Primary Target (1999)
Page 20
The Neyzeh In a state of high anxiety, the young captain of the Iranian gunboat placed the radio microphone in its bracket and turned to the senior rated sailor in his crew. "Fire the missiles."
Without hesitation, the slender, dark-bearded man shouted orders to the frightened sailors who were responsible for launching the C-802 antiship missiles.
"Fire missiles! Fire missiles!"
In a matter of seconds the Silkworm cruise missiles were rocketing straight toward Washington.
Seven miles on the other side of the carrier, another Cornbattante II gunboat fired two C-802 missiles at the giant flattop, then raced away at flank speed.
With Admiral Coleman standing in the background, Nancy Jensen watched helplessly while the helmsman executed a maneuver to swing Washington's stern away from Kaywood and Hoffman. The SH-60F Seahawk rescue helicopter was over the flight crew in a matter of seconds. As the pilot stabilized the helo in a hover, a rescue swimmer jumped into the water to help the struggling fliers.
At the same time the air warfare officer aboard the Aegis guided-missile cruiser heard the warning alarms go off. The other warships also sounded warnings and took evasive action.
"Missiles inbound," the carrier's I MC barked. "This is not a drill!"
Jensen gripped the arms of her chair as the battle-force ships began launching Sea Sparrows and firing Close-In Weapons Systems.
More warnings were being sounded from the Combat Direction Center when Captain Jensen saw a flash in her peripheral vision.
"Take cover!" a high-pitched voice said over the 1MC. "Take cover!"
Jensen momentarily froze when two of Washington's powerful CIWS defensive systems opened fire. Spewing twenty-millimeter shells made of depleted uranium, two of the CDC-controlled Phalanx "Gatling gun" cannons put up a curtain of steel between Washington and the incoming missiles.
I don't believe this, Jensen thought while each of the six barrel cannons howled at 3,000 rounds a minute. Her nerves went tense when another CIWS opened fire from one of the escort ships.
The last-ditch defense systems blew two of three cruise missiles to smithereens. Another missile, flying so low that it made radar acquisition nearly impossible, escaped the blazing fire of the Vulcan Phalanx cannons. Two seconds before impact, the sea-skimming missile arbitrarily pitched up a few degrees and penetrated the hull of the carrier at the main deck level.
In an instant the aft end of the hangar bay and the jet-engine repair shop erupted in explosions and fire. Fed by volatile jet fuel, a series of thunderous explosions destroyed a Marine EA-6B Prowler and blew three sailors off the fantail and into the Gulf. Debris and shrapnel ricocheted off the bulkheads and adjacent planes while frightened crewmen rushed into the inferno to rescue their shipmates and help fight the spreading fire. Flames and dense smoke billowed out of the hangar bay as the blaze spread to nearby berthing compartments.
While the CIWS cannons continued to spew a stream of shells at the incoming C-802 missiles, Admiral Coleman remained uncharacteristically quiet. Fires were raging and lives were in danger when he looked to the commanding officer. In keeping with an honored Navy tradition, only one person was in charge of a ship. It was time to save lives and the carrier. Nancy Jensen responded to the challenge as three of the four Chinese cruise missiles were quickly destroyed in a hail of cannon fire. The surviving missile blew a large hole in an office space adjacent to the intelligence center.
Acting firmly and professionally, she had the repair lockers mobilized, the helicopters airborne, a man-overboard search under way, and reports coming in from damage control. Satisfied that Jensen was handling the crisis in a satisfactory manner, Coleman returned to the flag bridge as the SH-60F Seahawk landed near the bow of the flight deck. Suffering from minor injuries, Kaywood and Hoffman were quickly placed on stretchers and carried to sick bay.
