Twenty-four Days

by Jacqui Murray

  One SM-2 self-destructed. “What happened?”

  “Ma’am. None of the Illuminators acquired the target,” which meant all four were busy. “We have one incoming at range eight-five.”

  Paloma did the math. There were more than sixteen contacts within the threat zone, as well as those beyond. She read about this in her classes, but no one thought an American cruiser could be overwhelmed. Why would it? Designed to be part of a Task Force, linked to other warships through comms, their combined defensive forces would be capable of defeating any threat. Today, though, Bunker Hill worked alone.

  Worry must have shown on her face because the Captain touched her arm. “This is our Bunker Hill, TAO, and we have much more power than our forebears. You know how to use it.”

  Paloma mentally shook and turned to her console. “Time those launches better, WEPS. Get another SM-2 on that target. EW—stand by to launch chaff. Guns. Your turn.” That would be Collins and Burlowe. She thought of them this morning, a little scared and a lot ready to do their jobs. “Load HECVT.” These rounds had a range of ten to fifteen miles and would cover targets inside the SM-2’s minimum range. “We miss one, you get it.”

  The ship shuddered as four more SM-2s exploded from the aft deck, their target a volley of missiles launched from the incoming Migs. They barely cleared when the tubes were reloaded. Load-and-fire time was under eight seconds. With twenty-six VLS tubes, Bunker Hill could launch a missile every second and illuminate one every half-second.

  The converging array of threats and friendlies blurred on the Aegis displays. The sheer volume of this attack would soon put planes inside Bunker Hill’s defense. Mathematically, with enough resources, North Korea would sink the cruiser.

  She had to shake this battle up, but how?

  "Four more incoming, range eight-seven miles, bearing two-eight-four!" and the next volley of SM-2s lifted off, targeted the enemy and eliminated them.

  "Update, TAO!" from the Captain, his voice steel.

  Paloma took a nanosecond to check the screens. "Five incoming Mig-17s and seven Su-25s. Ten—no twelve—Il-28 bombers.” These again were older planes. “Tracking thirty-five total air contacts. Twenty-two Migs and air-to-surface missiles destroyed. Closest contact is eight-two miles. One-hundred twenty-two SM-2s remain. No other rounds expended,” which included ESSMs, 5” rounds, and CIWS. “The North Korean satellite remains in orbit.”

  “If it makes a move to descend, destroy it.” The Captain shared Eitan’s suspicion of North Korea.

  Over and over, Aegis calculated range, bearing, and fire solutions. The odor of cordite engulfed the ship, smoke flooded the fore and aft decks. Paloma’s gaze darted from station to station as she updated the Captain and he reacted, voice steady, bearing rigid.

  "Do it like the drills, folks—forget about the North Koreans!"

  Then a five-inch gun chattered.

  “Air. TAO. Report.”

  “One got through. Covered by Guns.”

  “TAO. Guns. Two rounds expended. Overshot. Bore clear. Firing again.”

  “Hold on, Guns, We launched ESSM.” The Mig exploded, shrapnel raining down on the seas in front of them.

  The Captain nodded once. "Well done.”

  “Surface. TAO. Track contacts with main mast cameras.” The battle had reached the ship. She needed visual data in real time.

  Paloma ran the numbers through her head. They were running through SM-2s like beer at a Navy football game and would run out if this pace continued. “Guns. Load the ERGM rounds,” rocket-assisted rounds that go half the distance of an SM-2 with most of its deadliness.

  The starboard CIWS mount trilled, followed closely by the fiery burst of exploding fuel, one more menace ended. Fear rushed through Paloma. CIWS was for close-in threats, too close for Bunker Hill to get away unscathed unless the gods of war themselves protected her.

  They hadn’t.

  Bridge yelled, “Brace for impact!” And the ship bucked.

  We’ve been hit. And then, Where’s the damage?

  DCA came on the 1MC. “Fire in the ship’s classroom. Primary boundaries set by Repair Five. One sailor with third-degree burns. Two corpsmen dead. Battle Dressing Station midships on fire. Reroute all personnel casualties to Main BDS. All hands stand clear of the quarterdeck due to...” His voice cracked. He paused and then continued, “…gaping hole from fragments.”

