Sic Semper Tyrannis (43 page)

“No one to challenge us, yes,” agreed Samir.  “Except
them
,” he said in a tired voice.

ADMIRAL NELLA STOOD NEXT to Captain Davis on
Roosevelt’s
crowded bridge.  The two officers stared out the bank of windows facing the bow of the mighty carrier.  The last of
Roosevelt's
interceptors clawed their way into the sky as white billowy steam rolled across the deck from the catapults.  The Admiral couldn't believe his ears.

"Jamming?  What the hell kind of jamming can interfere with all of a plane’s systems and affect flight controls?"

Davis frowned.  "Whatever the hell it is, I don't like the sound of it."  He pointed at the digital display hanging from the ceiling in front of the Captain's Chair.  "We’ve already lost three from Hawk flight and two from Hammer flight.  Just listening to what chatter we can decipher tells me that something is seriously wrong out there."

The Admiral folded his arms and stared out the slanted window towards the horizon.  A hundred miles further west lay the shoreline of New York City and the much larger than expected Russian fleet in the Upper Bay.  He slammed a fist down on the closest railing.

It was the endgame.  Without taking his eyes from the pitching bow, the Admiral said quietly, "Let's bring the rest of the fleet in line and unleash the cruisers."

CAPTAIN NIKOLAI ILLYANOVICH CALMLY looked out his ship’s aft bridge windows.  The order had gone out to the fleet to make ready for battle, so Russia’s one and only aircraft carrier was now spitting jets into the sky, looking for a fight.  He could hear from the loudspeakers above his captain's chair that the air battle was going extremely well for Mother Russia.

He smiled and took another sip from his fine black tea.  The age of American dominance over all things military was finally coming to a crashing halt.  After today, there would be no doubt that Russia would rule the world's oceans.  He was sure this day would go down as one of the greatest naval engagements in modern history.

Ah, if only I was in one of those planes up there…

A junior officer approached him and handed over a clipboard for his signature.  He glanced down at the report, nodded to himself, and signed off on the requisition.  Glancing out the windows once more, a smile returned to his face as he saw a missile erupt in a cloud of smoke from the side of one of the Russian cruisers and streak into the sky seeking an American plane.

The trap had been perfectly set and now it had been perfectly sprung.  The jamming device that the Army had deployed in downtown New York City was just as effective as he'd been promised.  He could not be happier.  It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.  He took another sip of tea.

“First, Yuri,” he said to his XO, “we will clear the sky of those planes they sent up to harass us.”

Yuri grunted.  “F-35C.  Stealth fighter.”  He shook his head.  “Even with our jamming, they will not be easy to kill.”

Illyanovich raised an eyebrow and glanced at his lieutenant.  “But we outnumber them.  Surely you have more faith in our own pilots, yes?”

“Of course, captain,” replied the XO.  Color crept up his neck above his uniform.  “I am concerned about the surface vessels that are approaching from the south—”

The captain exhaled loudly and waved off his lieutenant’s concern.  “One half-dead carrier and what looks like a handful of damaged destroyers and guided-missile cruisers.  No match for the fleet we have assembled here.  This day will go down in naval history, Yuri!  Try to show a little enthusiasm.”

He held up his hand for silence when the loudspeaker broke squelch—he had the command frequency piped into the bridge so he could hear the chatter while he watched the air battle.  It was most exhilarating. 

“
Commander, have your bombers break formation and target the enemy cruisers as soon as they are within range.  The dogfighting should be over soon
,” the voice of the carrier’s captain announced.

Illyanovich smiled and took another sip of tea.  There were no submarine threats in the area and with the jamming device operating on Manhattan, there wasn’t a whole lot for his destroyer to worry about.  Time to enjoy the show.

COMMANDER UMBRIS FROWNED OVER the shoulder of his sonar chief.  The readout before him showed twenty surface vessels, not nine.  This was no token fleet, but a combined carrier battle group representing 90% of Russia’s North-Atlantic fleet. 

From Moscow with love…

Umbris returned to the command room.  “Cap’n has the conn,” called out Whitaker. 

"All hands to battle stations," Umbris said as he strolled toward the periscope stack.  A klaxon sounded the alert and the soft blue lighting in the ops center changed to red.  Non-essential personnel shut down their duty stations and exited quickly to get to their assigned damage control stations.  The boat fairly hummed with pent up aggression.

“Bring us to launch depth,” Umbris called out as he watched the tactical display update information.  He ignored the sound of Whitaker bringing the boat up from the murky depths and focused on the positions of the Russian ships on his display.

“Coming to launch depth now, sir,” announced the sub driver.

“Flood the bays and pop the doors,” Umbris said, still watching the Russian fleet.

“Flooding tubes and opening torpedo bay doors, aye, sir,” said the Fire Control Technician of the Watch.  The young man’s voice held steady.  “Coming to launch depth, sir.”

“Very well,” said Umbris.  He reached up and pulled down a dangling mic.  “WEPS, CONN—I want firing solutions on as many targets as you can handle, but get me that carrier first.”

“
CONN, WEPS.  Firing solutions on all targets, aye, sir,
” replied the weapons control chief.

“Let’s spool up the Tomahawks.  This is a bigger threat than anyone realized.  I want to be able lop some heads off quick.”

“Aye, sir.”  Whittaker turned and bellowed out the orders to bring the
Hampton’s
battery of Tomahawk cruise missiles online.

A few tense moments passed.  Umbris watched the ship’s clock tick by critical seconds.  The constant training he pushed his crew through paid off—the ship was ready launch and send enemy ships to Davy Jones’ Locker a full three seconds faster than the best recorded drill time.

