B004V9FYIY EBOK

by Unknown

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Hammond. “We should be on station by 1300. My guys have been briefed on the call for fire, so anything else will be a target of opportunity. Any word on how far the troops got last night?”

  “About 40 miles as far as I could see, but they’re still spreading out. A big collection of troops and armor was set up on the western side of the peninsula. Looks like they were planning some sort of end run. I don’t know how they’re doing, but the lines keep pushing out, so I guess they’re okay,” Thacke said. “In a few days you guys will be ordered to Sasebo to refuel and rearm. Get your guys a couple of days of liberty, then get back on station. I’m going to transfer my flag to the North Carolina and stay in the area. So at least you won’t have to put up with me the whole time,” he grinned.

  Hammond gave him a sideways glance. “About time,” he said with a sly smile. “To tell you the truth, we could use a little break. It’s been non-stop for a while.”

  “Hazards of war, sir. That or no rest for the wicked,” Thacke quipped. “By the way, whose idea was it to let the band play this morning?”

  “Thought it might be good to wake everyone up. The crew enjoys it. I might just let them play for everything we do.”

  “Seems to have worked. Did you see all the people on the docks?”

  “Yes. Quite a party. I’m glad somebody enjoyed it,” Hammond said.

  The men watched the screen of the computer showing the inputs of the satellite signal. On it was the entire disposition of forces in Korea. They watched as the signals for two aircraft carriers suddenly appeared on the screen along with all the aircraft. It didn’t seem so lonely any more. One carrier was on the west coast and one on the east.

  “Ahh, the cavalry has arrived,” Thacke said. “I better get back to my staff,” he said, standing up and walking out the door.

  Hammond sat back and watched a while. He could see the disposition of aircraft as they split up and went toward several different positions near the leading line of tanks. In just a few minutes the aircraft seemed to circle around and begin heading back out to sea. As those aircraft left, the planes from the other carrier entered the area.

  In The Skies Over South Korea

  Lieutenant Chris Jarvis almost couldn’t believe what he was doing. He banked the A-6 Intruder sharply to the left and pointed it at a convoy of trucks going down a back road on the way to Daejeon. The first jet in the flight had already made its run and pasted the first quarter of the convoy. Jarvis’ plane sailed through the plume of smoke and down the line as Jarvis’ right seater, Ensign Davis, toggled off the bombs in order. Davis was a good one. He toggled in just the right timing to make sure the bombs were evenly spaced along the line. Half way through the run the streak of tracers flashed past the windscreen. Seeing the source, Jarvis veered the jet along the path and Davis let go one that would probably drop right in their laps.

  Jarvis continued the run. At the end he pulled back on the stick and rocketed upward, joining up with the flight leader and moving away from the target area. Looking back over his shoulder he saw a huge plume of fire and smoke coming up from the convoy. It was like shooting balloons at a penny arcade.

  After four weeks of intense training, Jarvis loved the A-6. There was something physical about the plane and he felt it could take them anywhere. He knew the maintenance guys had their hands full, but as long as it kept them in the air and delivered ordnance on target, Jarvis was happy.

  Checking the instruments, it appeared they hadn’t caught any of the bullets shot at them from the mobile machine gun unit. Jarvis pulled the Intruder in beside the leader and waited as the rest of the squadron joined up. It wasn’t a bad day. No real threats and a nice scorched convoy as a result.

  Occupied South Korea

  Kee watched as the trucks in line ahead of him were enveloped in smoke and flame. He slammed on the brakes as a bomb went off just 100 yards ahead of him. Through the smoke he saw the glint of another aircraft. He threw open the door and dove for the side of the road. Throwing himself into the ditch, he heard the other aircraft come screaming overhead.

  The concussion of the bombs nearly bounced Kee out of the ditch. He could feel the intense heat of each explosion and heard the zip of shrapnel as it passed over him and through trees along the road. He felt someone jump into the ditch behind him. Kee tried to press himself further down into the dirt. He could hear the screams of men somewhere in the distance over the roar of flames.

  After a few seconds it became almost silent. Kee could still hear flames crackling somewhere, but that was all – no truck engines or explosions. Kee lifted his head slightly and looked around the ditch. Down below him a portion of the ditch was burning, but he couldn’t see much outside the ditch itself. He could feel heat behind and around him.

  Raising his head farther Kee finally saw the carnage around him. All along the road trucks were on fire or blown over onto the side of the road. Flames leapt from several places along the line and farther ahead a fuel truck burned fiercely. Looking beside him, his own truck was run up against the back of the truck ahead. Its trailer was bent almost in half and folded back on itself. The cargo was spread all along the road. Some of it seemed to be smoldering. Kee pulled himself up and looked behind him. He started to talk to the man lying behind him until it became obvious the man wouldn’t hear him. The body was burned horribly and every limb seemed to be twisted into an unnatural angle. He couldn’t even see the movement of breathing. Looking around a little more, Kee could see the outlines of many more bodies scattered along the ground. After a few minutes a few men stumbled into view and began moving between the trucks.