  Paloma knew all the corpsmen, had met most of their families. She pushed those thoughts aside, to be dealt with later.

  CIWS fired again, brought down an inbound Mig, but not before its cannon raked Bunker Hill’s fo’c’sle. The Captain gulped. His eyes glittered with anger, his voice as smooth as ice when he asked, "Damage assessment?"

  OOD’s voice came over the Net, “When the plane crashed, its tail skidded across the Bridge roof. My port Bridge wing and windows are gone and an Illuminator is in the water. One wing landed on the O4 level forward and damaged the chaff launchers and the starboard CIWS mount. Minor personnel injuries. We could use a corpsman, but we’ll live.”

  Paloma did a check off in her head. No serious injuries. No new fires or floods. Down an Illuminator eliminated 25% of the fire control system. They lost half the close-in anti-air capability and half the chaff launchers. If the enemy attack continued, that would hurt.

  Paloma thought about the USS Phoenix CL 42, called the luckiest ship in the Navy until sold to the Brazilians and rechristened the Belgrano. When the British sub, Conqueror, sank it during the Falklands War, it became the only ship ever sunk by a nuclear-powered submarine.

  Paloma hoped Bunker Hill wouldn't be the last ship ever sunk by Migs.

  The Captain's steady voice asked, "Update."

  She ran down the list of damages and the effect they would have on their defense capabilities.

  As she finished, EW shouted. “Launched chaff!”

  “Air. How did someone get that close?”

  “We’re doing our job, TAO. We’re overwhelmed.”

  Air was flushed, which said a lot. When he concentrated, a dog gnawing on his leg couldn’t distract him. “Thanks, Mike. Keep it up.”

  “The next wave is two-hundred-forty miles out.”

  Next! How many planes did North Korea have? Paloma felt her throat tighten. She gripped the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. The Captain winked. “We’re still here. Let’s keep it that way.”

  She grinned, tension leaking from her body as though he pulled a plug. North Korea expected them to crumble, but this Captain would fight until they destroyed him and then figure a way to continue. She stood proudly with him.

  But what the beleaguered warship could handle was identified by its munitions and those were running out, even as the next wave of North Korean warplanes bore down on them.

  As if he read her thoughts, the Captain said, "Backtrack the trajectories of those enemy fighters. I want to know where they came from and shut it down, even if it’s based in Toksan,” home of North Korea's second air Combat command and considered untouchable, “pound hell out of it. I want this attack over. I got a feeling we will see more of that satellite."

  Paloma jolted. She forgot the Taepodong, but the Captain hadn’t.

  Two minutes later, Ships Signal Exploitation Space—SSES—came on Net 15. “Captain. Those fighters are out of two bases. One’s Kang Da Ri. The second, we’re working to identify."

  “Now wouldn’t be too soon.” The Captain’s voice carried an edge. “TAO. How many fighter planes does Kang Da Ri have?"

  Paloma checked the latest intel numbers. "Thirty.”

  “We shot down more than thirty. Send them a Tomahawk, Special Delivery of the USN.”

  Paloma got on the 1MC. “Chief Shanifeld,” the man in charge of Tomahawks and the only watchstander not busy today. That was about to change. “Dial 150.”

  When Shanifeld called, Paloma said, “Chief. How fast can you send a TLAM to the coordinates I sent you?”

  “Is five minutes fast enough?” />
  She smiled. Damn fast considering this particular Tomahawk was programmed to explode into clusters, each bomblet attacking the individual planes on the tarmac. “Only if you need that long. And prepare another TLAM. I’ll have coordinates shortly.”

  The Chief called back in three minutes. “Tomahawk ready.”

  “Fire!”

  The Tomahawk Land-Attack Missile flew out of the VLS tube, streaked up and over the incoming wave of planes, so close to one old Ilyushin-28, it swerved and spiraled into the sea somewhere past the horizon. Minutes passed as the telemetry made minute adjustments, and then, "Direct hit!"

  Paloma had no time to enjoy their success. Aegis showed a dozen planes inside the threat zone. This time, they were Mig 21s, which had to be from DPRK's vaunted 46th Air Regiment, armed with GSh-23 cannons, Kh-66 and AA-2 Atoll missiles.

