In the magazines, the crews began unloading the metal canisters holding the 110 lb. bags of powder and placing the bags in a line along a brass trough where they could be slid down to the end for loading through the passing scuttles into the annular space and then again into the turret.
Inside the turrets on the projectile decks, the crews used the parbuckling gear to move the giant projectiles into the three hoists so that they were ready to be loaded into the breeches of the guns. They already knew that the first rounds would be general purpose rounds. The green painted rounds only weighed 1,900 pounds. But off to the side were black ones. They were the 2,700 pound armor piercing rounds. Although they doubted anything they might come up against would need them, they were always available.
When general quarters finally sounded, the ready reports came almost instantly. Rhodes grinned. His ship and crew were ready.
The after lookout had to move to a position just above turret three. The stern of the ship had dipped so low that water was now cascading across the teak deck enough to possibly cause someone to fall and go over the side. Down in Main Control the engineers were watching the torque gauges. The thrust bearing end was already one and a half revolutions ahead of the screws, yet the old girl had more to give. Kimberlain ordered another revolution of the throttle. Once again, the pressure gauges went up and the shafts turned faster. According to the pit log they were doing 35 knots.
Hammond sat on the edge of his seat. Someone had said the Iowa was turning. He zoomed in the large display to see only the two battle groups. Now Iowa and the Kirov were headed straight for each other. He saw the speed display inch upward. “He’s going to do it,” Hammond said to no one in particular.
The German Chancellor looked over at him. “Do what?”
Hammond was almost beside himself. He had a look of complete satisfaction on his face. “The Iowa is going to take on the Russian battle group. I wish I was there with them.”
“But there are only three ships in the Iowa group. There are seven in the other,” the Chancellor exclaimed.
“I know. But they can do it,” Hammond said confidently. He turned to the watch officer. “Send to the Iowa via the link, good hunting, Hammond.”
Sir Richard burst into the room and rushed over to the two men. “I just heard. Wouldn’t miss this for the world. How soon will they meet,” he asked.
“About an hour. They are closing right now at about sixty knots,” said Hammond.
“Sixty? The Kirov can’t do much more than twenty five!”
Hammond chuckled. “I would venture Dan Kimberlain is down in his hole right now turning those shafts through force of will,” he said.
The incoming cruise missiles turned on their radars about one hundred miles from where they expected their target. At first, they saw nothing at all. The first one, then another target showed up on their radars about twenty degrees from where they had been aimed. The missiles turned toward their targets.
Hustvedt watched as the missiles tracked in. All of his ships were ready but had kept their cloaks on. He saw the missiles make a turn towards their targets. The missiles began dropping down to just 100 feet above the sea to skim in at a lower level. Their speed was supersonic. He turned to his watch officer. “Tell them to resume cloak and get the hell out of there,” he said.
Sixty miles to the south, eight Seahawk helicopters switched their cloaks back on and began moving quickly back to their ships with the rest of the invasion force. Within two minutes the cruise missiles screamed past their position and headed into southern Georgia. One by one they ran out of fuel and crashed in a large explosion in the mountains near Zoti.
“We have a contact,” Skelly almost screamed into the sound powered phones. After an hour of searching along the bearing through his optics he finally saw what looked like a Top Pair radar antenna in the viewfinder. Within a second they had determined the range. “Target bears 122 at 60,000 yards.”
“It’s still too far for the machine,” said one of the fire control technicians.
“That’s okay,” said the Weapons Officer. “Now that we have him, he can’t get away.”
The range closed rapidly. Within ten minutes the data was entered into the Ford Rangekeeper and the computer began generating a solution for the guns. On deck, warning bells began sounding as the giant turrets began rotating along their roller paths to point toward their target.
In the turrets, the men heard the order, “All turrets, nine gun salvo, load.”
Immediately the projectiles rose from the projectile decks and were in position inside the gun house. The powders rose from the bottom of the turret in their elevators. The breeches opened and the ramps were lowered into place. First, the projectile was shoved by the rammers into the open breech to mesh with the rifling in the gun barrel. The rammer was retracted and the door for the powders opened. The first three and then a second set of three bags of powder rolled down into the tray and were more slowly rammed into the breech behind the projectile. Behind the gun, a primerman inserted a primer into the breech block and stood back. When the powders were in position, the rammer retracted, the ramps were pulled back, and the breech was closed and sealed. The guns elevated almost to a full 45 degrees.
“One one two, forty thousand yards,” reported Skelly.
“Set!” shouted an officer in Main Battery Plot. The computer was generating an accurate solution, keeping up with the pace of both the target and own ship.
The Weapons Officer pressed the button on the bitch box. “Bridge, main plot. Weapons are on target, plot is set. Request batteries released.”
Rhodes leaned over and pressed the button. “Weaps this is the Captain. You have batteries released at 38,000 yards.” He then ordered a slight left turn to unmask all the guns.
Everyone below watched as the dials spun down on the Rangekeeper. When they passed 38,000 yards, the Weapons Officer personally squeezed the trigger.
The guns roared to life sending a flame high into the air. The projectiles took a minute to get to their target. During that time a second salve was fired.
There was a sound of tearing linen just before nine rounds struck the sea on the starboard side of the ship some fifty yards away. The sound of the rounds going off shook the ship as water rose a good 100 feet above the waves.
“What was that?” screamed Admiral Kosygin.
Suvorov stared out the bridge windows in amazement. His worst fears had just come true. He turned in a rage to the admiral. “They are the shells of an American battleship, you idiot,” he yelled. “Where are they coming from?” he asked his deck officer.
“We don’t know, Captain. There is nothing on the radar.”
“Order the others to escape as best they can,” ordered the admiral.
Skelly saw the rounds fall fifty yards to the right of the target. He called down to the plot. “Right five, no change in range. Fire for effect,” he called out.
In Main Battery Plot the corrections were entered into the Rangekeeper just before the third salve fired.
Rhodes ordered Spot two to shift to the Slava class cruiser Moskva. Turret three shifted to that target and opened fire.
The second salvo was also on the right side of the ship. “I need to know where these rounds are coming from,” he yelled to his radar operators.
“There isn’t anything there, Captain!” came the reply.
A lookout called into the pilot house. “Sir, I have something on the horizon dead ahead!”