  “Bridge, this is Crash One. We had a cruise missile explode right off the port side. One elevator, one catapult, one CIWS and one Sea Sparrow launcher out. One F-14 caught by collateral damage, two casualties. No casualty reports from below decks yet.”

  “Get me word soon as you do.” Clancy phoned to CIC as Edge- water picked himself off the deck. “CIC, what’s the story down there?”

  “Soviet missiles all round us, Admiral,” Commander Jacobs, senior CIC officer, told him. “Our close-in weapons system got that last one just before it hit. Shiloh was blind after the missile that almost got them.... No way they could knock it down.... Stand by, sir...” And a moment later: “Message from the Bronstein”

  The Bronstein was a thirty-year-old antisubmarine frigate positioned as the innermost antisubmarine warfare vessel astern of the Nimitz and carrying only a three-inch gun and a close-in Gatling gun for self-defense. “She’s still under way but listing badly and calling for help.”

  “Better dispatch three HH-65 Dolphin helicopters with engineers and rescue gear to help,” Clancy said, glancing at the surface radar to assess the position of the rest of his escorts. “We’ll use all the Dolphins for rescue if necessary; if there are subs around, we’re really in a world of hurt.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “That was too close,” Edgewater said. “With Shiloh out of commission we’re going to be playing tag with more of those missiles pretty damn soon. Should we place Hue City up to the north to replace Shiloh?” The USS Hue City, the first U.S. vessel to be named after a battle from the Vietnam War, was Nimitz's westernmost Aegis- class ship.

  “We’ve got no choice,” Clancy said. “A blind Aegis cruiser is no help to us—”

  “Admiral, message from CIC. Our Tomcats are reporting enemy aircraft one hundred fifty miles east of the Ticonderoga .” Ticonderoga, the most heavily armed vessel in the support group, was cruising the “point” between the Nimitz and Arkhangel. “No report yet from Ticonderoga. The Tomcats are—”

  “Collision warning. All hands, collision warning.”

  ARMSTRONG SPACE STATION

  Saint-Michael had just given the order for Ann to hit the switch that would send power from the backup batteries to the Skybolt ignition circuits when a huge explosion hit like a wrecking ball against the outer hull of the command module. Smoke billowed from a halfdozen spots in the debris-clogged module, quickly becoming so thick that the general could no longer see.

  As Ann called out to him, trying to find out if he was okay, he half-floated, half-crawled to the jury-rigged control panel and activated a switch that depressurized the command module into the connecting tunnel. Almost immediately the smoke was gone as the last bit of air left on the station rushed into space.

  “I’m okay,” he said, moving back to the SBR control console. “I had to depressurize the—”

  Ann heard a barely audible intake of breath. “Jason?”

  “My... head....” He reached down to his chest-mounted space- suit control panel and checked to be sure the pressurization switch was still on EMER.

  “Jason ... I’m coming across.”

  “N-no.” The pain was a knife, but he thought he could fight it off without feeling as if he would lose consciousness.

  “Stay there....” He refocused his eyes on the planter-box power junction. “It looks like the SBR dropped off line. It’s not tracking. I’ll try to reset the auto-track circuit. .. . Marty, what do you see out there?”

  “One of the batteries on the keel exploded,” Schultz replied. “Blew right off and hit the command module.”

  Saint-Michael wedged a small flashlight against his helmet to steady its beam into the planter box. He fought to concentrate against the surge of pain. “Damage?”

  “Negative.”

  He finally managed to find the wire bundle from the auto-track circuit to the main bus and unplugged it. He had no way of monitoring the circuit, no way of knowing if just unplugging the thing would reset it or if it had suffered any damage or was permanently burned open.

  With unsteady fingers he plugged the wire bundle connectors back in. “All right, Ann,” he said. “We’ll give it one more try....”

  USS NIMITZ

  Another blinding flash of light off the port side of the Nimitz, but this one was accompanied by a ball of flame that rolled up from the deck of the Shiloh. The heat and the concussion even from miles away could be felt by the whole Nimitz crew.

  Edgewater, feeling the intense heat, understood it meant the death of Shiloh.

  “Bring Callaghan north alongside her,” Clancy ordered, wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared for a moment at his smoke-blackened hand. “Have the destroyer help transfer the wou
nded. Have them take over the antiair duties until Hue City moves into position. Air Ops, bring Bravo flight north to help find those Soviet aircraft. Looks like Arkhangel's getting into the act.” As Edgewater turned to issue the orders, Clancy picked up the phone to CIC, at the same time looking out through hazy oily smoke at the burning Aegis-class cruiser on the horizon. Another secondary explosion sent a mushroom of flames skyward. He waited until the sound of the explosion rolled across the Nimitz a few seconds later before speaking. “What’s the tally, Commander?” He almost didn’t want to know.

  “Valley Forge, Vandergrift, Arkansas and your old Persian Gulf flagship Lasalle,” Jacobs said, his voice flat. “All badly damaged or destroyed. Vandegrift. . . was lost with all hands. Sorry, sir.”

  Sorry.. .just sorry as hell.... Would it have happened if the armchair boys hadn’t held the tight leash on him for so long... ?

  Two Aegis cruisers dead... it was worse than Clancy had thought.

  Without the antiair coverage provided by the two cruisers, they were almost sure to suffer even heavier losses. In another hour—maybe minutes—the whole fleet could be destroyed....

  “We’ve got eighteen casualties ourselves,” Jacobs forced himself to go on. “There’s a hundred injured and we’ve lost both waist catapults, one elevator and all our port-side guns and rockets. May have problems recovering planes on the landing strip: the first set of arresting cables is fouled up.” He paused. Then: “Orders, sir?”

  Orders? Any orders he gave at this point would be too little too late. But orders were what admirals gave. Good, bad, too late.... okay, at least he would not make it easy for the Russians. He’d give them the fight they wanted.... “Call battle staff to the bridge,” Clancy said. “We’ve got to get the wagons in a circle—”

  The loudspeaker blared: “Collision warning, all hands, collision warning.”

  “Port side, Admiral,” Jacob’s voice was blaring at him but seemed strangely remote, like a surreal movie dream sequence.... “Port side, heading right for us....”