  She tried to hide the horror that washed through her body as she figured out North Korea's plan. The first planes had been fodder, to deplete Bunker Hill’s inventory and analyze the cruiser’s war strategies. Now, the crew tired, beaten down, defenses drained, North Korea would send their best.

  The Captain crossed his arms over his chest, his face fierce with concentration. "Where is that second base, TAO? We don’t have all day."

  The high piercing wail of an incoming shell drowned out his voice. Paloma froze. The missile approached in slow motion, colors vibrant amidst the haze of battle, tip massive, an unstoppable strength about its attack. CWIS chattered and then Burlowe’s guns, followed by the feral roar as an SM-2 flared from the ship’s bowels. The enemy shell detonated five hundred yards from Bunker Hill. The ship lurched, groaning, as fire and debris rained down on the deck.

  “Damage!” The Captain stood rock solid, face an inscrutable mask.

  Reports tumbled in. Three injuries, a fire near the helo hanger. No deaths. Paloma was about to place a call and find out what was holding up coordinates for the second base when she remembered Eitan’s words: If you’re attacked and can’t figure out from where, check these.

  She tapped her mic. “Chief Shanifeld. Try these coordinates for the second base,” and she gave him the latitude and longitude.

  “Ma’am. All I see is a mountain."

  “TAO?” From the Captain.

  It took a moment to make sense, and then she did. Eitan gave her the location of a DPRK airbase not on any maps. Telling the Captain how she knew would end Eitan’s career.

  “Sir, I trust the source. Please don’t ask me to explain.” When the Captain said nothing, she continued. “It’s a subterranean bunker. The planes shoot out the side of a mountain."

  The Captain connected the dots. “Does this have anything to do with the FBI visit?”

  Paloma colored. “You don’t want to know, Sir.”

  After a moment, he gave a minute nod and asked, "I thought Thunderbird was further north?”

  SSES chimed in, “There are rumors of one by Kangwon-do, fits these coordinates."

  The Captain came to a decision. "Well, plug that damn hole!"

  Paloma mic’d Shanifeld, "Fire when ready!"

  "Stand by to fire—Fire!"

  The Tomahawk leaped from the ship’s deck as its solid-fuel booster ignited and latched onto its coordinates. Moments later, its fins unfurled and it hurled over the horizon. Paloma switched her attention to the Tomahawk Weapon Control System monitor which would relay images from onboard cameras. Water abruptly gave way to the peaceful verdure of shoreline and inland forests. That soon became ocean and then a mountain loomed. She felt a nervous shiver the missile would find nothing but an impenetrable rock wall, but as the craggy bluff careened forward, the camera captured a glimmer of darkness and a murky circle that must be the entrance. It exploded 4.8 yards into the mouth of the cave, sealing the exit and destroying everything inside.

  “Direct hit!”

  A cheer went up. The radar control operator grinned like a kid in a video arcade.

  The balance of North Korea’s squadron was swept from the sky. The battle ended and Bunker Hill won.

  The sudden silence rang louder than the howl of battle. No shriek of missiles, whirr of the Illuminator, roar of gun mounts, or blast of shells. No shouts and screams of her shipmates. With the din gone, a veil lifted. Behind the fear of battle and shock of attack was relief at surviving, joy at a fight well fought, and grief for those who fought the good fight.

  The calm didn’t last long.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Day Twenty-four, Wednesday August 30th late afternoon

  New York, New York, FBI Safe House

  “North Korea’s Taepodong-2 intercontinental ballistic missile is carrying a warhead."

  Zeke no longer found it odd when Otto appeared on his phone. He snapped his fingers and the hum of voices behind him disappeared. "No one but the people in this room know that."

  "The deduction was simple, Zeke. I compared the rising arc of the missile’s flight path to a simulation of what it should be if loaded with the Kwangmyŏngsŏng-2 communication satellite. It didn't fit so I checked each stage. The payload is too long. When I modeled payloads, a nuclear tip matched."

  "We have it under control. Bunker Hill will shoot it down on the descent."

  "It’s under heavy attack—"

  Kali gasped. Eitan turned white.

  Zeke jumped in. "The battle’s over, though we lost communication with the ship. The missile established a geosynchronous orbit which imitates what’s expected of a communications satellite.”

