twin tailpipes. Thor felt the increase in its wake buffet the Hornet as the Flanker ascended. Reflexively, he followed the Flanker, maintaining a good firing solution on it from behind.
The Flanker twisted and turned, behaving for all the world like a fighter suddenly engaged in air-to-air combat. Since he was carrying no missiles, the pilot would be solely concerned with allowing Thor to get a decent shot off.
The Flanker veered suddenly and raced back along its original course, heading for the coast of Vietnam, still twisting and dodging. It must have taken being illuminated by fire control radar seriously, and the pilot must be thinking he was in immediate danger. Thor let the pilot open the distance between then, wishing there was some way to convey that despite his air-to-air armament, he had no intention of taking a shot at the other pilot.
He followed the Flanker, still conducting evasive maneuvers, to the edge of the air protection envelope, and then broke off. Paranoid little bastard, he thought, and felt a moment of sympathy for the other pilot. If Thor’s experience was any guide at all, the Flanker driver was going to need a clean pair of skivvies as soon as he got back to his base.
“Any activity?” the TACCO asked again.
“Nothing.” Rabies took his eyes off the window and turned in his seat so he could see the TACCO. “You’re pretty antsy about this one. Quit worrying — we’re far enough off that we can outrun anything a Flanker’s likely to shoot at us.”
“This isn’t feeling right,” the TACCO answered over the ICS. “That Flanker hauling ass out of here after passing targeting information down to the sub — why?”
“You don’t know for sure it was talking to the sub. Maybe it was just some sort of exercise. And she went buster because idiot Aegis lit her up. How’d you feel if an unfriendly carrying long-range surface-to-air missiles lit you up with fire control radar?”
“About like I do right now, Rabies.” The TACCO leaned forward, trying to see out of the cockpit. The sub was out of sight, lost to view by being head-on into the setting sun.
“Getting machinery noise, flow tones. Hull popping — she’s changing depth!” the AW said suddenly. “Sir, where is she?”
The TACCO felt a cold chill. “Rabies, get us out of the damned sun,” he said urgently.
“Ready one,” the copilot announced as the S-3B moved — now painfully slowly, it seemed to the TACCO — out of line of sight with the sun.
“Sir!” the AW insisted.
The TACCO strained forward to see out the canopy.
Below them, he saw disturbed water, dark shadows moving below the warm murk of the South China Sea. Was there movement? He couldn’t tell for sure. Illogically, he wondered whether the submarine could see him through the canopy, looking up at the aircraft through the periscope. Could it see his pale white face peering forward between the two pilots’ seats? He rubbed his hand over his chin, feeling the rough afternoon growth.
Suddenly, the water below them exploded into white froth and foam, boiling up from below like an undersea geyser reaching higher and higher into the sky. Twenty feet above the water, the sea peeled back like a banana skin, revealing the slender white form inside it.
“SHIT!” Rabies screamed, throwing the S-3B into a hard right turn. The copilot lurched in his seat as he completed the remaining sequences to drop the torpedo, coldly reporting his actions to the carrier. The TACCO felt the Viking buck, as 506 pounds of Mk-46 torpedo dropped away from the wing.
“It wasn’t a fucking Grail,” he shouted over the ICS. “That wasn’t aimed at us!”
“What the hell was that?” the E-2C was screaming at the same time over the tactical net. “Hunter, what the fuck?”
Rabies knew the rest of his crew had seen the missile, but they hadn’t really seen it. They’d seen what they expected to see — another SAM launched at their aircraft.
“It’s a cruise missile!” Rabies screamed over the net. It wouldn’t be bothering with the Viking circling overhead. No, the ships in the battle group provided a much more inviting target.
“Missile inbound, sir!” the EW yelled on the net, as his SLQ-32 ESM gear detected the missile seeker head and started blaring warnings. Seconds later, the air tracker jumped in, reporting the radar contact.
The TAO reacted instantly. The Aegis combat systems were fully capable of handling an entire air engagement on full automatic, doing everything from identifying threat targets to assigning weapons based on priorities and firing the air-to-air missiles. When it was on automatic. Under the current threat condition, though, it still required operator intervention.
The TAO acknowledged the contact on his screen, his fingers flashing over the keys. He was aware of the CO standing behind him, asking questions and demanding answers. Reflex and training paid off — within seconds, the SM-2MR streaked off the rails, another missile sliding into firing position immediately behind it.
The TAO, his eyes fixed on the radar screen, said, “One away, Captain.” Now that the actual missile was launched, he had a few seconds to wait before he would decide whether to launch a second salvo. There was still time.
It looked good. The attack geometry was perfect, and they’d had enough warning and data to get a good fix on the incoming missile. There were too many friendly ships and aircraft in the area to indiscriminately launch a spate of long-range missiles, especially when the geometry for a single-shot kill looked good.
Even if the missile missed, the cruiser had one last-ditch chance against it, as did the carrier. Both ships, as well as all the other ones in the battle group, were equipped with CIWS. The TAO prayed it wouldn’t be necessary. While CIWS could fire like a gatling-gun and nail a missile up to two miles away, even a destroyed missile would probably shower the ship with burning fragments of fuel and flak. The debris could knock out either the SPS-49 air radar or the super-sensitive SPY-1 that made the Aegis such a formidable platform.
Ten miles from the carrier, the SM2-MR caught up with the intruder. On the radar, the two blips merged, then disappeared. From the bridge it would have been a spectacular sight, the fireball of missile-on-missile lighting up the sky and reflecting off the water. Here in combat, in the bowels of the Aegis cruiser, only a faint dull thud provided outside confirmation of what their radars told them.
“I guess next time you’ll listen up,” the CO snarled. A look of unholy jubilation lit the older man’s face. “I knew those bastards would try something! If I hadn’t had those birds on the rails, we would all be toast! Think about that next time, before you start running off at the mouth.”
“Yes, sir.” The TAO leaned forward over his screen, staring at it as though it held some secret. Whatever doubts he’d had about the CO before seemed grossly unprofessional. No matter that Captain Killington had been prepared for air-launched missiles and a submarine had actually taken the shot. The launch platform was irrelevant because the captain’s instincts had been right. The TAO’s best judgment might have gotten the ship sunk.
He glanced over at his coffee cup. He’d drained down the last bitter dregs just before the missile shot. With the ship at General Quarters, he was unlikely to get a refill anytime soon. Not until they stood down to Condition Two, at any rate. It didn’t matter right now, while the adrenaline from the missile shot still pounded in his veins. Four hours from now, however, he knew he’d be aching for a caffeine fix.
Just as well that he couldn’t get a refill on the coffee right now. The other thing that was secured during General Quarters was the head.
He wondered whether caffeine deprivation and full bladders played much part in the course of war at sea. Probably so, he concluded, as he remembered that the Captain of the USS Stark had been in the head when his ship had taken a near-fatal missile shot in the Persian Gulf. That hadn’t been a declared war, either, although a lot of sailors had died.
From down here in the sandbox, he concluded, it didn’t matter that there was no declared war or prior warning. They could be just as dead, and just as short on head calls and coffee, as any force had been in a declared war.
At least with Captain Killington in command, it looked like Vincennes would never take a hit. And that was of more comfort to the TAO than caffeine right now.