High above the carrier, Major Buck Martin and his fellow Hornet pilots were being vectored toward the fleeing gunboat Neyzeh. Likewise, Ridder Cromwell and Marauder One and Two were setting up for an attack on the other boat. Once the pilots were low and close to the gunboats, it wasn't difficult to spot the frothy wakes of the speeding vessels. When Martin and company rolled in for their first strafing run, the crew of Neyzeh abandoned ship while it was running at full While the stricken carrier's escorts approached to help fight the devastating fire, the Iranian gunboats were sunk by heavy cannon fire from the Tomcat and Hornets. Once the gunboats were destroyed, the fighters tanked from two Air Force KC-10s, then joined the fighters from USS Roosevelt to provid protection for the GW battle group while other planes diverted to airfields in Bahrain and Kuwait. Two S-3B Vikings remained on station to sniff for subs while the Hawkeye kept a close eye on potential threats from all quadrants.
From the reports she was receiving, Jensen was beginning to feel a sense of relief. The smaller fires were under control and the conflagration in the aft section of the hangar bay was almost extinguished.
When Jim Lomas entered the bridge, Jensen could see the grief written on his face.
"How many?" she quietly asked.
"Nineteen dead, and forty-eight injured--including two of the three men who were blown overboard. They're still searching for the other guy, but I don't hold out much hope for him."
Anger screamed through her nerves, but Jensen gritted her teeth and shifted her gaze to the frantic activity on the flight deck. "Roosevelt is launching more aircraft as we speak. They should be overhead before too long."
"The sooner, the better."
Struggling to control her emotions, she turned to her XO. "What a fiasco," she said as her mouth twisted in a rueful grimace.
"Yeah, we sailed straight into a trap."
After receiving a brief message about the condition of the American carrier, Ali Nasrallah, the captain of Nuh, raised his periscope and smiled when he saw the faint glow of fire in the distance. On Washington's hangar bay and flight deck, exhausted crewmen continued to fight the last of the fires. Surrounded by her escorts, the big flattop was slowly proceeding toward the United Arab Emirates deep-water port of Jebel Ali, the only Gulf naval support facility where U. S. supercarriers can pull pierside.
Familiar with his operating environment, the brash skipper of the Kilo-class attack sub was confident he could sink the carrier and outwit any U. S. submarine or ASW effort. Operating in his own littoral waters, Nasrallah had the advantage of knowing the layers, the ambient sea noise in the strait, and the shallow areas where he could "sleep" on the bottom. "The Americans made a big mistake," the captain said derisively. "Now they're going to pay with their lives." One of the Russian advisers, a former Kilo skipper, gave Nasrallah a few suggestions and stepped out of the way. The captain fired six torpedoes at the crippled warship, then turned seventy degrees to starboard and executed a series of speed, depth, and course changes as he quietly moved away. After reaching a crowded, noisy shipping lane, Captain Nasrallah allowed Nuh to settle to the bottom and go into "sleep" mode. Proud of his performance, he nervously waited for the torpedoes to smash into the giant carrier. Nasrallah was supremely confident that he would be hailed as a hero when Nuh returned to her base at Bandar-e Abbas.
Nancy Jensen was conferring with her department heads and damage-control experts when the torpedoes were detected. Midway through an evasive maneuver, a torpedo exploded 120 feet forward of the propellers. A second powerful explosion damaged both port-side propshafts and both screws. A third torpedo twisted and jammed Washington's rudder at an awkward angle. The rest of the weapons, with the exception of one that blew a gaping hole in a Mobile Oil supertanker, missed the carrier and a dozen other commercial and military vessels. The double-hulled supertanker, ripped apart by the initial blast, exploded several more times and sank in less than twenty minutes. One crew member survived for twelve days, then succumbed to his injuries.
Chapter 27
The Situation Room.
Son of a bitch," President Macklin said to no one in particular, then th
umped his fist on the edge of his chair. "Son of a bitch!"
The Situation Room remained deathly quiet until Hartwell Prost cleared his throat. "Mr. President, there's no way around it."
"Around what?" Macklin snapped, and took a quick sip of coffee.
"Tehran had to know about our plans."
Outrage bubbled as the president gently shook his head. As the leader of the most powerful nation on the planet, Macklin was dismayed and deeply angered to think that he might have a traitor in his midst.
