Listening to the report paralyzed the Captain with indecision. He had been ordered to pursue and destroy the FCNF ships as indeed the Giron had been. His ship would have been the one sinking to the bottom if he had not been delayed by loading on fuel. As a proud captain he was reduced to using personal contacts to scrounge up his own fuel and still found himself waiting at the docks for the trucks to deliver it.
The Captain grabbed the mike. “Did you see any inbound missiles?”
“Negative, Sir. There were no incoming missiles on the radar. I definitely would have seen them. I am playing back the tape now…and … no, no inbound missiles Sir.”
The radio crackled again “I have a guy on the phone who was actually watching the Giron when it was hit,” the radar operator added, “He saw no incoming missile either.”
The Lieutenant standing next to Captain Arkady Borronto piped in conversationally to two operators working the radar screens but clearly meant for the Captain’s ears. “It’s got to be a mine or torpedo. They would not have heard a torpedo. Their speed would have been too great to allow the use of passive sonar, plus they would not have had time to even extend the sonar cable.”
“Yes, yes,” responded Arkady, “we must assume it was a mine or torpedo. I don’t believe American submarines would attack without some diplomatic warning. Their command structure is too strategic, too rigid and sluggish to pull that off. I don’t believe in coincidences either and this was just too much of a coincidence for a regular static mine. I’m guessing it was one of those new torpedo mines.”
The Lieutenant looked puzzled at the Captain as though he may have some top secret information that he was not privy to. “I didn’t know those types of sea mines were in production or even operational.”
“Nobody thought they were operational,” said the Arkady “but what do we know anyhow?”
“Sir, it could be a laser weapon or some other secret weapon or something.” The Lieutenant’s sentence trailed off into unintelligible mumbles.
“It could be,” responded Arkady, “but when you hear hoof beats, it is safer to assume they are horses rather than zebra,” quoting an old saying.
Three hours after the Giron went to the bottom Captain Arkady Borronto guided his missile boat carefully and slowly out of the mouth of Cienfuegos bay.
The proud, sleek, fast M.G. Maceo was sandwiched between two large, lumbering vessels. With a large cargo vessel no more than twenty meters off his starboard and a small oil tanker fifteen meters off his port Arkady was thankful for a glassy smooth sea. One benefit of going barely six knots was that he could make full use of his sonar capabilities. True, they were very limited and not nearly as sophisticated as other naval vessels but they could certainly hear the approach of a torpedo.
Five hundred feet under the water the three long claws of the Littoral sea mine dug tenaciously into the soft sea floor. The odd trio of ships passed within three kilometers of the silent sentinel. Periodically the distinct acoustic signature of the OSA class missile boat would be heard by the mine only to be lost again when masked by its larger escorts. Eventually, as the ships headed out to sea the mine gained a clear “line of sight” on the fleeing Maceo’s aft section and the very smart torpedo launched itself from its protective tube. In six seconds it reached its cruising speed of forty-eight knots and settled into its search depth of twenty meters, just above the thermo cline, the layer of cold water that could degrade its sonar capabilities. The torpedo went into full combat mode actively pinging its sonar. It could not miss the large return of the three ships now turning to the northwest.
The intercom snapped to life on the bridge of the MG Antonio Maceo Giron “Captain, Sonar, I have high speed screws.” the sonar operator calmly but firmly reported. There was a pause then “high speed transient bearing two-zero-two. Closing rapidly. No range or speed Sir.”
Arkady turned to the Lieutenant. “Get those ships to close in, but tell them not to smash us.” He grabbed the mike. “All hands, this is the Captain. We have an incoming torpedo. Prepare for impact.”
The torpedo was upon them before the ships could obey. As everyone on the ship braced themselves for what could quite possibly be their last moments alive, nothing happened.
“The torpedo passed underneath us, Sir,” the operator reported.
The bridge came alive with congratulatory smiles replacing the fear filled faces of moments ago.
As the torpedo approached the Maceo the smart brain inside it could not reconcile the fact that the target’s magnetic signature did not match its acoustic profile. The three ships were close enough together to produce the illusion of one large ship.
