by Unknown
In Main Battery Plot the corrections were entered into the Rangekeeper just before the third salve fired.
Rhodes ordered Spot two to shift to the Slava class cruiser Moskva. Turret three shifted to that target and opened fire.
Aboard the Pyotr Velikiy
The second salvo was also on the right side of the ship. “I need to know where these rounds are coming from,” he yelled to his radar operators.
“There isn’t anything there, Captain!” came the reply.
A lookout called into the pilot house. “Sir, I have something on the horizon dead ahead!”
Suvorov grabbed his binoculars and stared ahead. Just on the horizon was a smudge of something. It suddenly lit up.
“Fire the remaining two missiles on a bearing of 202,” Suvorov shouted.
The last two remaining antiship missiles belched out of their vertical launch cells. Once in the air, they turned to the prescribed bearing and dove to just one hundred feet above the water. Both headed toward Iowa.
Suvarov watched the missiles leave the ship and hoped he could get away from the bombardment. He began giving orders to turn the ship. Almost immediately a sixteen inch round struck the bridge of the ship, traveling twenty feet into the structure before exploding. It ripped off the bridge and she ship’s radar control room as well as starting a fire in two anti-air missile magazines. A second shell struck the now empty SS-N-19 missile launchers, tearing through the empty cells and exploding just over the keel. The ship buckled and appeared to bend just forward of the bridge.
USS Iowa
“Incoming missiles!” shouted the phone talker.
Rhodes looked down at the cloaking system and saw the green light. There wasn’t much more he could do but hold on. Coming at over Mach one, the missiles seemed to be headed straight for the ship. Rhodes grabbed the 1MC mike and shouted, “Missiles inbound. All hands brace for impact.”
The first missile streaked in and flew just over the after stack, still seeking a target. The second missile flew a little lower and looked like it would hit the bridge. Instead, it flew above them, a fin clipping one of the radio antennas, sending the missile spinning down into the sea. The explosion on impact shook the whole ship. The radio antenna snapped off just five feet above its base and fell over onto turret two.
The men stood up from their slightly protected positions and looked out. Almost to a man they let out a “Whew!”
The guns fired again without missing a beat.
Aboard the Pyotr Velikiy
Misha Slovatin had been assigned duties in the emergency steering compartment of the ship. He and the four others in the space were sweating from the hot hydraulic pumps and rams turning the giant rudders on the ship. The first round had caused the ship to shudder, but the lights were still on and the ship was still moving. The second hit picked them up and flung them down. The lights still burned, but they could feel the ship slowing.
A third hit put the lights out for good. The pumps stopped and everything got quiet. Even the ventilation quit working. The emergency lights came on and the senior petty officer looked at the others. “Grab the survival gear and let’s get out. There’s nothing we can do now,” he said slowly.
The men began making their way up the ladders to the stern of the ship.
The third round had struck the ship amidships and hit the reactor containment vessel. It was armored, but not enough. The vessel tore from its mountings and was forced partially through the bottom of the ship. The reactor split open releasing radioactive steam from its primary loop.
Moskva
It was a lucky shot. The Moskva was struck on the first salvo. The sixteen inch round penetrated down into the engine room amidships before going off. Flames and debris rose high into the air and the ship lifted up in the middle and settled back down. A second round struck an anti-air missile magazine. The ship erupted as the magazine detonated all at once. When the smoke settled, there was nothing left of her to be seen.
The Pyotr Velikiy
Slovatin and his mates made it through the ship to a hatch on the stern. The ship was beginning to list to port. Great geysers of water were being flung into the air around the ship as more rounds came in. Fire was pouring from somewhere forward and smaller explosions were felt and heard. Crewmen were running all over trying to escape the carnage. They saw huge clouds of steam rising from a gaping hole amidships and being blown forward, so they ran to a life raft canister just forward of the stern. It took all four of them to shove it over the side. They were gratified to see the capsule pop open and the raft inflate in the water. They were getting ready to go in when the fourth sixteen- inch round hit the gun mount one deck up from where they were standing. Misha felt himself being flung through the air before he lost consciousness.
USS Iowa
The Iowa slowed and watched as the huge ship began to sink. The cruiser and the Freedom had launched missiles toward the other ships. Several were reported sinking. Rhodes looked out over the water and gave a sad look at the doomed ship. He could see men scrambling all over the ship trying to push life rafts into the water. Unfortunately, most of the rafts were amidships and not reachable because of the steam and flames. He turned to the OOD. “Cease fire. Get hold of the deck department. I want some utility boats in the water to help pick these men up. This just turned into a rescue mission,” he said. Turning around he saw Father Danner standing behind him. “Father, I need you to get to the fantail and coordinate the efforts to get all those men aboard,” he said pointing toward the stricken ship. “Can you do that for me?”
Danner’s face broke into a grin. “No problem, Captain. Can we set up the messdecks as a holding station?”
Rhodes nodded. “Whatever you need. Just make it quick. We might have company.”
“On the way,” Danner said as he left the bridge and began making his way back aft.
