The AK-630 opened up with the incoming missiles 1.3 miles away, and 5,000 rounds per minute of high velocity lead filled the flight path of the approaching missiles.
After 15 seconds, Chief Bird was hit by over 80 rounds, and he fell into the sea and exploded.
The second missile flew on the target; it was hit too but not fatally. It did veer to the left to avoid the hail of lead, and the stubby wing damage it suffered meant that its turn-back to the target wasn’t as hard as its computer control required. The SLAM-ER struck the ship forward of the ideal location, but caused great damage to her bow area.
Damage control fought a hard battle to keep the fire from the forward magazine. The Destroyer was heavily damaged but still just about in action, for now.
The F18s flew in high, bound for the flagship beyond.
“Ghost flight split, one to four south, five to eight north. Search for the queen bee.”
The leader knew, of course, that two and three were down on the deck engaging the picket Destroyer, but he and his wingman turned south. They must hit the principal target.
16
“Sir, enemy airborne approaching,” said the Russian Air Warfare Officer aboard the Vice Admiral Kulakov.
“Range?”
“Five miles, sir.”
“Engage with Gauntlet missiles, lock and free terminal engage.”
“Sir.” The Russians used NATO code names if they liked them. The Sukhoi SU-27 series was commonly called Flanker in Russian service.
The missile’s radar and launching store was aft of the damaged area, so her teeth were still bared. The K band pulse doppler radar entered tracking mode.
“Track acquired, launching.”
The Destroyer launched round after round of its surface-to-air missiles. Anyone watching in the darkness would see missiles lift off, trailing flames behind, lighting up the smoke-covered ship and reflecting off the sea.
The Gauntlets raced in and hit all four southbound F18s and only partly damaged one, but the crew knew the game was up, turned back, and after ten miles had to eject.
A long-range SA-10 Grumble surface-to-air missile from the Peter the Great hit Blue one at high speed and the F18 split in two. Ghost four, now closer to the Destroyer, came in range of the AK-630. Thousands of rounds of lead shredded the front fuselage, and her pilot’s body was now just pieces of red flesh and bone flying off into the wind as the aircraft fell into the icy waters below.
Similar actions were repeated across the area. The Northern Fleet lost two Frigates, and a Destroyer was also sinking, but she had a couple of hours left. The Vice Admiral Kulakov was damaged but still in the fight for now.
Many USAF and USN aircraft were lost and the Russian flagship was untouched. The Russian Air Force had lost aircraft too, but they could be quickly replaced by nearby reserves from Siberia and Central Asia. All in all, the attack had failed. Russian aircraft and ships had been ready and were close to home, reducing the range they needed. The Northern Fleet and the air force were seriously damaged, but were still in a fighting state.
The SVR agent in Washington, the girl from Vladivostok, had given them valuable hours to prepare.
Present was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Cotton, USA; Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Nicolaj Kamov, USN; Commandant of the Marine Corps, Bruce Nanut, USMC; Chief of Staff of the Air Force, General Neil L Cooper, USAF; National Security Advisor, Stockhaisen.
The Joint Chiefs sat at the conference table and the mood was sombre. Coffee was served and the doors were closed. Chief of Staff of the Army, General Sally Weingarten, looked at the report first.
“I’m not a fighter jockey,” she looked at General Cooper USAF, “but this looks bad.”
Cooper scowled. “Yeah, not good. They were ready; they expected us. We each got a hammering in the air, but we did cause significant damage to their Fleet.”
“But…” said Bruce Nanut, USMC.
“Yeah, we didn’t take out the flagship Peter the Great or decimate their Air Force. In truth, the air conflict has become a war of attrition. Nobody likes that. The way you win is to bring numbers to bear and get close to the enemy, reducing the time to resupply. That and the increased sortie rate will wear Ivan down. We do have more birds than he does, and ideally, we’d position them close. That means northern Norway. Trouble is, many Norwegians don’t want the north of the country to become a garrison, and therefore a target. The government is pushing it through so far, but that’ll become more difficult. There’s Britain with the Shetland Islands, and Denmark with the Faroes. But they each present problems, mainly lack of infrastructure for large numbers of aircraft.”
“Look,” said Commandant Bruce Nanut, “can we win this conflict?”
Cooper nodded. “We have more aircraft and, if we can station them closer, we can win. But the price will be high, very high.”
“We still need the spectacular,” said CDS General Cotton.
Nobody smiled, all were wrapped up in thought, each wrestled with their own problem anaconda. How do we win and win convincingly?
Admiral Kamov sat up and took a drink of coffee. “I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but it might just work.”
“Go on, Nicolaj,” said Cotton. “You have the floor.”
Kamov looked at each in turn. “It’s like a game of chess and their Queen is Pyotr Velikiy, Peter the Great. She’s a Kirov class Battle Cruiser; we’ve run wargames against her and she’s a pretty heavy old hammer. But we also have a heavy hammer; she’s mean, underhand and dirty. It’s time to put the enemy between a rock and a hard place. His rock is his lack of numbers; we have a hard place. It’s time to let Blake off the leash.”
Cooper and Weingarten looked down and pursed their lips.
“Is that possible?” asked USMC Commandant Bruce Nanut. “It’ll have a formidable ASW screen to get through.”
Nanut shook his head. “You’d have more chance of getting Miss Utah to give you a Portuguese hand pump.”
Kamov shrugged and raised his palms. “Blake is the man on the scene. It’ll be his call.”
With XO Nikki Kaminski in command, the boat made its way towards the icecap’s edge.
To the north west, there was an unwelcome presence: an Akula class SSN.
She walked over to the sonar station and looked into the dripping oil painting screen. “Benson, what’s he up to?”
“He’s not making any signs of detecting us so far. He’s close though.”
“Planesman, speed six knots.”
The boat decelerated to half its speed. For Nikki, the enemy SSN was a distraction they didn’t need.
The boat cruised on under the ice for 15 minutes.
“Sir,” said Benson, “the Akula has turned to port. His track is now approx five degrees astern of us.”
“Weaps, designate contact as Tango one, get a firing solution on him. Flood tube three, open outer doors.”
“Sir.”
The Weapons Officer set up the console’s controls, and a Mk48 was readied.
Nikki might need to engage the enemy; she’d much rather avoid that.
“All ahead stop. Weaps, ready countermeasures port and starboard.”
“Aye, sir, all ahead stop.”
The prop spun down and the boat coasted to a stop. She’d wait here silently.
Minutes passed by.
“Sir, Tango one is one mile away. His track takes him 200 yards astern. Sir, half a mile now.”
Nathan reappeared and nodded to Nikki. Carry on.
The clock ticked down. Would he launch a fish or pass them by?
Nikki swallowed. She was worried; every part of her said engage and destroy, but she couldn’t. Would the Akula hear them?