by Adam Yoshida
From the Flag Bridge of the Reagan , Admiral Layton looked grimly at the latest reports. It appeared likely that the casualties in the battle would, even if no one else was to be injured or killed, total well over one thousand, making this the bloodiest day for the United States Navy since the Second World War. He checked his watch. It wasn't quite 1PM.
The CAG tapped the Admiral on the shoulder.
"We have the location of the enemy fleet," he said.
HMS Queen Elizabeth (R08) , 1295 Miles East of Puerto Rico
"I make the count one hundred and seventy six," reported the CAG onboard the Queen Elizabeth as a final F-35 made a vertical landing on the decks of the British aircraft carrier.
"I counted them all out and I counted around 80% of them back," said Admiral Childers to himself as an aside.
"Sir?" said the CAG.
"The Falklands. The last time around," he said quietly before asking, "where are we on re-arming?"
"Every anti-air weapon that we've got is being strapped onto those planes and we're putting them into the air as fast as we can."
"We bloodied them," said the Admiral, "not enough to stop them, but enough to hurt. They're going to be looking for us. If we cannot annihilate their force, our best bet is to withdraw so that we can continue to impede their progress as they move towards American shores. Let them arrive there depleted and worn-down. But we need those planes in the air: we don't have anything like their air defenses."
"The pilots are tired, but in good spirits, sir," reported the CAG.
"And our... friend?" asked the Admiral.
"He landed ten minutes ago," reported the CAG, "but he and the rest of his men are going right back on up."
U.S.M.C. F/A-18 Super Hornet, 1100 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Captain Michael Pope held the stick tightly as his F/A-18 was buffeted by the unsettled winds of the North Atlantic Ocean.
The X-47C drone launched over from the Harry Truman had managed to lurk over the enemy's Combined Fleet for nearly two minutes before it was detected and destroyed. During that time it hd managed to feed back to the Fifth Fleet a nearly-perfect picture of the disposition of the enemy's forces. Pope had friends onboard the New Orleans . Now he had no idea whether or not they were dead or alive. Someone was going to pay for that.
Behind Captain Pope was arrayed the rest of VMA-214, along with a further one hundred and ninety-eight Navy and Marine fighters and attack aircraft. They were deliberately approaching the Combined Fleet at a course that would ultimately place them parallel to it, rather than heading directly on in. Captain Pope had no idea why that would be but he was a good Marine and accustomed to following orders, even when they made no outward sense.
"Black Sheep, Ghost. You have twelve hostiles inbound on a course of two-three-five degrees. Over," called out the E-2C Hawkeye AWACS that was in charge of directing the rightwards wing of the strike.
"Ghost, Black Sheep 6. Acknowledged and out," called out the squadron commander over the radio. The Super Hornets of the Marine attack squadron were holding up the right flank of the strike package
"Ghost, Black Sheep 6. Can you identify what we have inbound? Out," called out the Squadron Commander after the passage of another few seconds.
"Black Sheep 6, Ghost. It's a weak signal. Our best guess: Lightning Bs off of the Brit carriers. Over," came the reply.
"Fuck," muttered Captain Pope to himself. if the F-35 had proven to be a disappointment in many respects, it was still stealthy as hell and certainly far better at evading detection than the older F/A-18s that the Marines were flying.
The two squadrons of Fleet Air Arm Lightning IIs that were approaching the American strike package were attempting to intercept the flank of the raid in order to cause maximum disruption. Throwing missiles into a tightly-packed formation of aircraft was likely not only to kill some of those planes directly but also to cause bonus damage in the form of losses that resulted from collisions and impacts by loose debris.
"Missiles inbound," called out the AWACS. Pope scanned his screen. The British fighters were dumping AMRAAMs into the air as fast as they could be dropped off of their rails. They were just sixty kilometres away and still incoming towards the strike.
"On me," called out Black Sheep 6 as he fully engaged his afterburners and broke away from the main body of the formation to turn and engage the British attackers.
"Fox Three," radioed the squadron leader seconds later as he fired the first of his own missiles at the British. Within moments similar calls from the entire squadron filled the radio channel.
The enemy squadron now directed their fire with greater precision, targeting the Marine Super Hornets that proved to be the most urgent threat. Pope's own systems began to signal that there were incoming missiles heading in his direction.
"Do not break off," called out the squadron commander, "continue to engage."
The British took the same tack, continuing to close with their opponents even as the missile fire back to take its toll. The F/A-18 next to Pope exploded in a blinding flash that was only briefly visible in Pope's peripheral vision.
Both sides continued to close in on one another, with each losing four of their numbers as they furiously fired. Seconds after that, both sides were close enough to fire their infared-guided missiles at one another. Directly in Pope's field of vision a British lightning took a direct hit from a Sidewinder missile and exploded.
"Break off," signalled the squadron commander as the range closed to less than ten kilometres. He took his own Super Hornet into a step dive and Pope followed him. One of the other Super Hornets of the squadron either missed the cue or saw an opportunity that it just couldn't pass up.
"Guns, guns, guns," the pilot called out as he engaged the British forces directly with his cannon, destroying one of the F-35s and damaging the other as he managed, with a sharp turn, to cross the "t" of the enemy fighters.
