Carrier (1999)

by Clancy, Tom - Nf

  The Ticonderoga-class (CG-47) Aegis cruisers were built upon hulls originally designed for the Spruance-class (DD-963) general-purpose destroyers. They share a common structural hull power plant and many other systems. However, the extra load of weapons and other equipment associated with the Aegis combat system has definitely “maxed out” the original Spruance design. The “Ticos,” as they are known, displace fully 15% more than a Spruance, much of which is located in the tall deckhouses that mount the four big SPY-1 phased-array radars that are the heart of the Aegis system. What this all means is that the Ticos are top-heavy. Not enough to make them unstable or prone to capsizing, mind you; but enough to make them less than comfortable for those who don’t enjoy pitching, swaying, and rolling. In fact, they handle the seas quite well and maneuver like a small Italian sports car in the hands of a professional. However, they do roll a lot! In a heavy sea or sharp turn, they can heel up to 40° from the vertical. It is not particularly uncomfortable, and does not tend to cause motion sickness. However, it does make activities like eating meals potentially exciting. And for us that evening, more than once the ship took rolls steep enough to force us to grab hold of plates and serving dishes.

  After dinner, we were given a tour of the engineering departments and combat center. While Normandy is almost ten years old (she was commissioned in 1989) and coming to the end of her second five-year operating period, she is in terrific shape. In fact, I was amazed how well her crew has maintained her. Everything was spotless, even the deck corners; and all the sensor and combat systems were “up” and ready for action.

  Normandy is representative of the “Baseline 3” Ticos, with improved lightweight SPY-1B radars (each Aegis ship has four of these) and new computers. Following the 1997/98 cruise, she will head into the yard for a major overhaul, which will completely update her Aegis combat system to the latest version. When she comes out of the yard sometime in 1999, she will be equipped with the new SM-2 Block 4 SAM, which will give her an ability to engage and destroy theater ballistic missiles (TBMs). Eventually, the entire fleet of Aegis cruisers and destroyers will have this capability, which will greatly reduce the risks from enemy TBMs to our forward-deployed forces. Today, the crew of the Normandy and the Aegis destroyer Carney were simulating some of the engagement techniques that will be part of that future capability.

  After the tour, I headed down to the commodore’s stateroom and sleep. John and I were scheduled to return to the GW in the morning, as we had been hearing rumors that the “hot war” part of the JTFEX scenario might start within a day or two. I had wanted to be aboard the GW when that happened in order to have the best possible view of the start of the hostilities. As it happened, things didn’t work out according to schedule—to our great good fortune, for we ended up experiencing the most interesting day of the exercise.

  Saturday, August 23rd, 1997

  JTFEX 97-3—Day 6: The Koronan government today continued to pressure Kartuna by test firing several SCUD ballistic missiles on their test range. This is seen as a sign that they are bringing their theater ballistic missile combat units to a high state of combat readiness. In addition, the Koronan fleet has been surged out of their ports, and is currently moving into position to track and trail the Coalition Naval forces massing in the Gulf of Sabani. Meanwhile, elements of the 24th MEU (SOC) and Guam ARG have commenced their NEO of the American embassy compound in Temal. It is expected that this operation will be completed early on the morning of August 24th.

  By Saturday morning, much had happened in JTFEX 97-3. Overnight, the Normandy and the other escorts had rejoined the GW, and the combined battle group had entered the northern end of the Gulf of Sabani. Passing by the (imaginary) Willo and Hirt Islands, the group turned south into the Gulf to support the Guam ARG/24th MEU (SOC) in their NEO of endangered personnel from Kartuna.

  Meanwhile, the USACOM J-7 exercise leaders were working hard on the “flex” part of the scenario, trying to bait Admiral Mullen and his commanders into actions that would cause hostilities to break out immediately. For the admiral and his staff, their job was to keep a “lid” on the scenario for as long as possible—important in the light of the NEO the 24th MEU (SOC) which had begun in the predawn hours. Here was to be the “eyeball-to-eyeball” phase of the exercise, simulating the “short-of-war” realities that our commanders would face in an actual crisis. Even though this was a training exercise, you could feel the tension of the emerging situation. Everyone in the battle group knew that they were being evaluated for their readiness to go into a potential combat situation during JTFEX 97-3, and nobody wanted to let the rest of the force down.