  Kee eased out of the ditch and took a closer look at his truck. Several of the tires had been punctured, but the worst was the steam coming out of the engine compartment. The explosion had forced the truck forward and it had impaled itself on a steel beam sticking out the back of the truck ahead. The cab and engine were perforated with shrapnel. His trusty old truck would run no more.

  A man walked up to him. “Gone, all gone. Most of the drivers are dead,” he said.

  Kee looked around a little more. Several men were out now, trying to make sense of things. He grabbed the man’s arm. “Get the drivers together and tell them to get as much food and materials as they can. We will have to camp here until someone comes to get us,” he said quickly.

  The other driver nodded his head and turned back down the road. He began stopping people he saw and pointed in Kee’s direction. The men began gathering things up and moving toward him. Kee reached into the cab and retrieved his tarp and sleeping bag. Seeing they were unharmed, he took them across the road and set them down. Kee then walked around the truck gathering a flashlight, some batteries, and a few pieces of personal gear. Looking through the load he was carrying, he opened a box filled with gas lamps and other camping gear, including two tents. The rest included rifles, pieces of electronic equipment, boxes of grenades, mortar rounds, small arms ammunition, clothing, boots, and other equipment Kee didn’t recognize. He began selecting pieces of the equipment and placing it beside the road next to his sleeping bag. As men came up, he detailed them to search the remaining trucks for food or other camping gear. Within an hour enough had been rounded up to keep them warm and safe for a week. Twice during the hour a military vehicle sped by weaving between the ruined trucks. They didn’t even take the time to stop and offer assistance.

  Moving everything to a small clearing just a few yards from the road, the men set up one of the large tents, assembled a small camp cooking unit and began heating some canned food. The wounded drivers quickly filled the first tent and a second was set up. Now all the men had to do was wait to be either captured or rescued.

  Yellow Sea

  As the sun sank slowly out of sight, a number of small craft began making their way downriver from Nampo in North Korea. As they traversed the river towards the open sea on the west coast they were joined by additional patrol boats and a corvette from othe
r bases in the Yellow Sea Fleet. By the time they reached the river mouth, more than seventy small boats and the corvette were in company. Under the command of an admiral, the small fleet formed a tight group of three lines around 500 yards apart with the corvette leading the way. The entire formation turned and headed south toward Inchon.

  Most of the ships were standard patrol boats based on old Soviet designs. They had some light guns and torpedoes. Interspersed in the boats were variants of the old Soviet Osa and Komar guided missile patrol boats. These carried the SS-N-1 and SS-N-2 Shaddock and Styx missiles originally deployed in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Although inaccurate and very large, these missiles posed a real threat to any ship.

  Onboard each vessel, the crews sat nervously. They were told they would confront the Americans at sea and deliver a devastating blow for the people. They were promised a hero’s welcome when they returned home. None of the men believed it. Too often the State came up with hair brained ideas that ended up with people killed. The “hero’s welcome” was usually a state funeral. All of them heard of the mighty American Navy, and though they had been told the Americans were defeated, few thought this was the case. Why else would they be going out at night to counter a naval force?

  The boats were to run without radars, but the captains were wary of moving around blind. Instead they activated the radars on a lower power setting once every few minutes to make sure they weren’t running into one another. On occasion, they also activated other radars to make sure they were safe.

  Deep inside USS Richard E. Byrd, a 1960s era DDG, Petty Officer Melendez sat silently with headphones covering his ears. He turned the scanner on an old WLR-1 threat receiver. As the radars were turned on, he was able to pick up their emissions and break them down, telling him exactly what was out ahead of them.

  “Additional navigation radars bearing 013. So far I’ve picked up about twenty different ones, mostly Don Kays,” he said. Melendez suddenly stopped spinning the wheel and tuned it back and forth. A change could be seen on the screens as a new radar came online. It took Melendez only a second to know what it was. “I’m picking up a Drum Tilt fire control radar on the same general bearing. That’s a gunfire control radar, but it is used a lot on missile boats, especially for our old friend the Styx,” he said over the internal communications system.

  The Surface Warfare Coordinator or SWC was watching the events unfolding in the ship’s combat information center or CIC. “Enter it,” he ordered. Watching the satellite data system, he saw their bearing line and the bearing lines of two other ships appear and merge exactly 32 miles away. He chuckled. “Well, at least we know where they are,” he said.

  The mostly silent secure communications radio came to life. “All stations in Alpha Bravo, this is Alpha Sierra. Execute Plan Hotel at time 1915. Bearing target 017. Stagger plan Bravo. Break Charlie Golf, over.” Charlie Golf was the Richard E. Byrd’s call sign.

  The SWC picked up the handset and pressed the key. “This is Charlie Golf, roger out,” he said. Replacing the handset, he opened a large manual beside him. After flipping a few pages he had his answer.

  “I read that as a Harpoon attack on ships bearing 017 from center of formation. Launch time for us is 1915. We are designated to launch at the ships on the left side of the formation. That will be a bearing of 012 at that range,” said the CIC petty officer. There was a big grin on his face. His job was to manage the CIC watch team and work with the SWC to break signals and interpret orders. He was proud of the fact that he could break the signal faster than the officers.

