The Scorpions blew past the expanding chaff clouds with zero hesitation. Aluminum dust could fool radar, but the Scorpion missiles had no radar. The missiles ignored the torch rounds for the same reason. With no infrared sensors, the Scorpions couldn’t even see the heat signatures from the flares, much less be distracted by them. In fact, the Scorpions couldn’t see anything but the narrow beams of their laser directors. Their seeker heads were amazingly simple, and — in this situation — that made them amazingly effective.
The target ship’s Close-In Weapon System opened fire. The six-barreled Gatling gun spewed a fusillade of 20mm tungsten bullets into the darkness, cutting the first of the incoming Scorpions into bite-sized chunks. The defensive Gatling gun spun to cover the other incoming missile, but it was too late. The second Scorpion had reached its target.
The missile slammed into the destroyer’s starboard bridge wing, passing through an inch-thick window before detonating. The expanding cloud of shrapnel and fire ripped through the pilot house like a tornado, killing everyone in the bridge crew except the Helmsman. Badly burned, deafened by the concussion, and blinded in one eye, the twenty-two-year-old deck seaman struggled to his feet and stood amongst the wreckage and the smoldering bodies of his shipmates.
Driven so far into shock that rational thought was an alien concept, the young Sailor became only dimly aware of the searing pain coming from the area of his left hand. Perhaps it’s still on fire, he thought, but even that idea felt detached and unimportant. He slowly raised the wounded arm so he could inspect it with the eye that still seemed to be working. But the hand wasn’t there. Someone had taken away his hand, and left in its place a bleeding stump. Splinters of bone protruded from the mangled wrist, and blood shot from the mass of torn flesh and cartilage in a pulsating jet that was fascinating to watch. The Helmsman sank to his knees, and then lay down on the scorched deck, surrounded by the bodies of the bridge crew.
Just for a minute, he thought. I’ll just rest here for a minute, until my head clears. He closed his one good eye.
Out on the forecastle, Benfold’s 5-inch deck gun opened fire, hurling six shells at the enemy motorboat in rapid succession.
The little boat zigged and zagged with insane abandon as the sky began to rain exploding naval artillery shells. The boat was small, fast, and incredibly agile. Through some combination of skill and luck, it slipped unharmed through the barrage of steel and fire.
Benfold’s big gun began barking continuously, pumping out shell after shell, pausing only long enough between firing for the gun’s auto-loading system to raise the next shell and ram it into the barrel.
The ninth round caught the motorboat, blasting it into thousands of burning fragments no larger than a pack of cigarettes. The tenth and eleventh rounds were already in the air. Both landed and detonated in the same stretch of water that the motorboat had recently occupied. But the target was gone, and the exploding shells succeeded in killing only saltwater.
The nose cone of Towers’ first ASROC shattered on impact, and the Mark54 torpedo came to life and detached itself from its parachute.
Placement of the weapon was nearly textbook perfect. It acquired its target on the first pass and accelerated to attack speed before the submarine could even maneuver.
The water was shallow in the straits, and the shock wave of the explosion was magnified, sending a base surge of displaced water fountaining thirty feet into the air. Gremlin Zero Two was obliterated.
Anvil two didn’t meet with the same level of success. At the top of the weapon’s ballistic arc, the second VLA’s airframe jammed and didn’t separate properly. The torpedo couldn’t detach itself, and the entire missile assembly fell out of the sky well down range of its target. Falling ten thousand feet without a parachute, the faulty weapon disintegrated on impact with the water.
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the 29-MC: “All Stations—
Sonar has multiple hydrophone effects off the starboard beam! Bearings two-six-zero and two-six-five. Initial classification: hostile torpedoes!”
Ensign Cooper stabbed at the mike button. “USWE, aye! Break!
Bridge — USWE. Crack the whip! We have in-bound hostile torpedoes. I say again — crack the whip!”
“Bridge, aye!”
The whine of the gas turbines increased in pitch and volume as the engines wound up to maximum rpm.
The Officer of the Deck’s voice came over the 1-MC. “All hands stand by for heavy rolls while performing high-speed evasive maneuvers.”
The deck tilted sharply to port as the ship veered into the first evasive turn.
Captain Vargas punched the button that patched her comm-set into the 1MC. “This is the Captain speaking from CIC,” she said. “The bridge has been knocked out by a missile hit. I need a damage control team and medical personnel on the bridge now. CCS take rudder and engine controls. Engineering Officer of the Watch, establish communications with CIC on Net One Zero, and stand by for maneuvering orders. Get to it people! That is all.” She released the mike button.
The TAO’s console lost power. He was about to report the failure when the call came in.
“TAO — Weapons Control. Aegis is down hard!”
“What the hell happened?” the TAO snapped.
“We lost primary and alternate power to the computers, sir. Probably one of the automatic bus-tie transfers, since they’re about the only pieces of gear common to both primary and alternate legs of power. The Combat Systems Officer of the Watch says his people are checking prints and chasing cables now. As soon as they find the bad ABT, they can rig casualty power.”
“TAO, aye. What’s your estimated time of repair?”
“The CSOOW is calling for ten minutes, sir. They might be able to cut that in half, if they get lucky and find the bad ABT quickly.”
“We don’t have ten minutes,” Captain Vargas said. She looked up at the darkened Aegis display screens. “We don’t even have five minutes.”
The TAO nodded. “I know that, ma’am.” He keyed his mike.
“Weapons Control — TAO. With Aegis down, two-thirds of your consoles are dead. Send your unused operators down to assist the CSOOW’s crew on chasing cables. Let’s try to speed this up.”
“Weapons Control, aye.”
Captain Vargas looked at the TAO. “Go out to SAU Commander on Navy Red. Tell him we’ve taken a hit to the bridge, and we’ve lost Aegis.
We will not be able to make the backup VLA shots he ordered.”
The TAO nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He punched in to the secure radio channel and started his report.
Captain Culkins gritted his teeth as Benfold’s status report came over the speaker. “Well, ain’t this a pretty picture,” he said quietly.
Ingraham’s CIC was about half as well equipped as the ones on her more powerful sister ships. But her crew was well trained, and the gear they did have was good, even if it wasn’t quite state-of-the-art. She might not have the most impressive weapons and sensors in the Search Attack Unit, but at least her combat systems hadn’t crapped out in the middle of the battle.