Remembering his English, Misha stammered out, “Thank you.” The guy gave him a wink and went to the next man. Looking around Misha saw that the large room was now filled with Russian sailors.
The old air base hadn’t been used in over thirty years. But when all the other bases had been hit, Major Vasilev had landed his flight of ten Sukhoi SU-25 bombers on the old runway and taxied over to the dilapidated hangars. His orders had been to rush down and attack American ships making the landings in Georgia, but the bases he was supposed to go to were nothing but rubble now. The hangars on the abandoned base weren’t usable, so the aircraft had to sit on the grass choked concrete pads just outside.
There were no telephones at the facility and he had to walk half a mile to an old house where the phones worked. Despite the urgency, it had taken hours for the trucks to arrive to refuel and restart the aircraft, but now they were ready. The word had come from the Naval Headquarters that American ships were attacking the Black Sea Fleet. It gave a latitude and longitude.
Vasilev climbed into his plane and watched as the others did the same. They probably wouldn’t come back from this, but it was their duty. Going against the Americans with just bombs was simply not a good idea. The SU-25 was more suited for a ground attack role, although these had been modified to land on a carrier. His flight carried only general purpose 250 pound bombs.
The ground crews hooked up the power units and the aircraft were spooled up. Vasilev signaled for the others to follow and he began to taxi to the end of the old airfield. He hoped it was even enough for them to take off. He pressed his throttles to the maximum and his aircraft bound down the runway, bumping over potholes and other obstacles until it clawed into the air. In just two minutes he was gratified to see all of his flight take formation around him. They turned toward the reported fighting.
Despite the sinking there were hundreds in the water. Some had made it into rafts while others desperately tried making their way to the boats in the near freezing water. Onboard the Iowa, the crew worked desperately to get as many of the sailors onboard and comfortable as they could. Danner’s instructions were to get the most seriously injured below to the after messdecks for triage and let the others go to the forward messdecks and Chief’s mess. The officers were sent to the wardroom where they could rest. No one was questioned about anything, but the crewmen were surprised that so many of the sailors seemed relieved to be “captured” and out of the war.
The ship’s cooks had already left their stations to prepare hot soup and sandwiches for the Russians. Blankets were stripped off the engineering racks below to help them stay warm and dry off. The Russian uniforms were made of wool, which did not lend them to being put in a drier. The sailors were told to get out of their uniforms and keep warm in the blankets while the laundry tried to “cool dry” the uniforms.
Doc Dickerson and his team took the worst of the injured to sick bay. Burns were given first priority. Other injuries, such as deep lacerations were next. Soon sick bay was full and the wardroom was switched to a battle dressing station for the less seriously injured. Everyone pitched in.
Vasilev watched his radar to see any ships below. There was nothing. Flying at 10,000 feet, the gray daylight made the sea look dark and cold. With nothing on his screens, he wondered at the directions he had been given. Calls to his controllers repeated the same instructions and the same position. If he didn’t find them soon, he might have to return to base. He was definitely not going to ditch in that sea.
The Link showed the slower moving aircraft coming close. With the ship stopped, Rhodes hoped they would not be seen. The cloak could do wonders, but it didn’t make them invisible to someone looking at them. Luckily, from the air, it was usually a wake that caught a pilot’s attention. Right now, Iowa was sitting still. Only the utility boats were moving. “How’s it going back aft?” Rhodes asked one of the watch standers.
In a minute the word came back. “Only about half so far, Captain.”
Rhodes nodded. “Tell them there are some aircraft in the area. Hurry it up,” he said.
“Aye, sir.”
On the fantail, Father Danner had his hands full. There were more than he had expected. Urging his team on, they continued helping the injured down the ladders into the messdecks area.
It was a fluke. A shaft of the sun shone down on the water through the grey clouds and Vasilev saw something. Picking up his binoculars, he stared at the area of the sea. There appeared to be a large ship stopped. What’s more, there were boats in the water around yellow life rafts. There was no doubt the ship was an American and that they were picking up survivors of another ship. He keyed his radio.
“This is vulture flight. I have a large American ship that looks to be picking up Russian survivors in the water. I see yellow life rafts that match the ones we use. They appear to be rescuing them, over,” he reported.
“Vulture flight, attack that ship and sink it, over,” came the reply.
“This is vulture leader, I say again, they are helping rescue Russian sailors. If we attack, we will be killing our own people, over,”
A different voice came on the line. “This is Admiral Kratich. Vulture leader, you have your orders. I do not care what they are doing. That ship must be sunk! Now carry out your orders,” he said.
“I understand, Admiral, but you realize we are only carrying small bombs. They will not be able to sink this size ship, over.”
“Quit wasting time! If you cannot sink it, then damage it so we may finish the job later. Do your job!”
“Vulture leader, roger,” Vasiley said in disgust. He shook his head. How could the man order them to kill their own people? There was no reasoning. He motioned for his people to follow him as he turned toward the giant ship.
Rhodes saw the turn towards them. He punched the bitch box. “Bridge, Strike. All ahead flank! Get us underway fast. Those planes just turned toward us.” Then he grabbed the 1MC mike. “Incoming aircraft, clear the decks!” he called out as the ship began to move.
Down below, the directors turned toward the aircraft and turned on their radars. Using their optics, the five inch mounts began unloading shells at an alarming rate to attempt to stop the Russian pilots. The radars could not be used with the cloak, but their signal might trigger the ‘VT’ fuses on the projectiles when they got near an aircraft. In secondary plot, the old computers could not generate a solution for these aircraft. They were much faster than what the Rangefinder was designed for. It made no difference. The mounts were shooting under local control.
On the fantail, Danner heard the announcement. He leaned over the side and got the attention of the boatswain’s mate in the utility boat. “Get away from the ship and save as many as you can! We’ll come back once this is over,” he yelled over the guns.
The Boatswain waved up to him and turned his utility boat away from the ship. Looking back, he saw Danner raise his hand in the sign of the cross and looked like he said a short prayer before turning back to the others.
Danner turned toward Boats Patnaude. “Boats we got to get these people to safety if we can.”
“Too many. Let’s get as many as we can between the aft superstructure and turret three. At least there we can give them some protection. We can put some in the after passageways,” Patnaude shouted.
The Iowa crew helped the sailors get off the fantail. With the sudden vibration of the screws, the Russian sailors didn’t need coaxing. Someone closed the hatch leading below as the ship turned sharply.