  SWC nodded. “Concur,” he said. The race to be ready was something that made the watches go faster for all the men. He turned to the missile coordinator seated beside him. “You got that?” he asked.

  “Harpoon selected and programmed. Putting a bird on the rail,” he said.

  “Roger,” SWC said. He reached over and hit the bitch box. “Captain, SWC, we’ve been ordered to launch Harpoons in five minutes. We need you in Combat,” he said.

  “On my way,” said the Captain.

  “Square Tie surface search, bearing 015,” said Melendez.

  “Roger,” said SWC.

  The Captain came into Combat and sat in his chair beside SWC. “What’s the bearing?” he asked.

  “Our shooting bearing is 017. We shoot in the staggered plan with our time being 1915. We’re one of the first. No allied ships are between us and the bad guys,” he said briefing the captain.

  The captain nodded. “Bird ready?”

  SWC nodded. “The bird is ready. We will launch four in total. Staggering the bearing slightly to assure a distribution,” he said.

  The men in Combat maintained their vigilance. After a few minutes the CIC Petty Officer announced “One minute to launch.”

  Already the word spread of a missile launch, and all hands cleared the Mk-13 missile launcher area aft near the fantail. A small door opened on the base of the launcher and a white Harpoon missile lifted from the circular magazine and positioned itself on the launcher rail. The single arm pivoted in two dimensions and pointed the missile downrange.

  SWC took control. “Thirty seconds. Range clear?”

  “Range clear of friendlies.”

  “Final bearing?”

  “Final bearing 017. Green light.”

  “Weapons free,” the Captain said.

  “Fifteen seconds.”

  The men glued themselves to their screens making sure everything went as desired.

  “Five, four, three, two, one, launch,” SWC ordered.

  The Chief at the weapons console pressed the firing key. The Harpoon missile’s rocket motor ignited and the missile surged off the launcher and screamed down range. The booster rocket fell away as the missile’s small turbine engine took over the propulsion of the missile. Dropping to a height of 50 feet, the missile made its way across the ocean. At a predetermined point, the active radar seeker activated and a target was selected out of several. Three additional Harpoons followed the first at eight second intervals.

  “Active missile seeker bearing 184. It is an American Harpoon missile!” screamed the sailor watching the detection equipment. The Captain of the old OSA missile boat jumped to his feet and ran to the radar screen. No ships were anywhere near them except Koreans.

  “Sound the alarm. Warm up the missiles!” he ordered. On the stern of the ship were four Chinese variants of the old Soviet SS-N-2 missiles. The old missiles used vacuum tubes and the fuel tended to erode the tanks and fittings. The Captain inspected the missiles when he came onboard just six months ago, but they had been stored in their launchers since that time. They had never launched one. The radios suddenly became alive with orders, shouts of alarm and other conflicting messages. In the confusion, captains were making many decisions on their own. No one seemed in charge.

  Inside the weapons station, the switches were flipped to warm up the missiles. In a minute the missiles reported ready. As the boat maneuvered back and forth to hopefully confuse the enemy missiles, the Captain ordered the missiles fired.

  The first two Styx missiles left their launch tubes aimed down the bearing of the incoming missiles. The aft launchers were about to fire when one of the Harpoons struck the pilot house of the patrol boat. In the last instant before the operator was blasted to fragments, he pressed the firing key.

  Inside the launcher on the starboard side was a missile that had been sitting in the launcher for more than a year. The fuel had degraded the tanks and was leaking into the main casing of the missile. When the squibs ignited the rocket motor, the pooled fuel exploded. The explosion tore through the sides of the launcher and ripped through the ship, blowing off the after guns and sending shrapnel into the missile on the port side, igniting the fuel there as well. The blast tore through the deck plates into the engine room below, blowing the diesel engines almost through the bottom of the ship. The patrol boat sank in less than a minute. It was followed by more than twenty other ships and boats in the force. S
everal others had also been hit but were able to limp back towards home.

  “Incoming missiles, bearing 015!” announced the air warfare coordinator in Combat.

  “Here they come,” said SWC. “Train all weapons on target.”

  The SPG-53 Gunfire Control system and the 5-inch 54 cal. guns were trained out and looking for targets along with the SPG-51 missile fire control radars. A white SM-1 came shooting out of the magazine and onto the Mk-13 launcher. The launcher then pivoted aiming the missile toward the incoming targets. The fins were extended.

  “Twenty-seven missiles now inbound,” said Melendez.

  By now the radars were up and operating. The targeting assignments were made via the satellite system. “Target track 03,” said SWC.

  “Birds affirm track 03.”

  “Birds free track 03.”

  The firing key was pressed and the missile roared off the rail. “Birds away track 03.”

  “Target track 07.”

  “Roger track 07. Birds affirm, track 07.”

  “Birds free track 07.”

  “Birds away track 07.”

  The two missiles were streaking towards their designated targets. The Standard MR1 was a very reliable missile. It took only fifteen seconds to reach the target. Riding the beam of the SPG 51 radars, it sensed the proximity of the incoming Styx and triggered the warhead. The resulting explosion clipped the left wing off the missile, sending it plummeting into the sea.