“TAO — Weapons Control. I think we’ve got a kill on one of the missile launchers, sir. I’m shifting my fire to the other two cross-fixes. I’m going to need position data on the remaining three sites pretty quick here, sir.”
“I’m working on it, sir!” the Radar Supervisor shouted.
Captain Bowie keyed his mike. “Radar Supervisor, this is the captain. Calm down, son. I need you to keep a clear head right now.”
“Yes, sir! I mean, I’ll try, sir!”
The 5-inch gun continued to hammer out high-explosive rounds every three seconds or so.
Navy Red warbled. “Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My buoys five and six are hot! We hold narrowband tonals consistent with a Type 212 diesel submarine. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level high!”
The XO’s voice was incredulous. “How in the hell do they do that?
How do they always manage to show up just when the shit is hitting the fan?”
The captain keyed Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers.
Take your shot. Try to make it a good one.”
On the Aegis display screen, three of the ten incoming-missile symbols winked out.
“Splash three Vipers,” the Air Supervisor said over the net. “Chalk up two to jamming and one to chaff.”
A quick series of rumbles announced the launch of another salvo of missiles. “TAO — Weapons Control. Ten more birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two each on the first three inbound Vipers and one each for the remaining four Vipers.”
The odd report stopped the TAO cold. He keyed his mike. “Weapons Control — TAO, why did we only launch one interceptor on the last four Vipers?”
“We’ve expended more than fifty percent of our SM-3 inventory,” the Weapons Control Officer said. “The computer has throttled us back to a shoot-look-shoot-shoot doctrine.”
“Fifty percent?” the TAO said. “We carry ninety-two SM-3 missiles.
How in the hell can we be at fifty percent of our inventory?”
“Fifty percent of ninety-two is forty-six, sir,” the Weapons Control Officer said. “We’ve launched fifty missiles.”
The TAO looked at the captain.
The captain nodded. “Stick with it. The shooting’s not over yet.”
“Well,” said the XO, “at least we know what those Bogies have been waiting for.”
“Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My weapons check-off list is complete. I am prepping for my attack run, over.”
The TAO keyed Navy Red. “Towers, aye. Good hunting, Firewalker.”
The captain’s eyes traveled over the faces of the men and women of the CIC crew. “Cross your fingers and say a prayer,” he said. “If Firewalker pulls this off, the show’s over, and we’re out of here.”
“Amen to that,” the XO said.
Firewalker Two-Six’s buoy cross-fixes began popping up on the CDRT. Chief McPherson rolled the trackball until her cursor was centered over the first cross-fix symbol and began playing connect-the-dots. The CDRT’s computer gave her a rough course of three-five-seven at an estimated speed of sixteen knots. Gremlin Zero Four was headed north, toward the minefield. Toward Zubayr harbor and safety.
The TAO watched on the Aegis display screens as Firewalker Two-Six’s green friendly-aircraft symbol vectored across the screen toward the red V-shape of Gremlin Zero Four’s hostile-submarine symbol. He cocked an ear toward the speaker, expecting to hear Firewalker’s attack report at any second.
But the next report came from the Weapons Control Officer. “TAO — Weapons Control. Scratch another Silkworm launcher. Shifting to the next target at this time.”
“Two down,” the TAO said.
“We’re not getting them fast enough,” the captain said. “At this rate, we’re going to run out of SM-3s before they run out of Silkworms.”
The Air Supervisor’s voice came over the net. “TAO — Air. The Bogies are moving!”
“TAO, aye. Are they closing us?”
“Negative, sir,” the Air Supervisor said. “They’ve going after the helo!”
“TAO — EW, the Bogies just lit off their radars! French-built.
Thomson-CSF Cyrano IVM series. That makes our Bogies either Mirage F-1s or Mirage F-50s.”
“There aren’t any F-50s in-theater,” Captain Bowie said. “So our bad guys are F-1s, which means we still can’t shoot them. They might be Siraji, but they might also be from Iran, Jordan, or Kuwait. Mirages aren’t exactly rare in this part of the world.”
The TAO keyed Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers.
Watch your back, you’ve got two Bogies inbound from the north, over.”
“Towers, this is Firewalker. Copy inbound Bogies. Keep them off my back for another thirty seconds, until I get off my shot, over.”
“We’ll try, Firewalker,” the TAO said. “But the Bogies have not satisfied Rules of Engagement criteria to be designated as hostile.”
On the Aegis displays, ten friendly-missile symbols merged with seven flashing red Viper symbols. When the display finished updating itself, the flashing red missile symbols were gone.
The Air Supervisor’s voice came over the net. “TAO — Air. Splash seven! We got them all!”
The Tactical Action Officer was about to key his mike to acknowledge when another report came in.
“TAO — EW, Bogies just lit up their fire control radars!”
“That’s it!” the captain said. “Batteries released! Take them out!”
The TAO keyed the net. “Weapons Control — TAO, Bogies have been designated as hostile. You have batteries released. Engage and destroy!”
Without waiting for acknowledgment of his order, the TAO shifted to Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers. The Bogies are setting you up for an attack! Abort your torpedo launch and get the hell out of there!”
“Just another three seconds,” Firewalker Two-Six’s copilot said over Navy Red. “Here it comes … Weapon away — now, now, NOW!”
Under the starboard side of the helicopter’s fuselage, solenoid-controlled latches snapped open, releasing Firewalker Two-Six’s torpedo.
The weapon dropped like a rock until its parachute pack deployed a fraction of a second later, slowing the torpedo’s rate of descent and drawing it into a slightly nose-down angle for optimum water insertion.
The copilot keyed his mike. “Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My torpedo is away. I am going evasive to avoid Bogies.”
“TAO — Air. Bogies are launching. I count two missiles, both targeted on the helo.”
The ship shuddered as two SM-3s blasted out of their missile cells and turned toward the enemy jets.
“Can we intercept their missiles?” the captain asked.
“Not a chance, sir,” the TAO said. “By the time our birds get there, Firewalker will already be toast.”
The little drama played itself out on the Aegis display screen, two hostile-missile symbols merging with the helicopter symbol. Somewhere out in the night sky, twisted metal and burning flesh were falling toward the darkened wave tops. On the screen, Firewalker Two-Six’s symbol changed to a last-known-position marker, and the helicopter and its crew of three were gone.