boats were sheltered from his Harpoons by the Japanese island’s hills. The geometry just wasn’t quite right. For a second he wondered if the NK commander had planned it that way. Then he dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter. What did matter was finding a way to get a shot at those fast attack boats before they could launch on him.
Levi ran his eye over the plot, half-listening to the constant stream of reports flowing in from the P-3 twenty miles ahead. There really was only one practical maneuver. He stepped to the intercom. “Mr. Keegan, alter course to zero three zero degrees and increase speed to twenty knots. Signal the
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Levi stepped back to the plot to speak to the tactical action office. “That’ll help us get a clear field of fire faster. And it’ll keep the merchies behind us if missiles start flying.”
The other man smiled, but Levi’s ASW officer didn’t look so pleased.
“Problems, Bill?”
“If there’s a sub out there, Captain, we’re in a world of hurt. At this speed, our sonars aren’t going to be worth a damn.”
Levi nodded gravely. “I’m aware of that. But that’s a risk we’ll have to take. Our helos will have to shield us while we take out those NK boats.” He stopped, hoping he wouldn’t have to eat those words at the court-martial that would follow any defeat.
“They’re still closing, Skipper. Now less than seven miles away.”
The P-3’s pilot smiled. “Maybe they think we’re gonna let ’em get close enough to use those machine guns on us. Keep your eyes on them, though. The boys on the
Sierra Five continued its lazy orbit, watching as the two North Korean missile boats charged in. Navy intelligence reports said the NK Osas didn’t carry any significant antiaircraft weapons.
Sohn kept his eyes moving, swiveling back and forth from the American plane to the SA-7 SAM team crouching low beside the aft 30 mm gun turret. They were almost in range — just a few hundred meters more. Closer. Closer. He brought his hand up, ready to signal the attack. Almost…
“Range is now five miles, Skipper.”
The P-3’s pilot heard the questioning note in his radar operator’s voice and let it feed the small uncertainty growing in his own mind. The North Korean missile boats were now clearly visible to the naked eye. “Yeah. That’s close enough. Let’s put some airspace between us and get that sonobuoy line laid.”
His hands were already busy banking the aircraft in a shallow turn away from the NK craft.
“It’s turning away!”
Sohn saw the massive four-engined aircraft changing shape as it changed course, pulling out of the slow figure-eight orbit it had been following. He leapt for the rear bridge railing. “On your feet! Fire! Fire!”
“But Comrade Captain…” The boat’s weapons officer tried to stop him, babbling something about the angles and ranges. It was too late.
The sailor clutching the SA-7 Grail SAM launcher rose from beside the aft gun turret and lifted it to his shoulder, letting the missile’s seeker head find the heat emanating from the P-3’s engines. It locked on and he fired, braced against the pitching deck as the missle ignited and flashed into the sky.
“Shit!” The P-3’s pilot saw the smoke trail curving after him and jammed the throttles all the way forward. A fuckin’ missile, he thought, they’ve got SAMs on those goddamned things. Who would’ve thought it? You should have, cried a voice inside his skull. He watched the airspeed indicator climb, agonizingly slowly, as the SAM gained on them, streaking in at close to a thousand knots.
Sierra Five got lucky.
The SA-7 closed rapidly on the P-3, veering toward the heat thrown off by its two port wing engines. Then, just two hundred yards or so behind its target, the North Korean missile — its propellant exhausted and momentum gone — tipped over and fell away into the sea. The P-3’s turn and burst of speed had carried it out of range.
The pilot breathed out, a little more shakily than he would have liked. That had been too close. He looked into the mirror. Now far behind him, the two surviving North Korean boats were curving away, heading southeast.
“Tell the
A faint cheer echoed his words. Submarines didn’t shoot back.
Levi wheeled toward his tactical action officer. “Light ’em up. Signal
The response was immediate. “Two small surface contacts! Bearing three five one. Range eighteen point four miles!”
At the same time, Levi could hear one of this ratings yelling, “ESM report! Strong Square Tie radar emissions, bearing three five one!”
“Fire four Harpoons! Two at each contact.”
Four missiles roared away from one of the ship’s two Mark 141 launchers.
“Five radar contacts, Comrade Captain. Two medium-sized, bearing one seven one, range twenty-nine point five kilometers. Two large and one medium-sized, bearing one six nine, range thirty-five kilometers.”
Sohn smiled. He’d been right. He’d found the American convoy. “Inform all units of the position, course, and speed of the enemy.”
“Missile alert! Four missiles fired at us from the lead group of enemy vessels!”
Sohn slapped a hand on the bridge railing, making his officers jump. “Very well! Those must be the enemy escorts. If we sink them, our submariner comrades will find it easy to deal with the merchant tubs left afloat.” He looked at the chubby weapons officer. The man’s face was wet — though whether from salt spray or fear-induced perspiration was beyond Sohn’s ability to guess. “Fire our own missiles at the lead enemy vessel.
The man turned to obey, and Sohn and all the rest ducked away as the
The radar operator’s voice squeaked into a falsetto that would have been comical under other circumstances. “Missiles inbound! I count… seven, eight small, high-speed contacts!”
Levi stayed calm. He’d already calculated the odds. “Warn
The situation he and his ships confronted showed the need for close teamwork. As a
He stood watching the CIC’s display screens, listening to the chatter from the men around him as the opposing missiles sped toward their respective targets. For the moment he was as much a bystander as if he’d never taken a Navy commission. This battle was in the hands of the computers and the men who served them.
He watched as six Standards raced out from the