Sea mines were a nasty business. Hit the wrong vessel and it could easily bring the Free Cubans more trouble than they wanted. More than once a nation entered a war because a ship with its citizens was sent to the bottom, the Lusitania, being one. That one attack turned American opinion against the Germans and was a big factor in America declaring war against them in World War I. The Free Cubans did not care to send a Chinese frigate to the bottom and bring them into the middle of this conflict. “One war at a time,” as Abraham Lincoln said. Therefore the mine was programmed to not hit anything it could not identify perfectly.
The torpedo mine slowed to eight knots cruising in a serpentine pattern back and forth under the three ships irresistibly drawn to the sounds of the Giron like a shark smelling blood yet keeping a safe distance from its prey. At this reduced speed the stumpy little torpedo could dog the ships for more than eight hours before running out of power.
For two hours the Giron held its protectors even closer inevitably bumping and smashing each other. Arkady could only guess why the torpedo was prowling about them, incessantly approaching, then passing beneath them only to reappear again and again. Was it a defective torpedo? Was it something else? The one thing he did know was that his ship and his men were alive and he intended on keeping them so. The thought of leading his beloved men to their deaths fighting the change in Cuba that must come sickened him. Yet duty and loyalty held him captive to the miserable regime that entrusted and honored him. There simply was no alternative for him.
At a distance of thirty-three kilometers the Giron positively identified the Free Cuban ship Martinez and fired one of the four STYXxxvii surface-to-surface missiles. The huge 2,300 kilogram missile blasted skyward. The rocket exhaust scoured the deck with a huge plume of fire.
The missile’s active radar acquired the Martinez and sped at nearly the speed of sound toward it.
The Martinez answered in kind launching two fiery missiles in return.
At ten meters above the Martinez’ highest antenna and twenty meters to starboard four-hundred-thirty kilograms of high explosives detonated in a huge fireball that ripped at the huge cargo vessel. The superstructure was now a burning mound of shredded steel. A large split resembling a gaping paper tear traveled from the badly dented gunwale to below the waterline. A piece of steel the size of a truck was missing from the side of the ship above the waterline. Fires appeared nearly everywhere on deck.
The MLRS missiles the Free Cubans fired were very accurate when given a stationary target but were somewhat of a guessing game when shooting at moving ones. The first of the missiles went long. Five hundred meters behind the trio of Communist ships the sea erupted in a tight pattern of six hundred white flashes on the dark sea. Had the warship Maceo been within that pattern it would have been all over for the ship. At the very least it would have been so severely damaged that it would have had to draw off in order to fight the inevitable fires that would have ensued.
The second missile’s skin separated at a much higher altitude resulting in very wide dispersal of the bomblets. Two of the mini grenades hit the Communist cargo ship doing no noticeable damage. None hit the missile boat but one struck the small oilier which started a fire amidships. Within a few seconds the fire was clearly out of control. The oiler veered off from its two companions and was abandoned.
&n
bsp; Arkady hugged his sole remaining escort even tighter as the prowling torpedo seemed to take a renewed interest in the duo.
F-15E - Freedom One
September 30, 2018 9:01 PM. L Day minus One
30 km south of Antonio de los Banos Air Base
“Warning, airborne search radar tracking, nine o’clock, thirty miles. MiG-29”xxviii the computer reported.
“Holy mackerel, looks like we’ve got the “A” team coming after us. He doesn’t have us yet but some one is vectoring him in on us. We’re gonna have to pop some slammers,” said Izzy. The AIM-120C air-to-air missile was the F-15’s most beloved plane killer, the crews nicknamed it the slammer,—a radar-guided supersonic missile capable of hitting enemy fighters as far as forty-five miles away. Tonight the F-15 carried half of its normal load of eight missiles to make room for its bomb load of twelve five-hundred pounders. “Let’s step it down to COLA.”
Cuco shoved the throttles to full military power and ordered the computer to COLA mode. COLA, or Computer-generated Lowest Altitude, used both the terrain and cultural data in the terrain-following computer and combined it with occasional burst from the laser radar and air data information to compute the absolute lowest altitude the F-15 could fly, depending on airspeed, terrain, obstructions, and flight performance. The faster the fighter flew, the more aggressively the autopilot would hug the ground—literally flying at treetop level if it could.
