At 2333 the Newport News abruptly stopped firing. I could hear the klaxon’s blare and the loudspeakers in the mounts call out, “Cease fire, cease fire.” The shore-gunfire phase of Lion’s Den had been completed. The Rowan had fired her preplanned missions and launched her Shrikes five minutes ago and had been detached and cleared to depart the objective area. The Providence and Robison had also finished up and were retiring to the south.
I stepped back inside the sound-proofed air-conditioned pilothouse. Captain Zartman came up to tell me that all the Newport News’ assigned targets had been covered and that several secondary explosions had been noted at Cat Ba Airfield and the ammunition dump. As he was speaking, a dungaree-clad sailor with the outsized steel helmet of a battle telephone talker was tugging at the captain’s sleeve. “Captain,” he said in an even, clear voice, “Combat [CIC] reports a surface target, designated Skunk Alfa, at ten thousand yards bearing 088, heading for us at high speed.”
It took no time at all for this to sink in. Without hesitating, the captain issued a stream of orders and the bridge reacted with an efficiency and a coolness that belied the sudden and ominous change in the tactical situation. Skunk Alfa was designated a hostile threat, all gun batteries were to take the target under fire, CTU 77.1.2 was informed, and the Rowan was directed to rejoin the Newport News.
I took a look at the navigation chart on the plotting table. Ten thousand yards at 088 degrees put Skunk Alfa, now visually identified with night observation devices (NOD) as a P-6 class Soviet-made fast attack craft, in the vicinity of Île de Norway, near a collection of small karst islands extending south of Cat Ba. This little archipelago was well suited for an ambush site. The rocks and pinnacles were already making it difficult for the fire-control radars to lock on to the patrol boat.
For what seemed an interminable time after the captain had given the order, the cruiser’s guns were still not firing. Then the gunnery officer reported that the target’s relative bearing was virtually dead ahead and the firing circuits for the 8-inch guns cut out at low angles of fire over the bow because of an electronics antenna that had recently been installed on the forecastle. The ship’s heading was brought hard right to unmask the battery, and all of the cruiser’s port-side guns opened up, firing as rapidly as they could be loaded.
Within minutes, the gunnery officer reported Skunk Alfa appeared to be on fire and seemed to be turning to escape on a northerly course. At almost that same instant, the intercom from CIC rang out with a report of two more skunks with the same characteristics as Alfa, sixteen thousand yards dead ahead, moving from left to right. They were apparently heading to cut across Newport News’ southerly retirement route. As the cruiser’s guns swung around to take this new threat under fire, again there was the problem of not being able to fire dead ahead. The quickest maneuver to unmask the batteries was a turn back to port, and this would put the Newport News again on an easterly course, headed for the shoals of Île de Norway rather than toward the retirement track to the south.
There was little choice. The P-6s were crossing the cruiser’s bow with the bearing drifting to the right. Only a left turn would quickly bring the 8-inch guns to bear. As the ship came left in a tight heeling turn, the cruiser’s guns swung out to the right giving the starboard 5- and 3-inch batteries their first crack at the enemy. Again the cruiser’s guns banged in rapid continuous fire, and the twenty-one-thousand-ton hull was again shuddering from the recoil and concussion.
In spite of the hail of projectiles, the P-6s continued to come. Their zigzagging approach through the many ship-sized karst islands had confused the cruiser’s radars. Tracking by optics was being hampered by the darkness of the night and the many islets. Worst of all, though, was the confusing effect of our own fire.
In the process of rejoining, the Rowan had been remanning battle stations and there was some confusion in the magazines. Several star shells had been fired by her 5-inch guns and had detonated prematurely, so that the flares hung at a low altitude between our ships and the enemy. Instead of silhouetting the P-6s, the patrol craft became effectively screened from us behind the glare.
There was one among the Rowan’s crew that night who possibly had the best vantage point. Dana Perkins, a third-class signalman at the time, was manning his GQ station on the exposed signal bridge. Perkins relates:
I remember the night of the Haiphong Harbor pretty well. I don’t think they passed the word of our objective until shortly before general quarters, as I’m sure the mission was of utmost importance and secret. Also I think that they didn’t want us to have much time to think about what was about to unfold. As a signalman I was on the highest point on the ship and had a clear view of all the action. Myself and three other signalmen were manning the Redeye shoulder-fired missiles, loaded, armed, and ready to squeeze the trigger in the event the time should come. When we started to see the lit shoreline and lighted buoys of the harbor, make no mistake about it, the tension was high. All of a sudden the whole shoreline lit up with counterbattery, spewing bright fireballs as each round was fired at us. The North Vietnamese weren’t using flashless powder like we had.
At one time I remember counting about twenty-two shore batteries rapid firing at the squadron. The shells were dropping all around us, leaving thunderous columns of white spray as they splashed into the ocean. Some of the shells were proximity and burst in the air. I remember one shell passed over the Rowan and burst in the air, causing the shrapnel to hit the side of the ship. I think it put some heavy-duty dents on the starboard side of the ship along the upper outer passageway. Luckily no one was hit! The whole time the ships in the squadron were firing on their intended targets with gun mounts and Shrike missiles. It was like the most intense Fourth of July display I’d ever seen. The Newport News was off our port side at about 270 relative position, rapid firing her 8-inch guns as fast as they could. All of a sudden the word came over the sound-powered phone that we had 2 torpedo boats (Russian Osha class, I believe), about eighty feet long, coming out to attack. The guys in the magazine were jamming whatever shells they could get their hands on into the hoist. The first round that we hit one of those boats with was actually a practice starburst round, and it tore right through it. The second round did explode.
To keep Skunks Bravo and Charlie under continuous fire with all batteries, the Newport News had been maneuvering on easterly and southeasterly courses and would soon run out of sea room. When a report was received from another ship, the Providence, that a fourth fast patrol boat had been detected, it became increasingly evident we needed to clear up the tactical situation as quickly as possible.
I told Captain Zartman I was going to call for some help from tactical air. The pillars of AA fire had reminded me of the presence of carrier planes in the area, and that they would be loaded with flares and weapons for targets in Route Package Six. Commander, Task Unit 77.1.2 would not have been aware of their presence or capabilities. It was not an asset he would normally deal with. On the other hand, at the Seventh Fleet level I was informed on a daily basis of the operations of all fleet units.