Upon reaching the fantail Danner found Boats Patnaude already working with a crew to launch one of the 40 foot utility boats. Looking to starboard the Pyotr Velikiy was still two miles distant, but he could hear the moaning of the hull, the crackling flames and distant yells as the ship began breaking apart. Danner watched as it slowly turned over to port until the radar antennas touched the water and kept going. The forward part of the ship seemed to break off from the rest and sank rapidly. The after part of the ship clung to the surface for a while. There was a large piece of rounded steel sticking partly out of the bottom. It was glowing red hot.
The forward part of the remaining hulk rapidly dipped below the surface and began carrying the rest with it. The last thing the men on deck saw was two large screws and rudders glistening in the sunlight before they too descended under the surface in a wash of foam and bubbles. The sea surrounding the ship was littered with men trying to get aboard the life rafts which were now popping to the surface after coming loose from their cradles on the ship.
The Iowa got closer and a boat was launched. Danner told the men to try and help pick up as many survivors as they could. The water temperature was only about 40 degrees. People would freeze to death in minutes.
The boat shoved off and eased into the mass of bobbing sailors. The crewmen started helping them onboard. A second boat was launched and moved further into the floating mass. When one boat filled, it latched onto some already filled life rafts and towed them back to the Iowa.
Misha Slovatin regained consciousness to see the side of a ship just beside the raft. A set of hands grabbed him and he felt himself being hoisted out of the raft and onto a big ship. Something was funny. The uniforms were different. One of the men spoke to him in English – something he learned in school. Then it dawned on him that this was an American ship. A smiling officer with a cross on his collar looked him over and told some sailors to get him below. He went down some steel stairs and found himself in a brightly lit space that was warm. He was given a towel to dry off with and he was ushered to a corner just to stay out of the way. In a few minutes, a man came by and gave him
a mug of soup. After a few sips he began to shake as the cold let go of him and he began to warm up. A young man came over and looked at a bump on his head. After a moment the young man looked at him and said, “You’ll be okay. Just rest here for a while until we can find a place to let you lie down.”
Remembering his English, Misha stammered out, “Thank you.” The guy gave him a wink and went to the next man. Looking around Misha saw that the large room was now filled with Russian sailors.
Petrivka
The old air base hadn’t been used in over thirty years. But when all the other bases had been hit, Major Vasilev had landed his flight of ten Sukhoi SU-25 bombers on the old runway and taxied over to the dilapidated hangars. His orders had been to rush down and attack American ships making the landings in Georgia, but the bases he was supposed to go to were nothing but rubble now. The hangars on the abandoned base weren’t usable, so the aircraft had to sit on the grass choked concrete pads just outside.
There were no telephones at the facility and he had to walk half a mile to an old house where the phones worked. Despite the urgency, it had taken hours for the trucks to arrive to refuel and restart the aircraft, but now they were ready. The word had come from the Naval Headquarters that American ships were attacking the Black Sea Fleet. It gave a latitude and longitude.
Vasilev climbed into his plane and watched as the others did the same. They probably wouldn’t come back from this, but it was their duty. Going against the Americans with just bombs was simply not a good idea. The SU-25 was more suited for a ground attack role, although these had been modified to land on a carrier. His flight carried only general purpose 250 pound bombs.
The ground crews hooked up the power units and the aircraft were spooled up. Vasilev signaled for the others to follow and he began to taxi to the end of the old airfield. He hoped it was even enough for them to take off. He pressed his throttles to the maximum and his aircraft bound down the runway, bumping over potholes and other obstacles until it clawed into the air. In just two minutes he was gratified to see all of his flight take formation around him. They turned toward the reported fighting.
USS Iowa
Despite the sinking there were hundreds in the water. Some had made it into rafts while others desperately tried making their way to the boats in the near freezing water. Onboard the Iowa, the crew worked desperately to get as many of the sailors onboard and comfortable as they could. Danner’s instructions were to get the most seriously injured below to the after messdecks for triage and let the others go to the forward messdecks and Chief’s mess. The officers were sent to the wardroom where they could rest. No one was questioned about anything, but the crewmen were surprised that so many of the sailors seemed relieved to be “captured” and out of the war.
The ship’s cooks had already left their stations to prepare hot soup and sandwiches for the Russians. Blankets were stripped off the engineering racks below to help them stay warm and dry off. The Russian uniforms were made of wool, which did not lend them to being put in a drier. The sailors were told to get out of their uniforms and keep warm in the blankets while the laundry tried to “cool dry” the uniforms.
Doc Dickerson and his team took the worst of the injured to sick bay. Burns were given first priority. Other injuries, such as deep lacerations were next. Soon sick bay was full and the wardroom was switched to a battle dressing station for the less seriously injured. Everyone pitched in.
In the Air over the Black Sea
Vasilev watched his radar to see any ships below. There was nothing. Flying at 10,000 feet, the gray daylight made the sea look dark and cold. With nothing on his screens, he wondered at the directions he had been given. Calls to his controllers repeated the same instructions and the same position. If he didn’t find them soon, he might have to return to base. He was definitely not going to ditch in that sea.
