Carrier (1999) (64 page)

The Global Hawk reconnaissance drone was settled safely over the Indian task force, and the live satellite imagery feed was operating perfectly. Launched eighteen hours earlier from Diego Garcia, it would stay in the air for days, feeding data to the American forces. Right now, the main camera was focused upon the Indian aircraft carrier
Viraat,
at one time the British flattop
Hermes.
She carried a dozen modernized Sea Harrier fighter-bombers, which were currently loaded with rather elderly Sea Eagle antiship missiles. Admiral Jadeja figured that he’d been indulging in a bit of wishful thinking when he’d had the Harriers tasked. More than likely, they would never leave the deck of the
Viraat.
His only real question was whether the attack that demolished them all would come from a submarine or from the air. Either way, the death of his fleet might serve to shame the superpower into relaxing its hold on Sri Lanka. In truth, he doubted that.

The LIVE EVENT graphic went up on the screen followed by an introduction by the news anchors. Viewers worldwide were about to see a live feed from the Indian Ocean where the Sri Lankan quarantine was in effect. The CNN feed was accompanied by a voice-over from the Chairmen of the Joint Chiefs, who began to provide the world’s first official play-by-play commentary of an actual battle. What the world saw was the Global Hawk view of the Indian carrier group, with an occasional zoom in on the
Viraat.
What was said next stunned the worldwide audience.

“Since the United States wishes to fulfill its commitment to the Sri Lankan people and its UN partners, but wishes no excess bloodshed in the process, we are about to show the world, especially the Indian government, what will happen to all of their ships if they do not turn back their forces immediately.”

He nodded to his assistant, who relayed a signal to Admiral Connelly on the
Mount McKinley.

The four F/A-18Es Super Hornets had just downlinked the final targeting templates for their ATA-equipped hypersonic cruise missiles, and fed the image of the
Viraat
into the guidance systems. When Admiral Connelly gave the order, the four pilots salvoed the missiles at fifteen-second intervals, the better for the world to watch the results. Each missile immediately ignited its rocket motor, and climbed at Mach 6 into the upper atmosphere for the two-minute run to the target. When directly over the
Viraat,
each missile began to dive, and scanned the surface below for a shape that matched the image template in its guidance package. The results were stunning even to the people who had planned the strike.

The Global Hawk camera zoomed in on the
Viraat
just before the first missile struck the flight deck on the fantail. The missile penetrated the flight deck before the thousand-pound warhead detonated, blowing chunks of the after flight deck into the air. Seconds later, the next missile arrived, landing about one hundred feet forward of the first missile hit. This time three Sea Harriers were blown apart, the pieces flung into the air. The explosions continued. By the time the last two missiles arrived, the ship was a mass of flames and explosions. Since there was no longer a target to hit, the missiles splashed into the ocean. Almost immediately, the old flattop began to settle. Within ten minutes it was nothing but a pool of burning oil, floating debris, and men fighting for their lives. One of them was Admiral Jadeja.

The images of the final moments of
Viraat
shocked even the JCS Chairman, who had to recompose himself before he completed his statement.

“As you can see, the United States has the ability to strike, and destroy at will, any Indian naval unit that it desires. In the interests of humanity, I make the following statement to the Indian National Command Authorities. You may spend the next two hours conducting search and rescue operations. At that time, if your ships have not reversed course, we will begin to sink additional units at our discretion. In the name of decency, please return your fleet to its base at Goa without delay.”

He need not have said anything. As a burned and bruised Admiral Jadeja was pulled from the oily water, he himself ordered the fleet to complete search and rescue operations, and then to return to Goa at best speed. The Indian Sri Lanka expedition was over.

Once again, Prime Minister Gandhi was watching a fight between his Defense Minister and his service chiefs. This one had turned uglier than usual. Physical blows had been exchanged even before news of Admiral Jadeja’s fleet recall order had been delivered. Far from shaming the Americans with a slaughter, the Indian Navy, the most powerful navy in the region, had been punished and humbled before the world—not just by a show of arms but by a show of mercy.

