Show of Force (17 page)

He turned to Bill Dailey. “There's no longer any doubt about their intentions, Bill, and we're going to retaliate. I want a squadron of A-7's with some Tomcat protection out after Kupinsky.” And, in answer to a question that never left Dailey's open mouth, “Nope. Conventional armament for now for the leaders. Drop two behind about four or five minutes with nuclear warheads. We won't use them until we explode one of those cruise missiles and see what it's carrying. And send orders out to the two submarines closest to
Lenin.
I want them to harrass the hell out of that screen around
Lenin,
but stay the hell away. Their long-range antisubmarine weapons aren't that good, so there's no reason to get up close to test their new ones. Have them pick out one of those
Kresta-
or
Kara-class
cruisers if they can.”

He turned back to his status board to hear a report. “Fighter launch from
Lenin
now within radar range. Twelve aircraft. No identification yet.”

“That makes sense,” David remarked to no one in particular. “Land-based Backfires from Africa and those short range Riga fighters from the other direction. They've got to find out what we've got too, before they start anything really big.”

Frank Welles's voice came from the speaker
to
his left. “Admiral, I've got some aircraft on deck if you want me to send them up to coordinate the antimissile firing.”

“Negative, Frank. I believe”—he looked up at one of his staff who was giving him a thumbs-up sign—“the Aegis system has taken over now. Just a second.” He called over to the officer controlling the Aegis computer and received a nod. “Right, the computer has control now. And we've already fired. In a moment they ought to be close enough to lock on. We don't really have any time anyway, Frank, with that strike I'm sending to the east after their surface ships.” He turned off the speaker switch, and his eyes returned to the screen in the front of plot where the Russian cruise missiles were being tracked.
Virginia
and her division were now monitoring their tracking equipment to ensure their missiles were locked on to the incoming ones. While the electronic equipment took over, men were activating the automatic machinery that would reload the launchers for the next firing. Secondary computers had already picked up the track of the attacking missiles and were feeding information into the close-in Phalanx system, the secondary defense should the Standard missiles fail to complete their mission.

“Four minutes,” replied the AAW officer at his air defense console.

“Rigas closing from the east, sir. They apparently had no contact with our own launch.”

“Very well,” David replied. “Is there any submarine movement near us?”

“They've been active, sir,” Bill Dailey answered. “But nothing to make me think anything's being coordinated.”

“They're always independent. Send a couple of those frigates out to fool with them. We're not ready for that sort of game yet.” His eyes returned to the screen displaying the Russian and American missiles closing in on each other.

“Computer predicts that Rigas will stay to the north and fire their own missiles before the cruise missiles impact.”

“Thank you,” David answered. “What ships are to the north?”

“Wainwright
and
Josephus Daniels
are the two cruisers and . . .the cans are
Dewey, Preble, Semmes,
and
Ricketts,
and a couple of smaller FFG's, too.”

“Okay, Bill, I want you to make sure we bring down all those aircraft. They already know about that low-level missile of ours, so let's make the best of it now. The less planes they have later, the better.” He followed the action on the screen before him as it became clearer exactly what the Russians were doing. It was obvious that Gorenko in Moscow had ordered the flight of Backfires from Mogadishu, and that Kupinsky was coordinating the air attack from the north.

“Ninety seconds to impact cruise missiles . . .
Virginia
reports lock-on to four of them now ...” There was a breathless pause in the darkened room. “. . . Confirmed explosion of conventional warheads. . . ,” an audible sigh of relief, “lock-on to two more. . . . Computer reports all cruise missiles locked-on to western escorts. . . .
Nimitz
is not a target. . . .” Another sigh of relief.

“Bill, hold those two trailing Tomcats behind. I don't want anyone making mistakes with those warheads.”

“I have already, sir. Recommend we send them up north to pick up any of the Rigas that might get away.”

“Good thinking, Bill. I ...”

