back to
He keyed his mike. “Roger, Rancher, all Mustangs to three one five. Hatchet out.”
He advanced the F/A-18’s throttle. He felt his aircraft’s speed build up quickly, carrying him out of the fight. He adjusted his course, then cast a quick glance at his six o’clock. At full military power, his engines made a dandy IR target. Fortunately nobody was following him.
Mann spotted several other Hornets, all on the same course, scattered above and below him. His radar showed a cluster of contacts in front and below him at twenty miles — all headed toward the carrier at high speed. They were still out of launch range but wouldn’t be for long. The F/A-18 was light now, without its drop tanks and half its missile load, almost clean.
Mann noticed the “Bingo” indicator light come on. Building up this last burst of speed had drained his fuel supply. He was going to need a tanker, and soon.
He selected his last Sparrow and locked up a target. “Mustang Lead, engaging.”
“Admiral, we’ve got ten-plus inbounds at five-fifty knots. Fighters are engaging. We’ve got
March’s report and implied recommendation was half formality, but it was Ward’s decision to make. Sitting in his command chair, surrounded by displays, he felt a little superfluous. “Clear the fighters and tell all ships to go to weapons free.”
It was the only logical thing to do. He had missile ships facing an incoming enemy attack with their hands practically tied behind their backs. Going to weapons-free status would clear them to fire SAMs more effectively. Any air target not positively identified as friendly would be fair game.
Ward nodded toward the symbols showing fighters chasing after the EurCon strike planes. “What’s their fuel state?”
“Tankers are already on the way, sir.”
Ward nodded and went back to watching the displays. It wasn’t really a feeling of being superfluous, he decided. Events were just out of his hands now. His plan was in motion, and everyone else had a job to do but him.
“All units, this is Rancher, break off and steer zero four five.”
Mann gauged the distance to the remaining bandits and reluctantly turned to the ordered course — heading away from
He added his own “Mustangs, form on me” to the CAG’s command and waggled his wings. It was time to count noses.
Behind him, the remains of four EurCon attack squadrons tucked into two tight formations. Of nearly fifty attack aircraft that had ventured out to challenge the Americans, only eight were left. Others were limping home, nursing damage that made it impossible to press on. Most were gone — blown out of the sky by guns or missiles. Three far out in front were German Tornados. The five trailing behind were Mirage 2000s carrying ASMP nuclear missiles.
Decimated by the navy fighters, the French and German pilots knew they were on borrowed time. They no longer watched their fuel gauges, but simply poured on all the speed they had. Their only hope of survival was to reach launch range and salvo their weapons. After that, each of them could evade and try to make it home while the Americans tried to deal with the missiles. Even a rubber raft looked attractive after the hellride they’d all gone through.
In accordance with their attack plan, the Tornados, well out in front now, fed targeting data to the Mirage pilots. The French plane’s short-range radar could not see the U.S. ships at this distance, and precise targeting data was crucial. Their ASMP missiles didn’t have radar seekers that could home in on moving targets. Designed to attack stationary objects on land, they mounted only a plain inertial seeker. Just before launch, each pilot would set his missile’s target as a simple geographic location.
As the Mirage crews took the range and bearing supplied by the Germans, they tried to calculate flight times, the American carrier’s course and speed, and come up with the proper impact point. Even with a nuclear warhead, a sure kill could only be guaranteed against a warship if it landed within a mile and a half. The damage radius was twice that. At the distance they were firing from, that worked out to a margin of error of less than two percent. But then, all they needed was one good hit.
With their target locked in, the Mirages fired. Five finned missiles dropped from centerline pylons and flew northwest, accelerating rapidly past the speed of sound.
When the French planes banked away, heading for home, the German Tornados dove for the deck, barreling in only fifty meters above the water. While the ASMP had a range of 150 nautical miles, the Kormoran antiship missiles they carried had to be launched within thirty miles of their intended target.
The
Those thirty miles could be added directly to the range of her SM2ER missiles. She was the first line of the carrier’s defense.
The cruiser’s tight-faced captain watched the new blips just long enough to be sure they were real. His missile engagement controller reported, “They’re still climbing and accelerating, Skipper. They won’t be in our SAM envelope for another minute. I count five.”
“All right, Steve. What’s the threat?”
“Unknown, sir.” The lieutenant paged rapidly through a loose-leaf book with red plastic covers. “Supersonic, high altitude, doesn’t fit any French or German antiship missile.
No radar signal from them yet.” Half to himself, he wondered, “An ARM targeted on our radars?”
Still leafing, the lieutenant glanced up at his display. “Speed’s up to Mach three, Skipper.”
He looked down at the book again and stiffened. Then he carefully studied the page, comparing the data there with the numbers on his screen. The blood drained from his face.
They were tracking the same inbound missiles in the carrier’s flag command center, and Ward’s staff recognized them the same instant that
His voice tight with control, the antiair warfare coordinator reported, “Admiral, inbounds are probably nuclear! Evaluated as ASMPs… about two minutes out.”
Ward fought the impulse to panic. He had too much to do. “It’s too late to disperse the formation. Emergency turn. Put every ship stern-on to them, and order all ships to individual maximum speed. Get all exposed personnel belowdecks! And send a flash message to the NCA!”
Facing away from a nuclear detonation would offer his ships limited but still significant protection. A blast wave running down a ship’s long axis would meet less resistance and hit its stronger stem first. Going to full speed might give each ship enough extra maneuverability to ride out the explosion and resulting sea surge.
He looked around and found his chief of staff. “Anything I missed, Harry?”
“Turn off and isolate nonvital radars. It might help with EMP effects.”
“Do it,” Ward confirmed. “That’s about all we have time for.”
Under his breath, he muttered, “Those bastards. I’ll make them regret this day.” But another voice ghosted through his brain reminding him he might not live long enough to keep that promise.