"We have to find the leak," Prost continued in a quiet, calm voice. "And we need to do it as quickly as possible." "What do you think?" the president asked Prost. "Has someone, a foreign intelligence service, a computer hacker, or a terrorist group, tapped into the Defense Department Internet?"
"It's possible." He shrugged. "Any breach of security could help level the playing field, but the only Pentagon systems the hackers have been able to compromise are the unclassified ones. They were able to peer into payroll files and personnel records, but no classified information appeared to have been compromised, or so the experts claim."
"Mr. President," Pete Adair interrupted, "we didn't have--"
"Hold your thought a second," Macklin said, struggling to conceal his annoyance and frustration. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"At the very least," Prost said, anxious to talk in private with the president, "there are probably a dozen or more hackers who could potentially compromise the nation's defenses." "Give me the bottom line."
"If a hacker, or team of hackers, gained access to the DOD computers, they could intercept, delete, and change all the classified messages on the net. They could stop the Pentagon from deploying forces, scramble military telecommunications, and possibly launch a variety of weapons, including nuclear missiles."
"Terrific," the president piped sarcastically. "Do you think a terrorist group would have that kind of capability?" "Sure. Hackers are highly skilled, arrogant, reckless, and some of them are extremely greedy. We're constantly redefining our vulnerabilities to cyberspace assaults. We now have the ability to camouflage destructive signals within normal transmissions. These infectious signals can ride data streams through fiber-optic cables straight into enemy computer systems. We can disrupt and destroy the global economy and cripple the infrastructure in major metropolitan areas. It's a never-ending journey to Armageddon."
Prost paused when Macklin frowned, then eyed him with icy stiffness.
"The enemy," Hartwell quietly suggested, "may have a system to recognize cyber attacks and launch an aggressive and fatal counterattack to our platforms."
General Chalmers interrupted. "That may be true, Mr. Prost, but I don't think so--at least not at this stage of the game."
Hartwell slowly shook his head. Game? Computers are going to be our downfall.
"The first time we use our virus," Prost continued, "the enemy is going to have a tactical meltdown. It'll take them a couple of years to figure out how we did it, then a year or so to turn it on us. By that time, if not sooner, we'll have to have an impenetrable defense for our platforms. The game will continue as long as there are two humans left to play." Hartwell picked up his glass of water. "The threats are changing rapidly," he said with a troubled expression, "and the terrorists are much more sophisticated than most people believe."
Unconvinced, Macklin furrowed his brow. "Do you really believe that terrorists are sophisticated enough to pull off a cyberspace Pearl Harbor?"
"Without a doubt," Prost said boldly. "If they don't have the capability internally, they can hire the expertise. As I pointed out, there are any number of people who can disrupt the air-traffic-control system, wipe out bank records, scramble airline and hotel reservations, shut down major pipelines, send trains on collision courses, disable 911 emergency phone service, or even erase the New York Stock Exchange's trading records. It's an open-ended nightmare, one that includes our defense systems.
"If a single hacker penetrated our defense network," Prost continued, "he or she could craft a virus that would spread literally with the speed of light. It could easily loop and weave from system to system until it strangled our military command-and-control structure."
"Wait a minute," Pete Adair said forcefully, exchanging a glance with General Chalmers. "Before we start trying to solve problems that don't exist, I want to set something straight. Les and I made sure that the orders were hand-delivered to Admiral Bowman at La Maddalena and Admiral Holmes at Norfolk. They personally gave the orders to Bob Gillmore, Hampton's skipper, and Forrest Dunwall, CO of Cheyenne. And no one at the command center had any idea what the messages were about. Nothing went on the net," he said emphatically. "There was no breach of security at the Pentagon."
The statement was met with silence.
"Well," Macklin said as his mouth tightened, "someone tipped them off, and we're going to find out who is responsible."
"I don't think we'll have to look too far." Prost sighed grimly. "If the Pentagon is clean, then the leak obviously came from here."
The president cast an angry glance at his national security adviser. "Do you have any factual basis to support your theory?"
"No, sir, but it just seems logical."
"We'll discuss it later," Macklin flared.
"Yes, sir," Prost agreed blandly.