Two more of the cruise missiles had just blinked out on their screens when a speaker cut in: “Six cruise missiles through the barrier. Targeted ships have their own control.” This was the test they had been afraid would come. The Vulcan/Phalanx weapon system had been devised as a last-ditch effort for a saturation attack by cruise missiles, but twelve hadn't been considered saturation. It was activated when the missiles-were within one mile of their target and consisted of no more than rapid-fire 20-mm. shells sprayed in a Gatling-gun effect. The fire-control radar constantly tracked the incoming missiles and corrected the direction of fire. It was a last-ditch, protective shield of metal.

“Rigas are within missile range of the northern force.
Wainwright
is controlling ship. They have assumed control for the twelve northern ships. They are under fire.” On his board, David could see new dots of light appear between the Rigas in the air and their surface targets.

He looked back to the left side of his screen, where the six remaining cruise missiles were now reduced to two, but were merging with dots that David knew were his own ships. “Four more missiles down,” he heard the report. But each person in the room was watching, horrified as one of their own ships disappeared from the screen. The voice continued for a moment, then broke,
“Harold Holt hit
amidships . . . she's broken in half ... after section sinking rapidly.”

But the second hit was even worse from the Admiral's viewpoint. He knew from the early part of the battle which spot on his screen represented
Virginia,
and that one of the missiles had merged with her dot also. “What is the report from
Virginia?”

“Nothing, sir. We have no communication with her.”

A click from the speaker on
Nimitz'
bridge drew their attention to Frank Welles's voice. “Terrific explosion over the horizon to the west, Admiral. Something besides a missile.”

“That's the
Virginia,
Frank. Can you see anything? We know she's been hit,”

Silence, for just a moment, even though the speaker button was depressed. They could hear the exclamations in the background. “Oh, my God.” It was Welles's voice again. “There was a second explosion in the same location, sir. . . .” He paused for a second, likely using his binoculars. “There can't be anything else left!”

Where there had been a dot on his screen representing the nuclear-powered cruiser, there was now nothing. Six hundred feet and eleven thousand tons of guided missile cruiser, with 450 men aboard, had seemingly disappeared. One of his few Aegis-equipped ships had gone as if by magic. The voice brought his mind back to the present:
“Mitscher
reports
Virginia
has exploded, sir. They say the missile probably hit the aft magazine and the forward one went off almost immediately after . . . sir, they say nothing's left ... no survivors.” The speaker's voice was incredulous.

“Submarine contact to the southwest, sir!” He saw immediately on his screen that two of Kupinsky's subs had pulled closer together, possibly for an attack on the escorts. They had to get through them before they could get to
Nimitz,
and that was why he had sent some of the frigates off in that direction.

The board in front of him told the story to the north as missiles that had been fired by the Rigas either blinked out or continued on toward their targets. These were not as big or as fast or as sophisticated as the cruise missiles, but they could do enough damage to any ship. As he watched, a number of the Rigas disappeared from the screen, victims of
Wainwright's
coordinated firing with its small northern force. And some of the missiles that had been fired at the ships were now merging with their targets.

“Wainwright
reports
John Paul Jones, Preble, Radford
and
Knox
have all been hit, sir.”

“How serious?”

“No report yet, sir.”

David could see another Riga wink out on the screen. The new Mongoose missile system was proving effective. Like many of their other weapons, it had never been tested in battle, but much of its development had been based on the Riga fighter, a jet that Kupinsky had originated to complement the new VTOL carriers he had created for the Soviet Navy. He wanted a jet that could fire low-level missiles, difficult to track on radar. Sam Carter had known for quite a while that the Riga would have to be developed. The .Russians had no long-range threat from their
Kiev-class
carriers until a VTOL jet could be built that could land and take off on the smaller decks, carry enough fuel to prove itself as a long-range fighter, and still have a weapon system that would make it worthwhile for air/surface attack, in addition to protecting itself in the air. Carter had simply made that aircraft a priority-one project for the C.I.A., and he had developed a missile to counter it as the basics of the Riga were made known to him in bits and pieces. The Mongoose was up to expectations.

“Wainwright
reports three Rigas still in the air but turning to the east. She's breaking off attack to assist in fighting fires on
John Paul Jones.
Heavy damage to the other three ships, but none are in danger of sinking.”

