The Admiral Kuznetsov caught four of the missiles. Two struck the ship’s island structure while a third struck the flight deck. The fourth actually struck a hangar door on the starboard side, penetrating it before exploding inside the hangar bay. The exposed fuel lines running the length of the hangar were penetrated and the jet fuel began gushing out of the pipes, only to be ignited by the fires from the missile. The Admiral Kuznetsov began to burn fiercely.
The two formations bored in from either beam. First one, then the other dropped their guided bombs onto the stricken carrier. Several penetrated the flight deck down into the burning hangar below, allowing air to fan the flames. Two more bombs dropped through the open holes in the deck and penetrated through the hangar deck, and three decks below into one of the magazines. The ball of flame soared skyward with a shattering blast that sent pieces of the ship out onto some of her escorts.
The Kuznetsov slowed and stopped. The pilots watched as men began jumping from the ship’s decks into the sea. Another explosion blew gaping holes into another section of the flight deck, flinging men high into the air. It was the third explosion that sealed the ship’s fate. The great ship appeared to lift from the water and resettle. She immediately began listing to port. Deck gear began sliding either into the burning holes in the deck or over the side along with many of the crewmen desperately trying to get off the sinking ship.
The list increased steadily. Soon the angled deck was awash. Steam began shooting out of the upper side as water came in contact with white hot metal. Fuel had begun pouring out from the ship, only to be ignited by her own fires. Now the water around the ship began to burn. What few men who had escaped were caught in the floating pyre. Suddenly, the ship lurched and began to roll over. On the way, the sea entered the holes in her flight deck, putting out the fires within, but it was no use. The island structure sat for a moment against the sea it was never meant to touch. It lay there almost as if the ship was taking a final look, then continued its roll until under the waves. The last thing McClusky saw as she sank was a gaping hole in the ship’s bottom where an explosion had ripped it apart.
For many it was a sad sight. Men could be seen desperately trying to stay alive in the water. No other ships tried to go in and pick them up. They had their own troubles. McClusky keyed his microphone, “Zero one to base, scratch one flattop,” he announced to whoever would hear. He then watched as Commander Dick Reiner’s F-18s swooped in from below. Their missiles and bombs finished all but two of the escorts. Those two limped slowly to the east.
***
Aboard the Kennedy, Lineman leapt with joy. “See, Captain! We got the job done. Those people were excellent. Washington will never forget what we did today,” he exclaimed. Captain Toland shook his head. “I need to slow down and get these people back home,” he said. The formation was still doing 27 knots.
The explosion shook the ship violently. It was followed by a second. They threw the men in the carrier’s combat information center off their feet and onto the deck. Toland was struggling to his feet when the third explosion hit. He was flung backward over a console where he heard an audible snap.
“Torpedoes in the water, same bearing as the carrier!” shouted the sonar watch.
“That does it,” the diving officer swore.
The Captain shouted out, “What’s the bearing.”
“Two eight five degrees, Captain. It’s coming from the other side of the carrier.”
“Come left to two eight five. Diving officer, make your depth one thousand feet. Ahead flank, give me twenty five knots,” ordered Jacobs. “Sonar, any chance the carrier hears them?”
“Not a chance, Captain. They are still doing twenty seven knots,” the sonar operator reported.
“Stupid son of a bitch,” Jacobs muttered.
The three explosions were heard by everyone as it sounded through the submarine’s hull. Suddenly, most of the sound of racing screws ceased.
“At least we can have some quiet. Sonar, I need you to find these guys.”
“Will do, sir,” came the reply.
“Level at a thousand feet, Captain,” said the diving officer.
“Very well. Get us on the other side of the Kennedy so we can do some hunting,” Jacobs said.
Toland stirred from his position on the deck. He tried to lift himself up but his arm didn’t want to support him. He staggered to the bitch box and was about to call out when the lights flickered out. “Damn it,” he swore. He moved to the sound powered phone talker. “Get me a damage control report,” he said.
“Sir, Damage Control reports three torpedo hits beginning at about frame 100 and running to frame 350 all on the port side. A number of tanks appear to be open to the sea,” he paused as he listened. “There is flooding in number two and number four engine rooms. They are counter flooding to try and keep the ship level. The DCA says it’s too early to tell if she will float, sir,” the talker said. The last part of the message caught in the boy’s throat.
Toland smiled weakly and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s okay, son, we’ll get her home,” he said trying to reassure the boy.
In the dim light of the emergency lighting he saw the young man nod. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Toland turned to try and head up to the bridge when Lineman stopped him. “That damned submarine didn’t do its job. What are you going to do about getting those planes back aboard?” he nearly shouted.
Toland glared at the man. “Admiral, we tried to tell you that going around at flank speed was an open invitation to a submarine, but no, you didn’t listen. Well look around you. This is the result of your efforts. I have no power and my ship may be sinking. Right now I have to try and make sure they have something to land on. Their best bet will be to bingo to the nearest allied airbase, but until I get power back, I can’t tell them much. So unless you have any suggestions, I am going to save my ship,” he scolded. Then he turned away and left the space, leaving Lineman to simmer.
The climb to the bridge was exhausting. With only emergency lights, people were only dim shapes as they moved about. The pain in his arm was growing steadily and somehow he was feeling more and more exhausted. When he finally got to the door to the bridge the Boatswain’s Mate rushed over and grabbed him. Slowly, he helped the captain to his seat and eased him into it. “Don’t move, Captain. You look like death warmed over,” the man said as he leaned the seat back and placed Toland’s broken arm across his chest. One of the men called for a medic. Toland was taking some deep breaths. He finally looked over at his XO who was just putting down a sound powered phone. “What’s the latest?” Toland asked.
The XO gave a sigh, “Well, we’ve taken on a ten degree list and it is holding at present. All the fuel we can transfer is now on the starboard side. I ordered the fresh water tanks on the port side emptied. There are fires in several of the maintenance spaces on the port side, but damage control is taking care of it. Water is up twenty feet deep in the number two engine room, but the damage control teams are shoring up the hole in number four. The forward reactor scrammed, but the after plant is intact. The engineers are inspecting it now. That hole in number two shorted out the main electrical switchboard. It will be a few, but we will be able to get power back to CIC and the forward part of the hangar. I was talking to the Chief Engineer. Once we have everything assessed, he can give us some speed, but wants to stay around ten knots so we don’t make the damage worse,” he reported. “We were lucky,” he said.
Toland laid his head back on the seat. At least the ship wasn’t sinking. “What’s the chance of getting the planes back?”