“About like I do right now, Rabies.” The TACCO leaned forward, trying to see out of the cockpit. The sub was out of sight, lost to view by being head-on into the setting sun.
“Getting machinery noise, flow tones. Hull popping — she’s changing depth!” the AW said suddenly. “Sir, where is she?”
The TACCO felt a cold chill. “Rabies, get us out of the damned sun,” he said urgently.
“Ready one,” the copilot announced as the S-3B moved — now painfully slowly, it seemed to the TACCO — out of line of sight with the sun.
“Sir!” the AW insisted.
The TACCO strained forward to see out the canopy.
Below them, he saw disturbed water, dark shadows moving below the warm murk of the South China Sea. Was there movement? He couldn’t tell for sure. Illogically, he wondered whether the submarine could see him through the canopy, looking up at the aircraft through the periscope. Could it see his pale white face peering forward between the two pilots’ seats? He rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling the rough afternoon growth.
Suddenly, the water below them exploded into white froth and foam, boiling up from below like an undersea geyser reaching higher and higher into the sky. Twenty feet above the water, the sea peeled back like a banana skin, revealing the slender white form inside it.
“SHIT!” Rabies screamed, throwing the S-3B into a hard right turn. The copilot lurched in his seat as he completed the remaining sequences to drop the torpedo, coldly reporting his actions to the carrier. The TACCO felt the Viking buck, as 506 pounds of Mk-46 torpedo dropped away from the wing.
“It wasn’t a fucking Grail,” he shouted over the ICS. “That wasn’t aimed at us!”
“What the hell was that?” the E-2C was screaming at the same time over the tactical net. “Hunter, what the fuck?”
Rabies knew the rest of his crew had seen the missile, but they hadn’t really seen it. They’d seen what they expected to see — another SAM launched at their aircraft.
“It’s a cruise missile!” Rabies screamed over the net. It wouldn’t be bothering with the Viking circling overhead. No, the ships in the battle group provided a much more inviting target.
“Missile inbound, sir!” the EW yelled on the net, as his SLQ-32 ESM gear detected the missile seeker head and started blaring warnings. Seconds later, the air tracker jumped in, reporting the radar contact.
The TAO reacted instantly. The Aegis combat systems were fully capable of handling an entire air engagement on full automatic, doing everything from identifying threat targets to assigning weapons based on priorities and firing the air-to-air missiles. When it was on automatic. Under the current threat condition, though, it still required operator intervention.
The TAO acknowledged the contact on his screen, his fingers flashing over the keys. He was aware of the CO standing behind him, asking questions and demanding answers. Reflex and training paid off — within seconds, the SM-2MR streaked off the rails, another missile sliding into firing position immediately behind it.
The TAO, his eyes fixed on the radar screen, said, “One away, Captain.” Now that the actual missile was launched, he had a few seconds to wait before he would decide whether to launch a second salvo. There was still time.
It looked good. The attack geometry was perfect, and they’d had enough warning and data to get a good fix on the incoming missile. There were too many friendly ships and aircraft in the area to indiscriminately launch a spate of long-range missiles, especially when the geometry for a single-shot kill looked good.
Even if the missile missed, the cruiser had one last-ditch chance against it, as did the carrier. Both ships, as well as all the other ones in the battle group, were equipped with CIWS. The TAO prayed it wouldn’t be necessary. While CIWS could fire like a gatling-gun and nail a missile up to two miles away, even a destroyed missile would probably shower the ship with burning fragments of fuel and flak. The debris could knock out either the SPS-49 air radar or the super-sensitive SPY-1 that made the Aegis such a formidable platform.
Ten miles from the carrier, the SM2-MR caught up with the intruder. On the radar, the two blips merged, then disappeared. From the bridge it would have been a spectacular sight, the fireball of missile-on-missile lighting up the sky and reflecting off the water. Here in combat, in the bowels of the Aegis cruiser, only a faint dull thud provided outside confirmation of what their radars told them.
“I guess next time you’ll listen up,” the CO snarled. A look of unholy jubilation lit the older man’s face. “I knew those bastards would try something! If I hadn’t had those birds on the rails, we would all be toast! Think about that next time, before you start running off at the mouth.”
“Yes, sir.” The TAO leaned forward over his screen, staring at it as though it held some secret. Whatever doubts he’d had about the CO before seemed grossly unprofessional. No matter that Captain Killington had been prepared for air-launched missiles and a submarine had actually taken the shot. The launch platform was irrelevant because the captain’s instincts had been right. The TAO’s best judgment might have gotten the ship sunk.
He glanced over at his coffee cup. He’d drained down the last bitter dregs just before the missile shot. With the ship at General Quarters, he was unlikely to get a refill anytime soon. Not until they stood down to Condition Two, at any rate. It didn’t matter right now, while the adrenaline from the missile shot still pounded in his veins. Four hours from now, however, he knew he’d be aching for a caffeine fix.
Just as well that he couldn’t get a refill on the coffee right now. The other thing that was secured during General Quarters was the head.
He wondered whether caffeine deprivation and full bladders played much part in the course of war at sea. Probably so, he concluded, as he remembered that the Captain of the USS Stark had been in the head when his ship had taken a near-fatal missile shot in the Persian Gulf. That hadn’t been a declared war, either, although a lot of sailors had died.
From down here in the sandbox, he concluded, it didn’t matter that there was no declared war or prior warning. They could be just as dead, and just as short on head calls and coffee, as any force had been in a declared war.
At least with Captain Killington in command, it looked like Vincennes would never take a hit. And that was of more comfort to the TAO than caffeine right now.
CHAPTER 10
“Now just how the hell do we explain this to Seventh Fleet!” Tombstone shouted into the receiver. “This was supposed to be routine FON ops — how many times do I have to explain that to you? Do you think that includes lighting up a foreign national’s aircraft? With fire control radar? Do you suppose he and his government might take the slightest bit of offense at that? Damn it, Killington, that’s a violation of every known rule of peacetime engagement!”
“And because my ship was ready, I’m talking to you now, Admiral! With all due respect, if you are ordering me to compromise the safety of the Vincennes, I decline.” Captain Killington’s voice was coldly self-righteous.
Tombstone glanced across the desk at the JAG officer, a lawyer with extensive expertise in international maritime. The JAG shrugged and nodded.
No help from that corner, Tombstone thought. I know as well as he does that no Board of Inquiry will ever blame him. That SOB is damned lucky he got shot at! The end justifies the means, in this case. But it’s entirely probable that he provoked the whole incident.