“Those MiGs tracking eight o’clock, twenty miles, altitude ten thousand feet. I don’t want them on our tail, man.” Izzy said.
“Hit em, Izzy.”
Izzy bypassed the voice command to the computer and released two AMRAMM missiles.
“Launch commit one slammer right pylon. Launch commit one Slammer left pylon,” the computer reported. The missiles rumbled off into the black night as both pilots looked away to protect their night vision as best they could. The AIM-120 Slammer missiles flew an “over-the-shoulder” launch profile, arcing over the F-15, then back toward the Cuban MiGs. The laser radar array automatically activated for two seconds, updating the Slammer’s autopilot with the fighters’ flight path. The missiles climbed above the MiGs, then descended rapidly toward the spot where the missile predicted the MiGs would be at impact. Ten seconds before impact, the LADAR flashed on again, up-dating the missile’s autopilot for the last time. Five seconds before impact, the missile’s own radar activated and locked onto the two MiG fighters.
The first indication that the MiG fighters had that they were under attack was a “MISSILE LOCK” warning five seconds before impact.
The MiG pilots did exactly what they were supposed to do, executing a textbook formation breakaway, climbing and turning away from each other. It was just too late for them. Actually, it was too late for them the second the missiles left their rails. It was the most deadly missile in the world. It just did not miss.
The thirty-seven-pound shaped warhead detonated like a shotgun blast a fraction of a second before the missile hit the first MiG right above and to the left of the engine intake. The MiG-29’s heavy steel hull, reinforced with titanium—the MiG-29 was designed to fly at nearly three times the speed of sound—deflected most of the energy of the blast. But the missile still had enough punch to crack the fuselage, rip open the fuselage fuel tank, and smack the engine. Running at one hundred percent power, the engine didn’t need much of a hit. The engine’s turbine blades, knocked out of their precisely engineered high-speed orbits, shot through the engine case like bullets flying in all directions; the extreme heat from the engines ignited the fuel from the ruptured fuel tank, turning the plane into a fireball.xxix
A moment later the second missile struck the other MiG exploding squarely on the enemy’s belly centerline as it turned sharply away from the missile. The shaped warhead drove its self-forging projectile or “spoon” through the plane as though it wasn’t there. The shrapnel pierced all of the fuel tanks and both engines bending the nose and cockpit like a pocket knife. The MiG pilot had less than a heartbeat to punch out before the fireball destroyed him. A parachute appeared as the wreckage headed toward the sea.
No aviator in the world would have been surprised at the outcome this engagement. The F-15 had 120 air-to-air kills to its credit with zero combat losses. In many of those engagements the F-15 was out numbered, fighting against the most advanced fighters in the world and against top of the line pilots. With the new AMRAMM missiles the F-15 Eagle had just gained another leap in superiority.
Cuco’s strike package flew safely by four SA-2 and SA-3 sites that guarded the approaches to the San Antonio de los Banos air base situated outside of Havana. In truth these ageing relics of the 60’s would have been quite easy to fly in low and knock out. But it was wonderful to have them silenced so early in the game. The Freedom strike force definitely had plenty to keep them busy tonight.
“LADAR coming on… now,” Izzy reported. Seconds later: LADAR standby.”
After studying the snapshot created by the laser for a second Izzy continued, “four bandits, two at two o’clock seem to be egressing area. Freedom two, take lead, engage two MiG-23’s at eleven o’clock, thirty miles, high, south-east-bound at high speed.” Izzy wanted their wingman to unload some of those older AIM-7 xxxSparrows to save his last two remaining Slammers. The Sparrows were clearly one of the best radar guided missile in the world and he was totally confident in their ability. It had proven to be a potent air-to-air weapon knocking down twenty-two Iraqi fixed wing aircraftxxxi but the Phantom-4 aircraft’s job tonight was to play a dangerous game of chicken with the Communist Surface-to-air missile systems. Freedom Two was to fearlessly fly toward the Anti-aircraft missile batteries and fire his HARM anti-radiation missiles into them. It would be a disaster if the Phantom lost the chicken fight and went down with four precious missiles still hanging on its rails. Freedom One fell behind its companion as the Phantom set up his shot.
