The red light on Carleton’s console winked in concert with the buzzer that sounded through CIC, and within seconds of the warning that the attack had commenced, a voice in the darkened room announced to no one in particular, “Missiles away!” It had begun.
There was a perceptible sigh in CIC, a collective release of tension. The waiting was over. Now they could act.
“Time to impact — twenty-four minutes.” The voice was cold, impersonal. It was the speaker’s job to announce the information, even if others could note the time simply by pushing a button.
A tactical signal came over the primary voice net for all ships. On their direct line, Admiral Pratt said, “Tom, I’m shifting the screen around, moving everybody a bit. No reason to make it easy for them. I want you to act independently. There are two of their Alfa-class subs out here that we’ve completely lost.” Those were titanium-hulled attack subs, extremely fast, unusually quiet, and their hull alloys did not distort the magnetic field — making them even harder to locate.
“Probably went silent,” Carleton responded.
“That’s exactly what my man Loomis figures. They could pop up anywhere.”
Carleton gave his executive officer free reign to conn the ship. The ship’s movements made no difference to the computer as long as it continued to provide the necessary functions to back up the system’s operations. Able to detect and track a couple of hundred targets at a time, it now would face its greatest test. The Soviet Backfires were filling the air with missiles, some fired from maximum altitude, others from lower levels. Some of the bombers swooped down to sea level to release their missiles below the acquisition level of most shipboard radars. And there were a select number of bombers in each flight that retained their weapons. They would continue to close in on the group, conducting evasive action so that some of them might get close enough to fire at point-blank range — close enough to penetrate the security envelope that allowed ships’ computers time for a target solution for their own defensive missiles.
Dale, one of the perimeter anti-air-defense ships, was the first to come under fire. While the carrier and the AEGIS cruiser were primary targets, it was imperative to eliminate a ship like Dale. She carried dual missile launchers fore and aft and she could reload the rails of one launcher while the other took the target under fire. She was a guided-missile cruiser that could handle herself under pressure.
Three incoming cruise missiles were locked on Dale. Sea Sparrows slid onto her rails. Her fire-control radar relayed guidance data as each one was fired. While these small antimissile birds raced for their targets, the launchers returned to load position. Two aircraft were coming in low on the water, intent on the main body to the rear of Dale.
Again she fired, this time with standard missiles locked on the Soviet aircraft. The launchers automatically snapped back to reload. Sea Sparrows slid onto the forward rails, Standards to the rear. Dale’s radar was cluttered with targets now. Computers determined the threat level as she fired — reloaded — fired — reloaded —
But now an equally dangerous threat presented itself to the cruiser. ASW helicopters had been prosecuting a contact about thirty miles off Dale’s port bow, which eventually escaped. When contact was regained, the sub was seen to be closing in on the cruiser at high speed. As a radio warning from the helos came to her attention, the ship’s sonar established contact. Within moments, the telltale sound of high-speed screws signified torpedoes in the water.
While maneuvering to defend herself from torpedo attack, Dale continued to fire her missiles. There were hits. They could not be seen with the naked eye, though smoke was visible soon after, but radar confirmed when a target went off the screen. Dak was one of many ships launching a hail of missiles, and only the computers would ever know which missile and which ship achieved success that day.
Dale was the first ship in her group to be hit. A missile slammed into her stern between the after launcher and the fire-control radars, detonating on the second deck. The blast decimated engineering spaces, and almost instantly the ship was out of control, her starboard shaft bent, steering control lost. Fuel oil fed flames that threatened the magazine below the aft launcher.
As damage-control parties fought the flames, attempting to get through to after steering, a tremendous explosion shook the hull as at least one torpedo exploded the NIXIE decoy. But another passed by, undeterred by the explosion, to strike just aft of the bridge below the Harpoon missile canisters. One of the missile engines ignited, sending the vehicle careening into the rear of the pilothouse. The torpedo blast destroyed the engine room that controlled the port shaft. With both shafts damaged, Dale gradually slowed until she was dead in the water. A second torpedo blew up in her bow. There was no longer power for the weapons.
As she settled quickly, heeling to port, the abandon-ship order was given. A second missile dove through her pilothouse, the blast detonating the warheads remaining in the ASROC launcher. Fires swept back through the survivors. Dale had done her duty.
ABOARD U.S.S. JOHN HANCOCK
“Missiles away,” the report echoed through Hancock’s CIC from one of the helos even before it painted on the radars. Two more voice reports followed, each from a different location.
The submarines had initiated the action. That was to be expected. They could detect and track a surface ship well before they themselves were ever located. That was to their advantage. Once they were found out, they had no other choice but to run.
Nelson had four ships in line at broad intervals. They were at high speed and each ship had a helicopter working in tandem with it in much the same pattern Nelson had taught them the previous day. It was the equivalent of eight ships, as far as Nelson was concerned. That made it even, perhaps gave him a slight advantage, because the subs had no idea where the helicopters might be until they heard the ping of the dipping sonar. If a helo was lucky and lowered his sonar near a submarine, a homing torpedo could be launched well before the sub could piece together what was taking place.
But on the other hand, a cruise missile launched from beneath the surface also presented a formidable advantage.
There were four of these missiles now rocketing toward the surface ships. The lock-on warning buzzer indicated John Hancock was a target. Chaff rockets were automatically fired to draw the missile off target. Deep within the ship, a computer fed continual solutions into the missile-defense system. First Hancock, then Conolly, then Spruance fired Sea Sparrows at the oncoming missiles.
A submarine-launched cruise missile is intended to fly at low level, low enough to deter radar acquisition, or at least make a fire-control solution complicated. They are not exceptionally fast as missiles go, but they are persistent, designed to correct their course against the actions of their target. They are difficult to defend against. Only one of the Sea Sparrows met with success.
Three missiles bore in on the destroyers now. An anxious Conolly fired a second missile — too late. Her Phalanx system opened fire; this time she was lucky — the hail of bullets destroyed the warhead within a hundred yards of the ship.
Spruance had less success. Her radar lost contact with the incoming missile only for an instant, but the time lost in reacquisition delayed the Gatling gun just long enough. When it did open fire, the missile was diving for Spruance’s flight deck. It penetrated through officers’ quarters, exploding in the ship’s laundry. The force of the blast blew upward, unseating the huge ASROC launcher that allowed the luxury of firing torpedoes from a distance.