Cauldron

“Dale reports she’ll engage in thirty seconds.”

TORNADO FLIGHT

Under the original attack plan, Germany’s Tornados were expected to attack all American missile defense ships ahead of the ASMPs — clearing a path for the nuclear-tipped missiles. Now, instead of saturating the carrier’s defenses, the three surviving planes aimed for the keystone, and hoped that would be enough.

While the Germans had been passing information to the French planes, they had also used their radars to locate the picket missile cruiser. With its location, course, and speed locked into their computers, they’d plunged to the deck. Howling in only fifty meters above the waves, the Tornados were below Dale’s radar horizon — out of sight and out of the line of fire. Of course, they couldn’t see the American cruiser, either.

Their computers knew where she was, though, and guided them toward the target. Just over thirty miles out, HUD indicators prompted the crews to fire. The Tornados popped up, climbing to five hundred feet. First one missile, then a second, left each Tornado.

Gratefully the Germans turned away, beginning a long and perilous journey back to base.

A dozen miles overhead, the five ASMPs sped on.

USS DALE

“New raid, bearing one six three, correlates with the Tornados we saw earlier. Probable prelaunch maneuver.”

Dale’s tactical action officer turned toward the captain. The cruiser would launch her first pairs of Standard 2ER SAMs in a few seconds.

The captain turned his head to look at the TAO, but his attention was still concentrated on coping with the first threat they’d detected.

“If they’ve fired Kormorans, Skipper, we won’t see them until they’re twenty miles out — about one minute from now. Klakring’s the only other ship in range.”

“Then tell Klakring to unmask and engage.”

The TAO replied, “I estimate five-plus missiles, sir. She probably can’t do it alone.”

Dale’s captain turned and gave him his full attention. He nodded slightly. “Understood, Tom.”

Protecting George Washington took precedence over self-defense.

The lieutenant at the missile console announced, “Birds away.” A rippling roar from fore and aft confirmed his statement.

At each end of the ship, a massive twin-armed missile launcher swung back down to near level. In the metal skin of the ship just behind them, small doors opened up and needle-nosed missiles slid out quickly, belying their ton-and-a-half weight. Now carrying a three-ton load, the launchers slewed up and out again.

It took about thirty seconds for each launcher to go through its reloading cycle. In that time, Dale’s first four SAMs were halfway to the rapidly closing targets.

Klakring fired as well. Her single-arm launcher fired a shorter-range, older version of Dale’s missile, but the smaller launcher was quicker — pumping out a missile every ten seconds. The frigate’s deck and launcher were soon black with scorched paint and missile exhaust.

Her SM1 missiles had a hard time with the sea-skimming Kormorans. The German missiles hugged the wavetops, only a man’s height above the water. At that height, the water itself returned an echo to the missile’s seeker.

The first salvo of Dale’s long-range SAMs reached the ASMPs just as the first of Klakring’s missiles missed one of the Kormorans. Both sets of targets were difficult. One high-flying and very fast, the other not so fast but very low.

Dale’s missiles were newer and had a clearer view of their targets. Two of the four connected, shredding the ASMPs’ airframes and their warheads.

Klakring’s second SM1 struck a Kormoran, slamming it into the water in an explosion of spray. The third, intended for the same target, missed and the frigate’s missile director quickly shifted to another missile in the same group.

The German seaskimmers were much closer now. As Dale’s third group of four missiles left her launchers, chaff blossomed over both ships. At the same time, the frigate’s three-inch gun opened up, pumping out round after round at one-second intervals. A puff of black-gray smoke marked each shell as it burst.

The second group of four SAMs from Dale intersected the ASMPs’ track. Two more nuclear missiles died, leaving just a single attacker.

So far Klakring’s launcher had spat out eight missiles, but she’d only been graced with a single hit. Now, as the Kormorans converged on the cruiser, the frigate’s last shot missed. She still carried plenty of SAMs in her magazine, but the German missiles were too close. If she fired again, she would be more likely to hit her larger companion.

The Kormorans were only seconds from impact.

Dale’s starboard Phalanx fired, sending an almost solid stream of tungsten projectiles out in a quarter-second burst. As it fired, the six-barrel Gatling gun’s dual radars tracked both the target and its bullet stream, bringing the two together. A mile away, a small black dot suddenly blossomed into an ugly black ball of smoke. The automated gun did not pause to admire its accuracy, but fired again — exploding another incoming missile. Both engagements took only seconds, but while the gun knocked down those two Kormorans, three others reached the ship.

Two missiles hit, slamming into her port side — one in the after deckhouse, the other near the bridge. Each carried nearly five hundred pounds of explosive moving just under the speed of sound.

Sections of Date’s superstructure were torn out, while red-hot fragments slashed through her interior. In seconds, Dale was a pyre. The last four SAMs she had fired, deprived of their guiding hand, flew harmlessly past the remaining ASMP.

Ships in the inner screen were now in firing range. In a ragged salvo, an Aegis cruiser on the far side of the carrier, a Perry-class frigate, and a Kidd-class missile destroyer all launched SAMs.

Twenty miles out, at thirty thousand feet, one of the American missiles hit home.

Unlike the other French missiles, this ASMP had gotten close enough to arm itself. “Salvage-fused,” it sensed its own death and detonated.

Sailors who hadn’t yet taken cover belowdecks saw a bright sphere, the size of a small coin, appear in the sky — glowing like a weak red sun.

There wasn’t any real danger at that distance. After averting their eyes from the initial flash, everyone stared at the angry symbol of Armageddon. Twenty seconds later, a sudden puff of warm wind swept past — the only tactile sign of temperatures and pressures that had briefly rivaled the sun itself.

Admiral Gibierge’s masterstroke had failed.

USS GEORGE WASHINGTON

Ward was busy with the search-and-rescue efforts and the air battle’s aftermath. The fireball had almost dissipated by the time he stepped outside. Off to the southeast, the sky was littered with shredded white smoke trails, while a black column of smoke closer in marked Dale’s demise.

They’d been damn lucky, he thought. He’d made an unexpected move, caught the enemy off guard, and come out relatively intact. They’d lost one cruiser, about twenty fighters, but they’d decimated EurCon air power. It had cost the lives of about five hundred sailors and airmen, he reflected sadly, but without the victory they could have lost many times that number.

Another missile ship was already steaming over to take Dale’s position. His fighter squadrons were recovering on board the two carriers. Once his pilots had time to rest and eat, each bird farm would launch the first in a long series of Alpha Strikes aimed at French and German air and naval bases. He planned to make sure EurCon paid dearly for what it had done.

Better yet, the carrier Vinson would arrive in the area in several more days, allowing him to keep two carriers on the line continuously while the other pulled back to replenish and rest its air crews.