  All around the battle group, ships from the Atlantic Fleet were being used to simulate Koronan Naval vessels in an “aggressor” role. And numerous other ships were simulating neutral shipping traffic, trying to get clear of the emerging fracas, or to get one more cargo run in before the “war” started. The final proof that the “hot” phase of the exercise was about to begin arrived on a UH-46 transport helicopter’s morning run in the form of the Normandy’s SOOT team representative. This was Captain James W. Phillips, the CO of the Aegis cruiser Vella Gulf (CG-72), who had come aboard to observe the proceedings and to evaluate the performance of Captain Deppe and his crew during the exercise. Captain Phillips is a courtly gentleman who quickly attached himself to Jim Deppe, and they were soon chatting away like two old friends working out the best place to catch a prize bass. But you only had to look out a porthole of the Normandy’s wardroom during breakfast to see that the game afoot in this pond beat the hell out of any fishing you might find ashore.

  Things were about to get very interesting in this little patch of the Gulf of Sabani. About 1,000 yards/914 meters off the starboard beam, a Normandy whaleboat was taking a maritime inspection team to the frigate Samuel Elliot Morrison (FFG-13), which was currently playing the part of a neutral merchant ship. Breakfast was hardly finished when the word came over that the frigate had a real casualty who needed to be evacuated back to the mainland, an action that caused a problem for John and myself. The diagnosis was hepatitis, and the patient was being transported over in the whaleboat with a corpsman.

  With only a single HS-11 sortie scheduled to fly from Normandy to GW that day, this meant that the casualty and corpsman would take our places on the Seahawk, and we would have to wait another day or two to return to the carrier. Captain Deppe made it clear that he would do his best to get us back as soon as possible. And besides, he went on to say, there was plenty of room for us aboard, and since it was Saturday in the “real” world, it would be pizza night on the Normandy. Since Normandy had one of the best galleys in the Atlantic Fleet, this sounded like making the best of a bad situation.

  After the HS-11 Seahawk arrived and collected the casualty and corpsman, the ship passed into a comfortable high-pressure zone, which had the effect of dropping the temperature to a refreshing 80° F/27° C, and drying out the air to a sparkling clarity. Visibility became almost unlimited, with line-of-sight ranges running to almost 30,000 yards/27,400 meters. It soon became the most beautiful day I’d seen in months, with a flat calm sea and almost no wind. Meanwhile, the “bubble” of visible space around us had become crowded with ships.

  Later that afternoon, around 1600 (4 P.M.), as I stood on the helicopter platform aft, I noticed something strange. One of the nearby ships suddenly closed from astern to around 2,000 yards/1,828 meters, and tried to move around us, much as a car tries to pass a truck on an interstate highway. A moment later, I felt the deck shudder underneath my feet, and heard the sharp whine of the Normandy’s four LM-2500 gas turbines going to full power. In just seconds the cruiser jumped from twelve to thirty knots, and Captain Deppe radically cut in front of the other ship, blocking the pass. Somewhat dazzled by this maneuver, I looked aft at the other vessel, a Spruance-class destroyer that I initially expected to be the USS John Rodgers (DD-983) from our battle group. But then I noticed that this Spruance did not have the ASROC launcher of
the John Rodgers, and a quick glance at her pennant number confirmed my suspicions. It was the USS Nicholson (DD-982)—a VLS-equipped Spruance simulating a Koronan Kashin-class guided-missile destroyer. Clearly the JTFEX 97-3 scenario was growing hotter. John and I headed forward to the bridge at a dead run to find out what was going on.

  As we arrived on the port bridge wing, I saw the Nicholson trying to slip up our beam. Over at the edge of the bridge were Captains Deppe and Phillips, watching intently as the destroyer maneuvered. At the same time, the TBS (Talk Between Ship) radio circuit came alive with traffic from all around the battle group. Two frigates simulating Koronan guided-missile gunboats were maneuvering aggressively. Looking to one of the young lieutenants, I asked, “What the hell is going on?”

  “They’re playing chicken,” he said, “like the Russians.” The remark was like a trip through time for me.