  Kali took a swallow of coffee and downed a handful of Fritos as she tried to understand why North Korea would attack Bunker Hill and pretend the satellite was benign. She gave up. “Why?”

  “They’re demanding two trillion dollars in war retributions from Japan or they attack.”

  “Trillion with a T?”

  “Japan refused. They think and we agree this is an empty threat. Bunker Hill will have no problem shooting that missile out of the sky once it begins to descend. Plus, Japanese Patriots can take it down before it reaches their homeland.”

  “Otto. D’you know when the missile is scheduled to descend?”

  "No, Kali. I chatted with the warhead, but it's not very smart. It knows only where it is."

  Zeke sputtered, "Those warheads are supposed to be unhackable."

  Otto churbled. "The signal node is encrypted to prevent grabbing the RF signal, but not the keyboard strokes. An amateur mistake."

  Zeke’s voice came out a pitch higher. He was worried. "The US will not allow a warhead to float around over our heads so we’re sending the F-15 Eagle to shoot it down. I need sixty minutes to make that happen. Can you assure me this missile will wait?”

  Otto churbled. “I will only know when its position changes, Zeke.”

  “Good enough.”

  Kali’s head spun. Between talking warheads and space-based weapons and an F-15 Eagle, her usual morning headache exploded like a viral YouTube video. She rubbed her temples and asked, "What's an Eagle?"

  "It’s a warplane loaded with an anti-satellite weapon. In 1985, it brought down the damaged Russian solar observatory, Solwind P78-1, from a low-earth orbit. That proved we could defend ourselves from a space-based attack, but unfortunately, the world’s fear of weaponizing space surpassed America’s fear of her enemies, so the project was mothballed.

  “Until yesterday when we moved one of the three remaining F-15s to Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni, Japan. Major Todd Pearson, son of the pilot who flew the first mission, is standing by. He’ll be off the ground in thirty minutes."

  Otto said, "The F-15 had another success, Zeke. Have you forgotten the intrepid flight of Major Amelia Nakamura when she shot the Kosmos 1801 out of the sky?"

  Kali looked at Otto. "That was a book, Otto. Red Storm Rising."

  Otto thrummed. "It would have succeeded. I ran simulations."

  Kali patted Otto and asked Zeke, "How’s the missile work?"

  "It carries no explosives, relies on spe
ed of impact for detonation. The pilot will climb at a sixty-five-degree angle at Mach 1.22 and vector the warhead into the Taepodong-2’s path. By the time they collide, it’s traveling fast enough to destroy the target. The most we have to worry about is falling debris.”

  The Sea of Japan

  USS Bunker Hill

  “Captain. Radar Systems Controller. The North Korean missile is descending. Determining flight path. Destination is... 39° 0'20.98"N, 140°31'23.94"E. Shinjō, Yamagata.”

  The Japanese mainland!

  “OOD. Flank Three,” maximum possible speed.

  “Sir, we don’t have Flank Three. One of the engines was damaged.”

  “Give me best speed. Plot a course for Japan. TAO, notify Japan. TAO, give me a weapons control solution.”

  “We’re too far for SM-2’s, but we can use the RIM-161 Standard Missile-3,” the SM-2’s 260-mile long-distance cousin. They carried only one SM-3.

  “How long will it take to prepare?”

  “Aegis just acquired the target.”

  “Fire!”

  “Eighty-seven seconds to impact.”

  While they waited, damage reports from the air attack rolled in. Five crew members killed. Fourteen injured. All fires extinguished, repairs begun.

  “Ten seconds to impact… Five, four three two one, SPY picked up an explosion. We have destroyed the Taepodong—wait! SPY is still tracking a missile on that flight path.”

  The Captain roared, “What happened, folks?”

  After a moment of stunned silence, Paloma suggested, “Intel indicates the Taepodong might carry defensive chaff.”

  “I think we confirmed the rumor.”

  Paloma had never heard defeat in the Captain’s voice. She ached, knowing what it must cost him to admit failure.

  He continued. “I need to let the Japanese know. They will have the same problem. OOD, tell medical to expect more injured, this time civilians.”

  New York, New York

  FBI Safe House

  “Excuse me, Zeke. The missile began its descent.”

  “Bunker Hill will stop it.”