After they’d watched the broadcast on CNN, the service chiefs had withdrawn, for their own physical security (they feared that the Defense Minister might find a weapon and kill them). In their absence the Defense Minister had turned his wrath on Gandhi. This infamy, the Minister ranted, must be avenged, and the American mission stopped, whatever the cost. It was at this moment that Roshan realized that he was a coward; he lacked both the moral and physical courage needed to defend himself and his country. So when the Defense Minister pressed for a nuclear-missile strike on Sri Lanka, as the madman hung over him threateningly, Gandhi signed the release orders.

As the Defense Minister left to commit another crime against humanity, the Prime Minister lowered his face into his hands to sob, silently praying to his God that someone would stop this man, even if it killed them all. He could only die once. Best for that to happen before the blood of more millions of innocents stained his hands.

Admiral Connelly liked what he saw. The MEU (SOC) was already in its defensive position. The troopers of the 82nd Airborne down at Colombo had volunteered to send them a platoon of engineers with bulldozers and earthmovers to improve the sites. The artillery was already dug in; and the air defense vehicles had excellent engagement arcs. Seeing that their colonel had things well in hand, he walked back to his HH-60R helicopter for the ride back to the
Mount McKinley.

As they lifted off and headed out to sea, he got a message on his secure satellite phone, which set him immediately on edge. An NSA ferret satellite had picked up indications of commands being issued to an Indian IRBM battalion. Early analysis indicated that the unit had been ordered to erect and fuel their missiles, and prepare them for launch. Estimated time until they would be ready for action was less than three hours. Realizing that his force had very little time to prepare for what might be the world’s first duel between nuclear-armed ballistic missiles and theater ballistic-missile defense forces, he ordered his pilot to push the chopper to the limit.

The battle management staff was fully manned, with off-shift personnel crowding in between the workstation terminals and the gallery. An Air Force brigadier general from the 50th Space Wing was in command, and he had his command and control links and satellites fully netted and ready. For years, they had practiced this very scenario on complex computer networks against synthetic missiles. Today, they would be doing it for real, with actual nuclear-tipped missiles as targets, and the lives of several million human beings at stake. The earliest deadline for possible launch of the Indian missiles had passed about twenty minutes earlier. Everyone was getting a little edgy. Just as the general was about to declare an alert break so his people could get some coffee and donuts, the Defense Support Program (DSP) satellite console operator came on the net with a voice that was frighteningly detached.

“We have missile launches in central India. I repeat, we have multiple missile launches in central India. Confidence is high. I repeat, confidence is
high.”

It took a few seconds for the DSP bird to obtain rough tracking information on what was now looking like six IRBM-type missiles as they climbed away from their launchers near Nagpur. When the information came in, it was fed automatically to the battle management consoles, where software began to send orders to a series of high-resolution targeting satellites in medium Earth orbit. Within thirty seconds of the last Indian missile’s launch, each missile was being tracked by a telescope, which was supplying precise fire control information to the battle management network. The general, seeing that there was only a single wave of missiles headed south toward Sri Lanka, quickly made his decision, then spoke over the network.

“This is Silicon Palace to all stations. Werewolf. Werewolf! We have six inbound missile tracks to the Sri Lanka area. Confidence is high. I repeat, confidence is high. All ships and batteries, I declare
weapons free.
Repeat. I declare
weapons free!
Go get ’um, space rangers!”

He had done his job. Now they all got to see if a few hundred billion dollars had been wasted.