  Back in the Cold War, the ships and submarines of the Soviet Navy used to trail our CVBGs the way Nicholson was doing. This was a favorite tactic of the late Admiral Sergei Gorshkov (the longtime chief of the Soviet Navy), and took advantage of the “freedom of navigation” rules accorded ships on the high seas. The idea was to maneuver for a clear line of sight to the carrier the way they’d do just before the outbreak of a real conflict. In the “first salvo” of that war, the ships and subs would fire their missiles, torpedoes, and guns and attempt to put the flattop out of action. The only way to defeat this threat was for our own escort ships to maneuver aggressively, physically placing themselves between the enemy ships and the carrier. At times, vessels of both sides would actually “bump.” Such aggressive maneuvering now and then increased tensions between the superpowers.78 We used to call it “Cowboys and Russians,” and I had thought that it was a thing of the past. 1 was clearly wrong.

  Though it’s not publicized by the U.S. Navy, the tactic of interposing an escort ship between an opponent and the carrier is still practiced; it resembles the “hassling” that fighter pilots engage in to keep themselves sharp. But “dogfighting” with billion-dollar cruisers and destroyers is riskier. Clearly the USACOM training staff wanted to stress Admiral Mullen and his staff into a situation where the Koronan forces could claim a provocation and initiate hostilities while the 24th MEU (SOC) was still conducting their NEO in Temal. The challenge was clear. If a Koronan ship was able to draw a line-of-sight bead on the GW, then the escorts would be required to “fire” on the offending vessel to keep the flattop safe. At the same time, because GW was conducting flight operations, there was very little Captain Rutheford could do to help combat the intruders.

  The destroyer USS Nicholson (DD-982), during her maneuvering duel with the USS Normandy (CG-60).

  JOHN D. GRESHAM

  For the next few hours, it would be up to the “small boys” of the battle group to keep the Koronan missile ships at bay. Clearly, the Normandy’s Saturday night pizza tradition was about to go on hold for a while. Captain Deppe, immediately grasping the challenge, went to the task with a grin on his face. Opportunities were rare to maneuver his ship to its limits against a fellow skipper in an almost perfectly matched ship. This was just such a chance. Although there are clear exercise rules about how close opposing combatants are allowed to approach, these rules were about to be bent. In fact, the only rule seemed to be: Don’t actually touch the other guy!

  The next few hours went by very quickly, as we parried and thrusted with the Nicholson. The captain of the Nicholson (Commander Craig E. Langman) was extremely aggressive, doing everything he could to get past us. He never succeeded. Captain Deppe maneuvered the Normandy like a Formula I racing car, keeping the destroyer solidly away from the flattop. At times we raced ahead at over thirty knots, only to crash-stop within a ship length or two. Then we might sit for ten or fifteen minutes, with just a thousand yards or so separating the two vessels. Suddenly, the Nicholson would jam on the speed, and the maneuvering would begin again. Each time, Captain Deppe would match his counterpart move-for-move. At times the Normandy would heel as much as 40°, and you could hear the sounds of pizza pans and crockery hitting the deck back in the galley. Other times, it would be a race to see if the Nicholson could inch ahead just a little, followed by a radical turn to try to gain position.

  It wasn’t until sometime after 2000 (8 P.M.) that the Nicholson and the other two Koronan intruders finally turned away, and the jousting was over. As Captain Deppe ordered the engines throttled back and began to con the Normandy to her assigned position in the defense screen, Admiral Mullen’s voice came up on the TBS circuit. For several minutes, the admiral commented on the performance of each ship in the screen, after which he paid a glowing compliment to the skippers of the three escorts that had fended off the Koronan warships. After his hearty “Well done,” you could feel the tension ease around the ship. Though we did not know it at the time, the GW battle group had passed a significant test; they had bought two more days of “peace” for the Kartunans and their coalition allies.