“
CONN, WEPS: Firing solutions locked in for the carrier, sir.”

Umbris frowned.  Something was off.  There were no Russian subs…anywhere.  The Russians had the second largest navy in the world and were infamous for their obsession with submarine warfare.  For a surface fleet to attack New York without submarines…it was beyond strange. 

Surely they had to accompany that carrier—hell, they only have
one
…

He waited two more minutes until the time designated by NEPTUNE GOAL to start his attack.

“WEPS, CONN.  Fire as you bear.” 

ADMIRAL NELLA FROWNED AS he examined the floor-to-ceiling tactical display in
Roosevelt’s
Combat Information Center.  The darkened room was lit only by the softly glowing terminals and touchscreens that ringed the room.  Captain Davis stood on the other side of the display and circled the Russian fleet with his finger, leaving a thin red line around the cluster of red dots.

“From nine to suddenly nineteen ships.  Whatever they’re using to jam us in the air isn’t having an effect on the subs, thank God,” said the captain.

“That’s something,” grunted the Old Man. 

“Sir,” reported a sailor from the comms terminal. 
“Zeus
reports they’ve calculated the radius of the jamming based on communications from our fighters.”

“Throw it up on the screen, ensign,” said Davis.

“Aye, sir.”

The display changed to a large gray-blue swatch of land and ocean, centered on the southern tip of Manhattan.  A blinking yellow dot indicated the center of the jamming zone.  The Russian fleet sat well inside its sphere of influence.  Davis sucked air through his teeth as he watched the dozens of blue dots—his fighters—moved around like gnats in front of a bug zapper, as they dodged in an out of the jamming zone, trying to engage the Russians.

As they watched, two more blue dots brightened and then went out.  Two more aviators had just met fiery deaths over American waters.

“That jamming is killing us.  Any effect on the cruisers?” asked Admiral Nella.

“Sir,
Anzio
reports that cruise missile targeting solutions have been reduced to half-mile radius accuracy.”

“Jesus,” muttered Davis.  Without that jamming, he would have been confident that
Anzio’s
skipper could have dropped a cruise missile through a
window
on one of the Russian ships—maybe right into the bridge.  But half-mile accuracy?  They would most likely hit water and kill fish, not Russians.  The cruisers were effectively out of the fight.  Unless…

“Torpedo in the water!” called out another voice.

The tactical screen changed, illuminating six small blue triangles that appeared in front of the dot that represented
Hampton
.   Davis tapped the screen with the fingers of his right hand.  A zoom-box appeared over top of the main display, showing the location and vectors of the torpedoes.  Target lines shot out from the triangles and intersected with Russian ships.  Three of the torpedoes aimed for the carrier.

The Admiral pointed at
Princeton’s
little flotilla on the screen.  “She’s outside the jamming radius.”  He raised his voice and called out, “Order
Princeton
and her escorts to target that jamming signal.  I want a full Tomahawk strike.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Where the hell are their subs?” asked Davis.

The Admiral held up his hand.  “If we don’t get that jamming knocked out, we’re not going to win this fight.  If
Princeton
can’t shut it down,
Anzio
will attack—then the subs.  Send the coordinates of that jamming site to the fleet.  We’ve got to knock that thing off-line.”

Another circle appeared on the map—a yellow tinted one centered on the Russian fleet.  “SAM launches, sirs—
Zeus
is reporting multiple launches.  The Russian ships are moving to engage us.”

“Enemy torpedoes in the water!” a high pitched voice called out in the semi-darkness.

Six red blips appeared out to sea, well east of
Roosevelt
.   A handful of larger red dots flickered into life and then disappeared as fast as they had appeared.  The Admiral sighed. 

“Well, at least now we know where the Russian subs are…”

“Prepare countermeasures and alert the fleet.” Davis said.

The Air Boss nodded.  “Already vectored our LAMPs helos—we’ll run ‘em to ground.”

“Good, locate and attack the subs, we’ll send the destroyers after them,” said Davis.  He knew it was only a matter of time before the anti-sub helicopters launched from
Roosevelt
found the Russians and began dropping sonar markers and light torpedoes.  The destroyers would hone in on those markers like hound dogs.

“Aye, sir,” replied the Air Boss.

“Reese
and
Madison
moving to intercept the Russian subs, sir. 
Reese
reports they have contact with four Russian
Akula-
class submarines,” said the young man at the comm station.  He watched the captain with one hand on the headphones he wore.  In the red-tinted darkness he looked like some sort of insect-like alien. 

“They’re going after
Anzio!
” someone said.

Davis turned back to the tactical display in time to see a red dot disappear near the
Anzio’s
position.  Another one collided with the ship’s image and a yellow circle appeared.  Two of the remaining torpedoes were destroyed by the other cruisers and the last two kissed the hulls of
Roosevelt’s
destroyer escorts.

“Reese
and
Madison
are hit,” reported the ensign at comms. 
“Reese’s
dead in the water but afloat.  No further contact from
Madison…”

“I got a lock on those subs, they’re moving fast, coming right at us, sir.”

“Torpedo in the water!  Multiple contacts!”

“Oh my God,” muttered Davis.  The threat screen lit up like a Christmas tree.

ANOTHER EXPLOSION ECHOED ACROSS the Upper Bay.  Malcolm turned his attention away from the Russian warships and looked up at the greasy smear in the sky where an American jet had been destroyed.  He trained his binoculars on the smoky blossom and smiled as he saw the bits and pieces of the broken plane fall out of the cloud.  Beside him, General Kristanoff laughed.

"You see?  We swat them from sky like flies.  They will be unable to resist us."