“Either way you look at it, we got our butts kicked. Coming north in the hope our satellite Intel would be restored in time to launch a strike at their carriers, the gamble didn’t come off.” He looked at his staff.
“Unless someone has a better idea, we head south at best possible speed?”
There were no dissenters.
“CAG, what state is the air wing in?”
“We lost Bobby Quinn and half of his F-14s, two F/A-18s from the Vipers and four from the Rattlers, we assume they were caught in the blast… ordnance is another issue, apart from what they bring back, and this ships magazine, that’s it. The bulk was aboard the Ponder.”
The TAO interrupted.
“It may not be quite that bad, the Brit Fleet Auxiliary has its inventory of air weapons.”
The CAG frowned.
“What about the Prince of Wales air wing, is there enough to go around?”
TAO waved a message form.
“Prince of Wales took a bomb through the flight deck, fires under control but she’s limited to VTOL operations only, as for her air wing, well… … only two made it, they are in the pattern, recovering here.”
“Okay,” began the CO.
“Keep the Snakes aloft, if I were the other guy I would be recovering airframes and turning them around for a second strike so CAG, get the remainder down and get them turned around also, those that can be.” Turning to the TAO he held a finger up.
“One, replenish the groups air defence stores asap. Two, we need to join with the Prince of Wales and her ships, we are light three AEGIS capable hulls, we need to incorporate hers, the sooner the better.”
With limited communications, the USS John F Kennedy was not aware that HMS Cuchullainn had exploded and sunk, nor too that the USS Dry Springs was sinking, her stern having been blown off.
South-southeast of the island of Komandorskiye Ostrova the Mao was recovering the first of its aircraft. Stood on the bridge, Admiral Li barked a command at his air operations staff
“I want the air wing rearmed as soon as they land, I want a second strike ready as soon as the Russian’s have the post-strike reconnaissance results!” Captain Hong stood at his post quietly, confining himself to the business of running the ship.
“What… is that!” He heard the Admiral demand, pointing aft. The Bridge now had its video monitors functioning and Hong looked at the screens. A dark smoky trail, a half-mile long announced a battle-damaged aircraft on approach.
“The damaged aircraft are landing first, those with wounded aircrew have priority… ” The senior air operations officer was explaining.
Cutting him short, the Admiral snapped. “Wave it off!” He rounded on the officer.
“Damaged aircraft will hinder the preparation of a second strike, make them circle… they can land later.”
The operations officer opened his mouth to protest but the Admiral had turned his back on him with the words.
“I will not have my victory jeopardised by your incompetence!”
Lt Fu Cheng had been slated number four in the landing pattern until he and the other damaged aircraft were sent into a holding pattern. One of his squadron mates had been number one in the pattern, losing blood from a thigh wound as he began his approach, Fu Chen watched as the stricken aircraft was waved off, the trail of black smoke continued over the flight deck and then on into the distance. Fu Chen called his fellow pilot over the radio but there was no reply, although he did not know if his malfunctioning radio was transmitting or not at the time.
Captain Hong kept his face impassive as he listened to the young officer calling his friend; the Bridge speaker for that squadron’s channel issued only static in reply. Captain Hong was staring in contempt at his Admirals back when the sound of the first of HMS Hood’s Spearfish announced its arrival.
Six miles ahead, a black and orange fireball arose, marking the spot where a torpedo had found a Zhuhai class frigates magazine.
“Sound of explosion at 308’, Captain!”
The captain had been watching the digital timers displaying the torpedoes run times. In a slight variation of his plan, the Spearfish had been sent curving around to attack from the northeast. The best he had hoped for was his sonar department reporting a flurry of activity as his torpedoes were detected; a hit was a bonus.
The Harpoons were programmed to fly on courses that diverged initially, before flying a zigzag route to their release points, where they would home on the largest targets whilst providing a difficult task of interception to the defenders. He called to his Number One. “Why don’t you do the honours.”
His second in command gave a nod of thanks before giving the commands to launch the anti-ship missiles.
The Admiral had ordered the Mao’s speed cut to the minimum required to recover their aircraft. Captain Hong suspected it was fear rather than prudence that had instigated the order, allowing their escorts to enter the believed danger zone, where a submarine lurked ahead of them.
The first warning they had of the Harpoons approach was thump of the mortars discharging, launching their projectiles high above the ship where they burst apart scattering chaff. The Mao's command centre announced the nature of the threat moments later over the tannoy and Hong ordered the helmsman to turn hard to starboard where they would present a smaller radar profile. Only two of the air wing had been recovered, the remainder went ballistic, seeking protection in altitude from their own sides air defences rather than an unhappy collision with an inbound anti-ship missile.
Unlike the anti-ship missile attack on the Americans and British, the Russian and PRC ships did not have the luxury of several score miles in which to intercept the inbounds, Hood had launched from a mere 9 miles away.
J-Band tracking radars picked up the inbounds, feeding data to the PLAN’s Hongqi-7, air defence missile systems. Yet another stolen invention from the west, where its French inventors called it the Crotale.
Aboard the Russian ships, their Klinok, close-in SAM systems performed the same tasks.
The Harpoons solid boosters provided 660lb of thrust as the missiles bore in at Mach.9. Admiral Li was pounding his fist on the edge of the bridge wing as the leading Harpoons constant course changes steered it through the defending air defence missiles. At last, one defender intercepted it a quarter of a mile from the Mao and Li staggered back in reaction to the two warheads combined detonation. There were still three heading toward the carriers and Li brushed a signaller out of his way as he sought safety below.
With the eighth and last Harpoon away the Hood sprinted east, putting distance, and depth, between the enemy surface ships and herself. She released a communications buoy as she went, its transmissions detailing her attacks on the Alpha and carriers.
Three hours’ later, a now debugged satellite surveillance system, downloaded the images of ships heading for the port of Ust’-Kamchatsk. Both carriers had taken a single hit apiece but their bulk had absorbed the damage, it would take more than that to put them on the bottom, they were walking wounded only.
Twenty miles behind them bobbed an orange life raft containing a young Chinese pilot, Lt Fu Chen had punched out of his crippled Flanker as the fuel tanks ran dry, by which time the warships were already departing the area at best speed. The young officer had managed to get ahead of the surface ships before ejecting, confident on his being picked up by a ship or helicopter as they passed by, hailing them from the life raft and releasing distress flares. All the helicopters were on ASW duty, none of the warships or fleet supply vessels had stopped, all had their orders from the Admiral, stop for no man. News of the executions, within minutes of his arrival on the flagship, had made the rounds of the ships under his command and no-one was willing to risk a bullet by disobeying. As the last ship disappeared from sight Fu Chen regarded the empty container of distress flares that he held, he was about to toss it over the side when he decided it may have some future use and he tucked it into a pocket of his flight suit.