“Goddamn, these pilots are nuts!” he shouted above the din of engine and sea noise.
The V-25 Night Owl came in low and fast.
Captain Thorne was drinking a cup of coffee and sitting close to the navigation console. His crew was getting anxious as the radio called out altitude and distance of their new arrival to the area. Every time he heard the words abort landing, he cringed, as he knew how dangerous landing a VTOL could be, especially with a towline close to the helo deck.
“Conn, sonar, we have a close-in surface contact, bearing two-three-seven degrees north, sixty-seven miles out. No, check that. Possible double contact, same bearing.”
Thorne closed his eyes for the briefest of moments when his own hidden fear was announced to his control room crew. He calmly placed the coffee cup down and stood. He took the 1 MC mic and raised it, but before he spoke, he saw the anxious faces of his young crew. He smiled. It felt false to him, and he stopped.
“Sonar, conn, how strong is the contact?”
“Intermittent at times, but course and speed are holding steady. Whoever they are, they’re in a hurry. Engine plant noises indicate cruiser and possible destroyer.”
“Get me as much information as you can. We’ll get you closer; I need detail.”
“Aye,” came the brief answer.
“Okay, let’s play. Gary, all ahead flank, course two-three-seven degrees north. Let’s give this one a wide angle. Okay, let’s put the spurs to her.”
“Aye, Skipper. All ahead flank, give me five degrees down angle on the planes, take her to six hundred. Let’s go get ’em, Chief,” XO Devers called out. He was satisfied when his people went straight into their work, more confident, more relaxed. It was just the fact that they were now doing something other than just babysitting.
“Weapons, with one and two loaded for war shot, we’ll need tubes three and four also. Gentlemen, let’s warm up the Harpoons.”
The Harpoon missile was the deadliest weapon aboard. The crew realized the NATO Reforger operation was no longer a game.
USS Houston sped toward the oncoming threat.
Jack turned his head as he snapped closed the strap to his Kevlar helmet. He saw the brighter skies outside and immediately went into his military role as leader. He nodded his unspoken thanks to Carl, who only winked in return as he adjusted his own equipment. He made eye contact with Henri, who only smirked at him. This made Jack just as uneasy as he had been before the music of Elvis had calmed him. Henri Farbeaux now knew one of his weaknesses.
“One minute, one minute,” the copilot called out as the Night Owl slowly dropped down to three hundred feet. The V-25’s crew chief managed a walk-through and checked everyone’s safety equipment.
The pilot was fighting the debilitating lack of lift on his right side where one of the two wing-mounted engines had died. The Night Owl kept wanting to dip in that direction, forcing him to think about aborting the landing altogether.
Suddenly, a red alarm sounded. Then a piercing scream came into everyone’s ears through the bird’s intercom system. Only Everett and Ryan knew what the warning was about.
“Jesus, we’re being painted!” the copilot shouted out in shock and surprise. “Oh, crap. We have missile lock!”
Above the scream of engines and the rocking of the V-25, every man aboard knew now that there was an enemy out there and they had just made their intentions known.
The NATO salvage mission was now under attack.
“Captain, someone just illuminated the Night Owl. Whoever it is, they have missile lock!”
Johnson turned back into the bridge. “Who has missile lock?”
“Unknown, sir. We have that intermittent target inside the hurricane but nothing concrete.” Johnson saw the operator jerk his head up in shock and surprise. “We have two missiles in the air!”
“Track origin and match bearings. Target ASROC. Get the close-in weaps ready.”
Above deck, the swirl and hum of the close-in weapons system, two Phalanx Gatling guns, one fore and one aft, turned and started tracking the incoming bogeys with the most powerful defensive radar system afloat — the Aegis Electronic Warfare System. The many-barreled gun started rotating, warming up. She was now ready for a gunfight.
Ezra Johnson knew that he was only trying to keep the target ship guessing, as the Shiloh had no lock on the source. All he could hope to do is make the aggressor blink.
As the crewmen of Shiloh, De Zeven, and the unseen Houston watched, the V-25 set off their countermeasures. Chaff — small bursts of aluminum foil that were ejected in packets — and hot magnesium flares exploded from the tail section of the Night Owl. Then another, then another as she laid down a false signal for the enemy missiles to track in a virtual waterfall display of fire and aluminum. The Night Owl veered sharply away from the missile cruiser in the hope they could at least draw fire away from their main asset in the area.
Johnson turned away from the departing V-25 and turned his attention on the area where the incoming hostile threat would emerge. He saw the first of the two missiles free itself of the high winds inside the hurricane. His jaw muscles clenched as one of the large missiles struggled to regain control after breaking into calmer air. He let out a sigh of relief when the missile suddenly took a nosedive and crashed into the sea. Johnson knew they would not have the same luck with the second enemy missile as they had with the first. It came directly at the maneuvering Night Owl.
“Rolling action missiles, lock on and fire!”
In the combat control center, a signal was sent out, and the small, multifaceted missile system came to life. Sixteen extremely small missiles left their tubes and streaked outward toward the incoming threat.
“Get the R2-D2s ready. They’re going to need help!” the captain hissed as he just ordered his only two close-in defensive systems to life.
Johnson grimaced, as he knew the odds were favoring the enemy and that the V-25 Night Owl was going to die.
The Russian SA-N-6 antiair missile dropped low to the sea in its rush toward the V-25. It came close to catching the topmost part of a large swell of sea but hopped easily over it. The American rolling action missiles detonated thirty-five feet in front of it, but the Russian-made system kept coming. The missile then climbed to altitude. It was on a straight line toward the Night Owl. Too late — the Phalanx, a system made by the Raytheon Corporation, acted like a garden hose. One thousand rounds of twenty-millimeter cannon fire greeted the missile. Only one of these struck the weapon as it kept climbing toward the weakened Night Owl. The Phalanx had also failed.
The missile struck the V-25 just below the left stabilizer. The wing immediately buckled as the twenty-five-pound warhead detonated. The VTOL was thirty-five feet above the sea when the wing collapsed, and the Night Owl slid over onto her side and fell into the sea. It hit with a sickening crunch as the fuselage snapped into two pieces. Men scrambled to free themselves from their harnesses as the entire V-25 started to slip very quickly beneath the calmer waters of the eye.
Men and equipment started to float to the surface as the Dutch frigate De Zeven made her way to the crash area. She slowed as men became visible, and the rescue mission started in earnest.