“Okay, Bill.” He turned to his operations officer. “Send a couple of those Tomcats after them.”

“No problem, sir. We already have the target information relayed to them and they're in the last approach phase now. Our only difficulty is that there's three of them, each on different courses and -at different altitudes, and only two of ours. I think you're going to have to settle for one of them getting back to the barn.” , “Shit!” He looked at the screen, then back at Dailey. “How many Rigas in that flight?”

“An even dozen, sir. Give
Wainwright's
ships credit, Admiral. They got nine of them. The Mongoose tears a plane apart when it's hit. And, please remember, they were countering a missile attack at the same time, Admiral. It was no turkey shoot, but that's almost half
Lenin's
complement of fighters. They're going to have to borrow the air group from
Minsk
before they get any closer.”

“You're right, Bill. I know. Perhaps I should be sending another flight out now to try to finish off
Lenin
while she's weak.”

“Let's wait out the first strike, sir. They should be on target shortly. And
Lenin
still carries Forgers for close-in air protection.”

Another voice broke in. “Tomcats have fired on the remaining Rigas, sir.” David looked up at the screen, but found it was taking him a moment to reorient. He saw the two dots representing his own aircraft, and three for the Rigas, but there appeared to be missiles fired from both groups. At about the same time that two of the Russian planes were obviously hit, one of the Tomcats disappeared from the screen. As if in answer to his next question, he heard, “Pilot in the water.
Josephus Daniels
has helos out for recovery.”

“Bill, I'd like to get a feedback from War Games as soon as possible on their tactics. As far as I can see, their naval air just doesn't have enough experience, but then we're not so hot in defending ourselves against their damn missiles.”

“Yes, sir.” Dailey bent forward slightly and picked up a sound-powered phone, speaking briefly for a moment. He waited. His eyebrows knit together. He spoke briefly and replaced the instrument in its cradle. “Problems with computer relay, Admiral. Computer officer is checking it out again, but our equipment seems okay. He says the only other problem could be in their equipment at Johns Hopkins, but they have backup. Unless something's happened to the satellite relay.” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Call him back, Bill. Tell him not to worry about his computers, if they check out. And you might tell him it's probably not Hopkins either.”

Admiral Alexander Kupinsky leaned forward, cradling his chin in his hands and resting his elbows on the deck railing of the signal bridge, one level above the pilothouse. He surveyed the maze of radars, missile launchers, and antiaircraft guns before him.
Lenin
was as well equipped to fight off an attack as a cruiser, with her array of surface-to-air, surface-to-surface, and antisubmarine missiles. She also carried torpedoes and rockets in case of close-in attack, but her main armament was still her aircraft. Built as his flagship, she now carried 24 long-range Riga fighters, 12 short-range Forger fighters, and 25 Kamov helicopters, and she still maneuvered like a destroyer. Kupinsky had literally designed her himself, or rather he had designed the first of her class, the
Kiev.
There had been more than enough time.

His mind drifted back over twenty years. After his return from Cuba, where his submarine had been ordered after the Americans tired of playing cat and mouse with it, he had been given a formal hearing in Moscow. No submarine commander in the Russian Navy had been so humiliated before. Only Gorenko's personal intercession had kept him from a court-martial. As it was, the Commander in Chief of the Soviet Navy had taken a great chance. He was not a strict Party member, and there were many who would have been happy to see him go. But he had Khrushchev's ear. The two older men had much in common, and thus there was a hearing first.

The Admiral did not involve himself in the formalities, but Alex found himself with a highly efficient defense counsel, another Party member much like Gorenko. He was polite, nodded at all the details that were presented, declined to ask any questions, and gave every indication of being there just to ensure that Kupinsky received fair consideration. However, when his turn came, he had both the quartermaster's and engineer's logs in hand, and presented details from each, exactly in order as each engineering casualty occurred to the submarine. By the time he got to the American quarantine operations, the senior officers conducting the hearing were beginning to appreciate the problems of the captain of a diesel submarine in foreign waters, with a minimum of support from the homeland.