“Good. Let their first indication we are here come from a bomb blast. Now get on this, Captain. No slip ups,” Lineman demanded.
***
Because they had all been waiting for three hours, the pilots were ready and anxious to get going. The thought that they might actually sink ships like the old days had them all eager to go. The crews had already loaded the weapons on the planes in anticipation of the attack. As a result, the additional CAP took off just twenty minutes after the order was given. The mixture of older F-18s and the newer F-35s began launching from each of the three catapults on the ship. Because of their stealth capabilities, the F-35s went high, while the 18s stayed low to the water. Not a radio was keyed. Each pilot lined up with their squadron leader and turned toward the target 300 miles away. Flying at around 500 miles an hour, it wouldn’t take long.
Leading the Lightnings, Commander Jake McClusky had told his people to spread out, but maintain visual contact with the others. If there was a problem, they were to follow him wherever he went. He had taken the squadrons up to 20,000 feet. Although his receivers were seeing the same emissions they had seen on the ship, he was confident that the F-35 Lightnings would remain undetected. From up that high, he could see out a long way.
The McClusky name was well known in naval aviation. His great grandfather, Wade McClusky had led the squadrons from USS Enterprise against the Japanese at the Battle for Midway. His father had told him stories about what his great grandfather had done and when McClusky had earned his wings at Pensacola, the whole family was there to see him follow in his footsteps.
In a way, what they were about to do was very much like Midway. The lower squadrons were going in like the torpedo planes had done. He and his fighters were up high to attack from above and hopefully draw off any fighters. With the way the Russians were using their radars, he was surprised they hadn’t already run into them.
After only ten minutes of flying, McClusky was getting concerned. From this altitude, they should have seen any large formations of ships by now. Most people didn’t know that it was the white wake that aviators could see before anything else. All he could see was open sea. True, there were some spotty clouds, but not enough to hide under. Still under radio silence, he couldn’t voice those concerns. Instead, he and his squadrons continued on course. If the enemy was steaming slowly, there would be no wake to give them away.
Ten minutes more and McClusky’s concerns were growing. He looked over at his wingman, who was showing some concern of his own. Surely, this could not be a dry run. McClusky threw up both hands to signal his frustration. They continued on.
Commander Dick Reiner was leading the F-18s down below. At his altitude, he had no expectations of seeing the enemy ships until within twenty miles of them. That would change in just five minutes when he would switch on his radar to guide them in the rest of the way. Their task was to fire off Harpoons first, then follow them in for low level bomb runs. Two in the squadron were carrying anti-radiation missiles in case the Russians locked on. Three had been ordered to jettison their bombs and switch to fighter mode if Russian fighters came in. No matter what, they would get through.
Watching his clock, when the time came, he switched on his radar only to find two ships ahead of them. ‘This ain’t right,’ he said to himself. Using the voice recognition software in the Link 16, he said, “This isn’t right. There’s only two ships out here. Group two, break left and form up with four. One and three join up with me. We’re going to see what we’re up against,” he ordered. His words were printed on each screen in the force.
While most of the squadron pulled away to the left, Reiner and his two wingmen went on in. At fifty miles he toggled off his Harpoon and watched it fly ahead. His section sent their missiles ahead as well. They watched two distant spots on the horizon begin to grow before them. “They are an old Kashin class destroyer and a Nanutchka corvette. Both seemed to be brimming with antennas,” Reiner sent on the link. Reiner watched as the ships launched missiles to try and intercept the Harpoons. One Harpoon exploded midair, but the others continued on, striking the ships several times, and sending flames and debris high into the air. Two more missiles were fired just before the Harpoons hit and both flew straight for Reiner and his wingmen. “Missiles, break!” he shouted into the radio as he switched on his countermeasures. The three planes broke away with flares popping out behind them. At first, the missiles seemed to follow, but Reiner noticed that the one following him was veering away. Obviously the countermeasures were working. The missile streaked past over 200 yards away without going off.
It didn’t work as well for one of his wingmen. The second missile exploded within twenty feet of her F-18, sending fragments into her port engine and setting the fuel alight. He could see her struggling to get control of the aircraft, but within seconds, it exploded around her. She hadn’t had time to eject.
Angry at what had happened, Reiner turned his aircraft back toward the Russian ships. He was gratified that his other wingman had kept up. He gave up on the link and keyed the radio again. “Zero one to zero three, follow me in,” he said.
The two F-18s banked back toward the destroyer burning fiercely in the distance. The Nanutchka was gone. The destroyer was listing to starboard with four gaping holes in her side. The crew was scampering all along her deck trying to put out fires. He saw one of the gun mounts turn. Signaling his wingman, he selected two of the guided bombs he had aboard. When close enough he let them go. The munitions did as they were designed, plowing straight toward the helpless destroyer. Both of Reiner’s bombs hit their target. He flew over the ship and banked hard to starboard, then watched pieces of the ship fly upwards from his two bombs and again as his wingman’s weapons struck. The old Kashin rolled over. Reiner and his wingman circled twice, but the last they saw was the stern tilting up in the sky before the final plunge.
McClusky watched from his vantage point and cussed. This was about as screwed up as Hogan’s goat. Somebody would pay for this screw up. Remembering what the intel officer had said, he keyed his link access. “All flights, follow me,” he ordered, turning his aircraft to the northwest. Somewhere out there was an enemy carrier. He was going to find it.
***
Aboard the Kennedy, Lineman and Toland listened to what had come out over the radio and on Link 16. Lineman reached up and keyed a radio to talk to the airmen. Toland watched in horror as the red transmit light came on. He instinctively knocked the microphone out of Lineman’s hand. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Admiral!” he demanded.
“Watch yourself, Captain, I need to talk to those pilots,” Lineman said.
“Well, you just gave away where we are by keying that mike. And for what? A Kashin,” Toland exclaimed. “A godamned Kashin! One of the oldest ships in their fleet. You better hope those people find that carrier or you may find out we are the target instead of them!” Toland said in disgust. He punched the bitch box. “Pri Fly, Strike. Launch the Hawkeye.”
On the flight deck, the E-2 Hawkeye began turning over its turboprop engines. Within a minute it was launched and making its way toward the last known position of the Russian carrier. It took fifteen minutes to reach its position and turn on its radar. In the back of the aircraft the operators gasped at what they saw.
“Alpha Alpha, this is Hawk One. Multiple inbounds zero two zero, seventy five miles. I say again, multiple inbounds zero two zero, seventy five miles. CAP one, break left. Target at your three five zero, range twenty,” he began. Within another minute the fighters protecting the carrier were engaged, but there were too many enemy aircraft and way too late to stop them all.