With a look at his watch, the president rose, prompting everyone to rise. "Well," he said in a harsh voice, "it's time for me to tell the citizens of this fine country what a bang-up job I'm doing for them."
Adair glanced at the bank of television sets. "Sir, CNN and CBS are already reporting the story, so you may want to consider making a short statement from the Briefing Room, then turn it over to me."
"I appreciate your consideration, but I think it's best if I stick with my original plan."
"I understand," Adair replied in an undertone.
"Sir," Les Chalmers said glumly, "may I have a private word with you?"
"You bet," the president declared, "as long as we're headed in the direction of the Oval Office."
Accompanied by three Secret Service agents, Macklin and Chalmers walked away from the Situation Room. Acutely aware of the military tragedy in the Gulf, the agents remained a discreet distance from the two men.
"Mr. President, you'll have my resignation on your desk by 0800 tomorrow morning."
"The hell I will," Macklin said curtly. "Sacrificing you isn't going to bring a reprieve. Besides, this wasn't entirely your fault. You can shoulder part of the blame, but someone obviously gave the Iranians our game plan."
"Sir, I sincerely appreciate your confid--"
"Not another word," the president declared as he came to an abrupt stop and faced his friend. "You're not going off to lick your wounds. You're going to stay right here and help me find the sonuvabitch who sold us out."
"Mr. President--"
"Cut the crap," Macklin said evenly as the agents quickly turned away. "The name is Cord, same as it was when we used to get falling down drunk in Saigon."
The president turned on his heel and started walking before Chalmers could respond.
"What's the current status of Washington and Roosevelt?" Macklin asked as Chalmers hurried to catch up.
"Roosevelt is headed into the Gulf. GW has dropped anchor, and we expect to take her under tow in the next few hours. She'll be in the shipyard for at least six or seven months."
"If they don't sink her first," the president said curtly. "What are you doing to protect herT'
"We have a solid net of fighters airborne, and every available ASW resource is hunting subs, including helos from Roosevelt. She should be in the Gulf by early morning." "Good," Macklin said evenly, and lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't Nancy Jensen the skipper of GW?"
"She sure is, and she's done an outstanding job of saving the ship."
"At least someone did something right."
"After they lost steering," Chalmers continued in a flat, decisive voice, "she reacted quickly to keep t
he ship from drifting into the shipping lanes."
"Yeah, that'd be a hell of a hazard to navigation."
The Oval Office was crowded and humming with activity when President Macklin entered the room. Ignoring the network crews and media representatives, he walked to the bulletproof window framed by the American flag and the presidential flag. He glanced at the family photographs on the credenza, then turned and sat down at his ornate desk. The embarrassment and anger he felt was evident from the grim set of his jaw muscles. Macklin caught the reassuring smile from the first lady, then faced the lights and waited for his cue.
"Good evening," he greeted the audience in a warm, even voice. "Less than two hours ago elements of our military forces attacked two missile launch sites in Iran. Those installations were equipped with nuclear-tipped missiles and represented an immediate threat to our military personnel and our allies in the Gulf region. Based on our latest intelligence reports, the nuclear facilities received heavy damage." Macklin's poise was unshakable. "Any nation foolish enough to contemplate using weapons of mass destruction against the United States, our armed forces, or our allies must fully understand the consequences of their actions. Make no mistake about it--no mistake. Our response will be swift and devastating.
"I want to reassure every American, our friends around the world, and the citizens of Iran, that we have not declared war on Iran. We do not want to declare war on Iran. However, we will continue to respond swiftly to any threat in the Gulf region, be it a military situation, or a terrorist situation." The president paused, hardening himself for the most difficult part of his job. With the same look of civility and grandfatherly-compassion that helped win him his position, Macklin stared straight into the camera. "Regrettably, American lives were lost during the operation to restore stability in the Gulf region."
The Florida Keys After Massoud Ramazani received the initial battle damage assessment from Tehran, he terminated the satcom transmission. Ramazani continued to sip warm orange juice while he watched President Macklin attempt to minimize the severe bashing the American military had taken in the Gulf.