The displays showed the inbound missile tracks, even though the radars of his Aegis ships could not yet see the weapons on their own. Like everyone else, Admiral Connelly had run simulations of missile defense time and time again. But this time, it was terribly real. Right now, the targeting data was being relayed via satellite link from Falcon AFB, and it was good enough to shoot with. The idea was to try to engage the incoming missiles as soon as they came into view of the Aegis ships. He had already given weapons-release authority to the theater ballistic-missile defense officer in the corner console in the TFCC. The young lieutenant commander had an Aegis cruiser and two destroyers to engage with, as well as a pair of Army Patriot batteries from XVIII Airborne Corps on Sri Lanka itself. This gave them two layers of firepower to apply against the incoming missile stream. He hoped it would be enough.

Over on the destroyers
Mahan
(DDG-72) and
Hopper
(DDG-70), as well as the cruiser
Cape St. George
(CG-71), the battle management software from Falcon Field ordered each ship to launch a modified Standard SAM with a miniature homing vehicle as the payload. Because of their limited loadout of ATBM SAMs, the three ships had to fire one at a time at the incoming missiles, so that the chances of a kill would be maximized. The first salvo had been dispatched before the Indian IRBMs had even come over the horizon, but this would increase the number of possible shots against the missile stream.

Admiral Connelly watched transfixed as the six SAM symbols moved across the large-screen display toward the IRBM icons. The flight time was almost two minutes, and the results were gratifying. Three of the Indian missiles were destroyed by direct kinetic energy hits from the SAMs, while the others would require further engagement. Another salvo of three ATBM SAMs erupted from the Aegis ships, this time with a flight time of less than forty-five seconds to their targets. The miniature homing vehicles vaporized two more IRBMs. That left just one targeted on Colombo.

Connelly began to ball his fists when he saw two shots at the final Indian missile miss due to bad engagement geometry, allowing it past the picket line of Aegis ships. This left only their goaltender, the Patriot battery on a hill overlooking Colombo Harbor. The site had originally been the headquarters of Lord Louis Mountbatten during the Second World War, and now had the best firing arc of the Army SAM batteries. The Indian missile was less than two hundred miles out when the battery spat out a pair of PAC-3 ERINT anti-missile SAMs. The Army had deployed this system in great numbers, and a second pair of ERINTs were fired to make sure that this last inbound had no chance.

The problem was that the Indian missile was of a fairly advanced design, with a system for detaching the warhead at apogee. This improved the accuracy of the warhead and made interception more difficult. However, U.S. design teams hadn’t been standing still either. Hard-won experience from several decades earlier in the Persian Gulf had taught the software engineers some valuable tricks, and the Patriot radar easily picked out the warhead from the fragments of the missile that were breaking up upon reentry into the atmosphere. As it turned out, the first salvo of ERINTs was enough. The second PAC-3 struck the warhead, vaporizing it into an exploding stream of plutonium and ceramic from the heat shield. On both sides of the world, the winners of the first nuclear-missile/anti-missile battle jumped to their feet and issued a collective victory cry. The American magic had been better.

Prime Minister Gandhi sat alone now in the conference room. He’d sent the military chiefs away to their quarters, and put the Defense Minister under arrest. He had finally pulled himself together enough to do the right thing, which was precisely nothing. The failure of the missile strike had given him back his options, and now he was going to limit the retribution on India to this bunker, and probably the missile launch site. He knew that the Americans had probably already targeted both locations, and that they would hit them soon. He ordered all non-essential personnel out of the facility, than sat down and began to pray for his soul. He hoped that it would be over soon.

They had been forced to wait until the resolution of the Indian missile strike to know which weapons they would upload. Had any of the Indian IRBMs hit their targets, then the F-25Bs would have been each loaded with a pair of B-61-15 nuclear penetrating gravity bombs targeted on what had been called “strategic” targets. The population density of India meant that the use of any such weapon would kill hundreds of thousands of civilians at a minimum. Thankfully for the ordnance personnel and the pilots, the orders from the National Command Authorities had been explicit. Response in kind. This meant that unless a nuclear detonation had taken place, only convention weapons were authorized for use in the coming strike on the Indian leadership and their nuclear missile depots.