"They're playing chicken," he said, "like the Russians." The remark was like a trip through time for me.
Back in the Cold War, the ships and submarines of the Soviet Navy used to trail our CVBGs the way Nicholson was doing. This was a favorite tactic of the late Admiral Sergei Gorshkov (the longtime chief of the Soviet Navy), and took advantage of the "freedom of navigation" rules accorded ships on the high seas. The idea was to maneuver for a clear line of sight to the carrier the way they'd do just before the outbreak of a real conflict. In the "first salvo" of that war, the ships and subs would fire their missiles, torpedoes, and guns and attempt to put the flattop out of action. The only way to defeat this threat was for our own escort ships to maneuver aggressively, physically placing themselves between the enemy ships and the carrier. At times, vessels of both sides would actually "bump." Such aggressive maneuvering now and then increased tensions between the superpowers.[78] We used to call it "Cowboys and Russians," and I had thought that it was a thing of the past. 1 was clearly wrong.
Though it's not publicized by the U.S. Navy, the tactic of interposing an escort ship between an opponent and the carrier is still practiced; it resembles the "hassling" that fighter pilots engage in to keep themselves sharp. But "dogfighting" with billion-dollar cruisers and destroyers is riskier. Clearly the USACOM training staff wanted to stress Admiral Mullen and his staff into a situation where the Koronan forces could claim a provocation and initiate hostilities while the 24th MEU (SOC) was still conducting their NEO in Temal. The challenge was clear. If a Koronan ship was able to draw a line-of-sight bead on the GW, then the escorts would be required to "fire" on the offending vessel to keep the flattop safe. At the same time, because GW was conducting flight operations, there was very little Captain Rutheford could do to help combat the intruders.
For the next few hours, it would be up to the "small boys" of the battle group to keep the Koronan missile ships at bay. Clearly, the Normandy's Saturday night pizza tradition was about to go on hold for a while. Captain Deppe, immediately grasping the challenge, went to the task with a grin on his face. Opportunities were rare to maneuver his ship to its limits against a fellow skipper in an almost perfectly matched ship. This was just such a chance. Although there are clear exercise rules about how close opposing combatants are allowed to approach, these rules were about to be bent. In fact, the only rule seemed to be: Don't actually touch the other guy!
The next few hours went by very quickly, as we parried and thrusted with the Nicholson. The captain of the Nicholson (Commander Craig E. Langman) was extremely aggressive, doing everything he could to get past us. He never succeeded. Captain Deppe maneuvered the Normandy like a Formula I racing car, keeping the destroyer solidly away from the flattop. At times we raced ahead at over thirty knots, only to crash-stop within a ship length or two. Then we might sit for ten or fifteen minutes, with just a thousand yards or so separating the two vessels. Suddenly, the Nicholson would jam on the speed, and the maneuvering would begin again. Each time, Captain Deppe would match his counterpart move-for-move. At times the Normandy would heel as much as 40deg, and you could hear the sounds of pizza pans and crockery hitting the deck back in the galley. Other times, it would be a race to see if the Nicholson could inch ahead just a little, followed by a radical turn to try to gain position.
It wasn't until sometime after 2000 (8 P.M.) that the Nicholson and the other two Koronan intruders finally turned away, and the jousting was over. As Captain Deppe ordered the engines throttled back and began to con the Normandy to her assigned position in the defense screen, Admiral Mullen's voice came up on the TBS circuit. For several minutes, the admiral commented on the performance of each ship in the screen, after which he paid a glowing compliment to the skippers of the three escorts that had fended off the Koronan warships. After his hearty "Well done," you could feel the tension ease around the ship. Though we did not know it at the time, the GW battle group had passed a significant test; they had bought two more days of "peace" for the Kartunans and their coalition allies.
Aboard the Normandy, life began to settle back to normal. Down in the galleys, the mess specialists salvaged what they could of the pizzas they would serve at mid-rats. Though the 2300 (11 P.M.) feeding was heavy that night, many of the officers and crew chose to just hit their racks and grab some sleep instead. These were the veterans, who knew that what they had seen today was only the beginning of what could be another two weeks of "combat." Those with less experience and more adrenaline munched on thick-crust pan pizza, and chatted about the terrific ship-handling Captain Deppe had shown the entire battle group that day. As I lingered over a piece of the baked pie, I answered a question that had been in my mind for some time: Since the end of the Cold War, the surface forces of the USN have not had a serious enemy. Such a condition can breed complacency and lead to "sloppy" habits in commanders and crews. Jim Deppe's performance on the bridge of the Normandy this Saturday evening convinced me that our surface Navy still has "the right stuff."
Sunday, August 24th, 1997
JTFEX 97-3-Day 7: The 24th MEU (SOC) completed their NEO early today, and is evacuating the civilians to a neutral location. The aggressive actions of Koronan Naval forces yesterday have been reported to the UN Security Council, which has issued an additional resolution allowing expanded use of force in the event of further harassment. The only Koronan government response has been additional mobilization of their military forces.
The morning after the game of "Cowboys and Russians" dawned humid, overcast, and stormy. I awoke to a knock on my door from a chief petty officer at 0600 (6 A.M.). He informed me that the captain had arranged for a UH-46 VERTREP helicopter to pick up us and shuttle us over to the GW. Quickly showering and packing up my bag, I met John in the wardroom for breakfast, and we discussed our plans for returning to the carrier. Since the helicopter was due overhead at 1000 hours (10 A.M.), I took the time to go up to the bridge and thank Captain Deppe for his hospitality. Afterward, on my way down, I ran into Captain Phillips, who confirmed my own thoughts about the previous night's proceedings. He had noted Normandy's impressive performance in his report to the SOOT team leader aboard the command ship Mount Whitney. "Keep an eye out for things to break tomorrow," he added slyly. Armed with this information, John and I collected our bags, and then headed aft to the helicopter hangar to await our ride back to the GW.
At the hangar, a chief handed us float coats and cranial helmets, and gave us a quick safety briefing on the Sea Knight. And then at the appointed time, the UH-46 set down gently on the Normandy's helicopter pad. The big twin-rotor Sea Knight was a tight fit on the small landing platform, and you could see the deck personnel carefully watching the clearance between the rotor blades and the superstructure. We quickly boarded the bird and strapped into our seats. Two minutes later, the crew buttoned up the UH-46 and lifted off into the overcast. The ride back to the GW took about fifteen minutes.
78
It was these kinds of "bumping" incidents that caused the creation of the "Incidents at Sea" treaties between the United States, the Soviet Union/Russia, and a number of other nations.