  Aboard the Normandy, life began to settle back to normal. Down in the galleys, the mess specialists salvaged what they could of the pizzas they would serve at mid-rats. Though the 2300 (11 P.M.) feeding was heavy that night, many of the officers and crew chose to just hit their racks and grab some sleep instead. These were the veterans, who knew that what they had seen today was only the beginning of what could be another two weeks of “combat.” Those with less experience and more adrenaline munched on thick-crust pan pizza, and chatted about the terrific ship-handling Captain Deppe had shown the entire battle group that day. As I lingered over a piece of the baked pie, I answered a question that had been in my mind for some time: Since the end of the Cold War, the surface forces of the USN have not had a serious enemy. Such a condition can breed complacency and lead to “sloppy” habits in commanders and crews. Jim Deppe’s performance on the bridge of the Normandy this Saturday evening convinced me that our surface Navy still has “the right stuff.”

  Sunday, August 24th, 1997

  JTFEX 97-3-Day 7: The 24th MEU (SOC) completed their NEO early today, and is evacuating the civilians to a neutral location. The aggressive actions of Koronan Naval forces yesterday have been reported to the UN Security Council, which has issued an additional resolution allowing expanded use of force in the event of further harassment. The only Koronan government response has been additional mobilization of their military forces.

  The morning after the game of “Cowboys and Russians” dawned humid, overcast, and stormy. I awoke to a knock on my door from a chief petty officer at 0600 (6 A.M.). He informed me that the captain had arranged for a UH-46 VERTREP helicopter to pick up us and shuttle us over to the GW. Quickly showering and packing up my bag, I met John in the wardroom for breakfast, and we discussed our plans for returning to the carrier. Since the helicopter was due overhead at 1000 hours (10 A.M.), I took the time to go up to the bridge and thank Captain Deppe for his hospitality. Afterward, on my way down, I ran into Captain Phillips, who confirmed my own thoughts about the previous night’s proceedings. He had noted Normandy’s impressive performance in his report to the SOOT team leader aboard the command ship Mount Whitney. “Keep an eye out for things to break tomorrow,” he added slyly. Armed with this information, John and I collected our bags, and then headed aft to the helicopter hangar to await our ride back to the GW.

  At the hangar, a chief handed us float coats and cranial helmets, and gave us a quick safety briefing on the Sea Knight. And then at the appointed time, the UH-46 set down gently on the Normandy’s helicopter pad. The big twin-rotor Sea Knight was a tight fit on the small landing platform, and you could see the deck personnel carefully watching the clearance between the rotor blades and the superstructure. We quickly boarded the bird and strapped into our seats. Two minutes later, the crew buttoned up the UH-46 and lifted off into the overcast. The ride back to the GW took about fifteen minutes.

  In the ATO office, Lieutenant Navritril had good news for John. Since many of the VIPs, contractors,
and other extra ship riders had flown home, he would now get to occupy a two-man stateroom up on the O-2 level near mine. He also let us know that the Challenge Athena link was working well, which meant that we could expect to see one of the opening-day NFL football games the following Sunday. “So take it easy,” he told us, “and relax the rest of the day.” Both of us gratefully took him up on this suggestion, and retired to our staterooms for a little “down” time. If things got “hot” on Monday, I wanted to be ready.

  Monday, August 25th, 1997

  JTFEX 97-3—Day 8: At dawn this morning, the armed forces of Korona began a general invasion of the Kartunan homeland. Elements of every branch of the Koronan military are involved, and have been identified, and are rapidly overrunning the country. The UN Security Council, the U.S. government, and the government of all coalition allies have condemned this action. Meanwhile, the UN Security Council has voted a number of resolutions, including one which encouraged “use of all necessary and appropriate force” to halt the aggression.

  As soon as word of the invasion reached him, Admiral Mullen initiated a revised ROE, and put into effect the attack plans that he and his staff had been working on since we had sailed. One of his first acts was to activate Captain Deppe’s fleet air defense plan. With Deppe designated as “Alpha Whiskey” (AW—the fleet AAW commander), the three SAM ships were spread through the area to fully cover all the high-value units. The Normandy would stay close to the GW, while the South Carolina would move closer to the Guam ARG (the superior over-land performance of her missile radar directors gave her better inshore characteristics than those of the Aegis ships). The Carney would act as a “missile trap,” and work as the AAW “utility infielder” for the fleet. She would stay “up threat” of the main fleet, and do her best to break up any air attacks from Koronan air units.