The sound of jet aircraft flying somewhere overhead put everyone at the little border crossing on edge. Everyone was expecting the Russians to do something and since they had taken the Ukraine, there wasn’t much to stop them. At the small border crossing two tanks were displayed with their guns pointed in the direction of Ukraine. A garrison of about 100 men and women kept an eye open in case the Russians made a move, but with a border of a little over fifty miles, it was impossible to watch it all. In just a few minutes the people on the grounds could feel the rumbling of heavy vehicles. Several aircraft streaked suddenly across the sky and released ordnance which took out both tanks and the small barracks the garrison was housed in. Two helicopters came up over the hill and began peppering the area with machine gun fire. Despite their efforts, the young soldiers were mowed down mercilessly. That did not prevent the garrison commander from sending a warning up the line. It didn’t mean much. Within ten minutes, highway 50 was filled with men and equipment. Only a small group stopped to secure the town. The rest were burning fuel to hop from one town to the next as quickly as possible. Their orders were to take highway 50 to R1, then all the way to Bratislava.
Captain Michael Hufnagel stepped from his cabin and walked up to the bridge of his ship, the German ship, Bayern, a Brandenburg Class multipurpose frigate. He had taken command just three months before and had taken his ship to the Mediterranean to operate with the Americans for a while as a part of their NATO Standing Naval Force. So far, the cruise had been exceptional. The American Navy was fun to work with and in the few times they had mixed with the officers on the American ships, friendships had begun.
Stepping onto the bridge of his small ship, he looked out from his anchorage in the Bay of Naples at the twinkling lights of the city and the looming hulk of the American aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln. Hufnagel couldn’t imagine commanding something that big. Germany had a navy of only about 85 ships of all types, including tugs. The Americans had hundreds, and the aircraft carrier was at the top of the list. He sipped some of the coffee from his mug. He had insisted that a supply be available in his cabin for just such times as these — quiet times when he could free his mind from the duties of running a ship and simply enjoy the world around him.
Hufnagel climbed into his chair and eased back to watch the sun come up. Looking through the bridge windows he noticed that two of the Russian Grisha class corvettes had gotten underway early. He shook his head. The Grishas looked rough, utilitarian. There were streaks of rust down their sides and he could see smoke coming from one of the stacks. Hufnagel couldn’t believe the Russians still sent the things to sea. He watched as they began to make their way from the inner harbor out toward the entrance of the bay. They were passing close to the Lincoln.
A strange popping noise came from the direction of the corvettes. Hufnagel grabbed binoculars and peered into them. The two corvettes had turned their twin 57 mm guns toward the carrier and had opened fire, blasting numerous holes into the side of the great ship near the waterline.
Hufnagle jumped up and reached for the ship’s announcing system. “Battle stations!” he called out. “The Russians are attacking the American carrier. All hands to your battle stations!” he nearly screamed as he reached over and sounded the general alarm.
Almost immediately his crew sprang from their beds and rushed to their stations. Calling down to engineering, Hufnagel ordered the ship’s engines brought online. Men were rushing into the bridge now, taking up their stations. Within minutes the ship was fully manned and ready. Hufnagel ordered the ship’s anchor hauled in.
The two corvettes continued to fire into the carrier. As the anchor was raised, Hufnagel noticed both ships suddenly pick up speed. You won’t get away that easy, he said to himself. “Intercept those ships,” he ordered. The ship’s diesels began to pick up their revolutions as the ship gained steerageway.
Dashing back into his combat information center, Hufnagel ordered his gunners to target the corvettes. In seconds, the 76 mm OTO-Melara twisted in its mount and opened fire. As the ship picked up speed, he saw splashes from his gun all around the leading corvette. As the distance narrowed, the ship’s LM 2500 gas turbines came online and he felt the screws dig deeper, urging the German frigate towards the enemy.
There was a hit. One of the 76 mm shells struck just at the base of the corvette’s mast nearly ripping the radars and fire control director from the ship. A second round hit at the base of the stack as the corvette’s gun opened fire on the Bayern. That hit, caused the ship to slow and stop. Even the gun quit operating.
Not so the second corvette. It continued to increase speed and its gun had found the range. Shells splashed on either side of the frigate. Shifting fire to the second corvette, the German crew frantically fired on their targets. The firing rate got even better when one of the 57 mm rounds struck among the life raft capsules just aft of the bridge. The firing remained fast and furious with several hits reported on the corvette and another hit knocking the Thales air search radar antenna off the Bayern.
Just as it looked as if the corvette might get away, a round penetrated her after gun and exploded inside the magazine below. The resulting explosion blew the stern completely off the corvette. Turning his attention back to the first corvette, Hufnagel saw them frantically trying to turn the ship’s torpedo tubes outboard to launch. He signaled for them to surrender. Machine gun fire erupted from a spot on the small ship’s stern. With reluctance, Hufnagel ordered his gun to open fire.
Firing from point blank range, the rounds peppered the small corvette’s hull. Smoke and flames seemed to come out of every opening on the ship, yet the machine gun continued. The small ship sank until only the top of its mast was visible above the waters of the bay.
Norfolk was quiet. It was 11 pm and the Thanksgiving feast would begin the next day. Despite the orders to keep as many ships as possible at sea, a number were in port, including two carriers. Most sailors had been given liberty and were still in town enjoying the extended holiday. Radar watches for the area were lightly manned and in the defense centers there was an anticipation of a few days off with families. The operators watched their screens, not really anticipating seeing anything. Nothing appeared on their scopes.
The first warning came when the sound of jet engines streaked just 50 feet over Interstate 60 and Fort Wool at the entrance to Hampton Roads. Turning sharply to the left, the missiles centered on the first ship they saw — the carrier USS Dwight D. Eisenhower. The first three missiles struck along her port side, just below the flight deck overhang. Penetrating the hull, the warheads went off just below the hanger deck in the berthing spaces and shops. The fourth missile skimmed the flight deck and struck the island structure, tearing a hole through the center. The explosion sent steel and flames through the other side of the island and hitting USS Nimitz on the other side.