USS Iowa
The Link showed the slower moving aircraft coming close. With the ship stopped, Rhodes hoped they would not be seen. The cloak could do wonders, but it didn’t make them invisible to someone looking at them. Luckily, from the air, it was usually a wake that caught a pilot’s attention. Right now, Iowa was sitting still. Only the utility boats were moving. “How’s it going back aft?” Rhodes asked one of the watch standers.
In a minute the word came back. “Only about half so far, Captain.”
Rhodes nodded. “Tell them there are some aircraft in the area. Hurry it up,” he said.
“Aye, sir.”
On the fantail, Father Danner had his hands full. There were more than he had expected. Urging his team on, they continued helping the injured down the ladders into the messdecks area.
In the Air over the Black Sea
It was a fluke. A shaft of the sun shone down on the water through the grey clouds and Vasilev saw something. Picking up his binoculars, he stared at the area of the sea. There appeared to be a large ship stopped. What’s more, there were boats in the water around yellow life rafts. There was no doubt the ship was an American and that they were picking up survivors of another ship. He keyed his radio.
“This is vulture flight. I have a large American ship that looks to be picking up Russian survivors in the water. I see yellow life rafts that match the ones we use. They appear to be rescuing them, over,” he reported.
“Vulture flight, attack that ship and sink it, over,” came the reply.
“This is vulture leader, I say again, they are helping rescue Russian sailors. If we attack, we will be killing our own people, over,”
A different voice came on the line. “This is Admiral Kratich. Vulture leader, you have your orders. I do not care what they are doing. That ship must be sunk! Now carry out your orders,” he said.
“I understand, Admiral, but you realize we are only carrying small bombs. They will not be able to sink this size ship, over.”
“Quit wasting time! If you cannot sink it, then damage it so we may finish the job later. Do your job!”
“Vulture leader, roger,” Vasiley said in disgust. He shook his head. How could the man order them to kill their own people? There was no reasoning. He motioned for his people to follow him as he turned toward the giant ship.
USS Iowa
Rhodes saw the turn towards them. He punched the bitch box. “Bridge, Strike. All ahead flank! Get us underway fast. Those planes just turned toward us.” Then he grabbed the 1MC mike. “Incoming aircraft, clear the decks!” he called out as the ship began to move.
Down below, the directors turned toward the aircraft and turned on their radars. Using their optics, the five inch mounts began unloading shells at an alarming rate to attempt to stop the Russian pilots. The radars could not be used with the cloak, but their signal might trigger the ‘VT’ fuses on the projectiles when they got near an aircraft. In secondary plot, the old computers could not generate a solution for these aircraft. They were much faster than what the Rangefinder was designed for. It made no difference. The mounts were shooting under local control.
On the fantail, Danner heard the announcement. He leaned over the side and got the attention of the boatswain’s mate in the utility boat. “Get away from the ship and save as many as you can! We’ll come back once this is over,” he yelled over the guns.
The Boatswain waved up to him and turned his utility boat away from the ship. Looking back, he saw Danner raise his hand in the sign of the cross and looked like he said a short prayer before turning back to the others.
Danner turned toward Boats Patnaude. “Boats we got to get these people to safety if we can.”
“Too many. Let’s get as many as we can between the aft superstructure and turret three. At least there we can give them some protection. We can put some in the after passageways,” Patnaude shouted.
The Iowa crew helped the sailors get off the fantail. With the sudden vibration of the screws, the Russian sailors didn’t need coaxing. Someone closed the hatch leading below as the ship turned sharply.
In the Air over t
he Iowa
“The deck is full of our people,” cried one of the pilots. Vasiley felt awful. Nothing prepared him for this. “I know. First section, follow me down,” he ordered.
Vasiley pushed over into a shallow dive. The great ship was moving, trying to maneuver away. He intentionally dipped slightly so that his bomb would strike the water on the side of the ship away from the rafts and boats. When he pulled up and away, he saw the explosion a good twenty yards from the ship. He could always blame his miss on the ship’s maneuvering. The second aircraft did the same. Not so the third.
USS Iowa
The first two bombs went off with a deafening roar, sending showers of seawater cascading over the deck and causing the men to dive for what cover they could. The third hit the deckhouse just aft of turret three, blasting the small metal structure to pieces and sending bits of metal and teak flying.
Danner had thrown himself over two of the sailors still on the fantail. He felt something burn into his buttocks. Damn, he thought. Leave it to the priest to get shot in the ass. After another explosion in the water, he got to his feet and got the sailors moving again. Unfortunately, there were a number of people not moving. Despite his wound, Danner tried to get to the men on deck.
The after hatch sprung open again and people climbed out to help. Danner made his way, one by one, calling attention to those still alive. He came upon one young man propped up against the turret three barbette. He waved at Danner as he approached.
Danner looked down at the young man. He was still in his battle gear, but there was a pool of blood under him. The name ‘Flannigan’ was on his uniform. “We need to get you inside, Flannigan,” he said cheerfully as he reached for him.