“Closing speed eleven hundred knots, Fox one, Fox one, ” Freedom Two announced, giving notice that he was firing two radar guided missiles. The supersonic AIM-7’s shot into the night more like bullets than missiles. The Phantom continuously “painted” the enemy planes with its radar as missiles followed the radar bouncing back from the MiG’s. Of course the MiG’s detected the radar lock at once. One of the MiG’s started a climbing turn to the west as the other dove for the deck turning to the east. The diving MiG engaged his electronic countermeasures hoping to jam the missile but that only gave the missile another signal source to home in on. The MiG began dropping decoy flares and dispensing chaff creating radar decoys. Those countermeasures may have worked a generation ago against older radar guided missiles but they were hopelessly outdated against the latest generation of plane killers. As the missile closed the distance the MiG pilot violently bucked and jinked the aircraft in an attempt to get the missile to overcorrect and overshoot the aircraft but it was no use. The missile did indeed overcorrect and flew a few feet over the starboard wing but its very smart autopilot knew what was going on. It knew that it was not going to get any closer to the plane than it was now, and detonated. The wing folded and tore off in the blink of an eye.
“Splash MiG One,” came the AWACS voice again.
The second MiG was climbing as fast as his afterburners would take him. The Sparrow, like its larger cousin the Phoenix, would burn up its solid rocket propellant in an unbelievably fast sprint then use its momentum to glide the rest of the way into the target. The Soviet doctrine to counter both of the missiles would sometimes include a hard climb to have the missile try to follow after its quarry while in its coasting phase, thus slowing the missile, decreasing its range and making it easier to evade. The MiG pilot dispensed chaff and flares which did not distract the Sparrow for even a moment. The MiG pilot quickly realized he would not shake this missile. He rolled his aircraft away from the missile’s point of impact to have it hit on the underside and rear of the plane. He wanted as much protection between him and the explosion as possible. It s
aved his life.
Izzy took another shot with the LADAR and got a crystal clear snapshot of the pilot ejecting as the smoking MiG continued to climb. “That one goes on my desk,” he thought.
“Splash MiG Two,” said the AWACS voice in a very business like tone.
As soon as Freedom Two engaged the MiG-23’s Cuco ran straight for his intended target, the runways and taxi ways of the largest military airbase in Cuba. Freedom One popped up to two thousand feet to drop a string of satellite guided GBU-38xxxii bombs.
“Warning, Shilka, xxxiiigun radar tracking, six o’clock, five-hundred meters,” the computer reported.
“Pepe, AA gun, on our six, engage,” Izzy said.
“Two.” Pepe turned toward the mobile gun before the second MiG had crashed into the ground.
Cuco’s F-15 was equipped with one ALE-29 pod loaded with thirty infrared missile-decoy flares and one ALE-39 box loaded with sixty chaff cartridges to decoy radar-guided missiles. The pods were supposed to be slaved to the AAR-47 IR warning sensor and the ALR-45 radar threat-warning receiver so cartridges would eject automatically, but the system had so many false alarms that the decoy dispensers were left on manual all the time. Izzy hit the chaff-and-flare buttons dispensing clouds of radar reflecting chaff between the F-15 and the four barreled mobile gun. Cuco flew straight and level for three-and-a-half seconds, lining up the final drop.
The GPS computer downloaded the updated coordinates to the bombs the moment before they dropped. Now the GPS’ work was done. As six of the five-hundred pound bombs dropped away from the aircraft the inertial navigation system on each bomb could accurately sense the slightest three dimensional movement. It knew exactly where it was in relation to the target and made corrections accordingly. The bombs penetrated deep into the hardened runways before exploding. This attack would provide one of the best damage assessment pictures of the war. Three perfectly placed bombs in a row cutting the three runways exactly in half. Three more strategically placed five-hundred pounders cratered the taxiways leading from the hardened aircraft shelters to the runways.
The Cuban Liberation Handbook Page 4