Fleet Air Arm F-35 Lightning II, 1095 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Lieutenant-Commander Windsor couldn't help but admire the bravery of the American pilot who had managed to destroy one of the aircraft of his squadron by attacking them with their cannon from an angle. Though he also couldn't help noting with some satisfaction that, as brave as that particular gesture was, it had also been suicidal: moments after destroying the British Lightning the American Super Hornet had, in turn, been destroyed by a British Sidewinder missile.
The American raid continued inbound, with the main body of the force pressing on in spite of the losses that they had sustained. With his own fighters out of missiles, the Prince had no choice but to execute a turn and attempt to return to base.
Windsor and the rest of his men flew in silence. There were no high spirits at the moment. Though they had done their best, they also knew that they had indisputably failed in stopping the incoming wave of aircraft. That the strike was many times larger than their own forces and that actually defeating them with the force on hand at that particular moment was of cold comfort to the pilots who had, deep down, always expected that they could rise to any occasion no matter the length of the odds.
As they flew back towards their carrier, two more squadrons of hastily-launched planes flew past them headed in the opposite direction, the timing of the American strike having compelled the fleet to commit its own air resources in dribs and drabs.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 1020 Miles East of Puerto Rico
"Another Super Hornet is down," reported the CAG as he directed the operations of the strike, "we can be in our best firing positions in moments, provided you give the order."
"Hold on," ordered Admiral Layton as he looked at the latest readouts from the fleet's combined sensor network.
Another American plane was claimed, dropping off of the radar screen, though not without compensation as two of the Russian Su-33 fighters that had tardily joined the fight also disappeared from the display and were added to the running total of the losses on both sides.
"Alright,"
said the Admiral as he viewed the latest targeting plan distributed by the Reagan 's tactical action officer, "fire now."
The moment of the strike package had been designed from the beginning to provide time to coordinate their fire with that of the ships of the fleet, which had managed to move to within the ideal range for the use of their own Long-Range Anti-Ship Missiles. This time, Admiral Layton was well-aware, had been purchased with American lives as he hoped that the air battle would distract the DU force commander and prevent them from focusing upon the movement of the American ships themselves, and it would also be a one-time occurrence, for the Vertical Launch System cells of the Fifth Fleet could only be reloaded at a port.
Within seconds the number of objects in the air began to soar, as the American vessels emptied a large portion of their magazines, holding a reserve of less than 25% back for contingencies. When the fire of the American vessels was combined with that of their aircraft, there were five hundred and forty-six supersonic missiles in the air and headed towards the Democratic Union fleet.
HMS Queen Elizabeth (R08) , 1290 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Admiral Childers knew that it was vital for him to project an image of unflappability as the American missile strike headed towards his ships. However, the truth be told, he was rattled. He hadn't realized that either the American ships were so well-provisioned with anti-ship missiles or that they would be willing to close up range and use them in so direct a fashion.
The Admiral said a silent prayer that he had put his foot down and insisted for as many missile defense ships as possible, even those that the Admiralty and its respective national counterparts had insisted were unready for action in some fashion. As a result, the Combined Fleet had all six of the Royal Navy's Daring -class Destroyers as well as three of the four Franco-Italian Horizon -type frigates. That meant that they had just over four hundred advanced ASTER-type missiles to use. Combined with the long-range anti-air weapons of the Russian Sovremenny -class Destroyers that accompanied the fleet and the point-defense anti-air weapons of all of the ships, it might just be enough to survive.
"Signal the fleet," called out Childers, "that we are going to turn and adopt a new course heading of zero-four-five degrees. All ships to signal when ready."
"Aye sir," answered the communications operator.
"We will engage automatically once the incoming missiles fall within range," called out the Royal Navy Captain who was coordinating the tactical operations of the fleet.
"Admiral," added the French CAG, "I do not wish to add to your troubles, but it may be the case if we cannot get our planes landing in the next few minutes that some - or even many - of them will have to ditch at sea. Should I authorize this? They're going to do it anyways."
"Tell them to coast until the last fumes," ordered the Admiral, "but, once they have passed that point, they may ditch. Pick the safest location and we'll do our best to pick them up afterwards."
"Yes Admiral," replied the French officer.
Childers grabbed the edge of the computer console with his hands and held on tight as he watched the tracks of the incoming missiles. They would arrive in two waves. First those fired from the American air strike would hit and then, a few minutes later, the wave launched from the sea would do the same.
Visibility was excellent, giving the Admiral a clear view as the first of the long-range ASTER30 missiles carried by the British, French, and Italian ships were lofted into the air. Memories of long-ago arguments, when Admiral Childers had been Lieutenant-Commander Childers and assigned to shore duties, crept into the back of his mind. He had always felt that forty-eight VLS cells was too few for a ship of the size and expense of the Daring-class Destroyer.
It was no good to dwell upon any of that now , he thought, and he banished the notion from his mind as he instead focused upon the intertwining missile tracks. Within seconds the number of objects displayed on the screen multiplied greatly as they were joined by the SA-N-12 Grizzly missiles carried by the Russian Destroyer contingent and then the SA-N-6 Grumble missiles carried by the Kirov .
The explosions in the distance had the appearance of fireworks detonating one after another. A cascade of color filled the sky as the missiles soared forth to meet their fateful appointments in the sky. Childers looked down and, on the screen in front of him, the total was dropping. There were fewer than three hundred missiles inbound now and the total was still dropping.
Even two hundred would be enough to sink every single thing here, though , he thought grimly.
The total continued to drop. There were two hundred and fifty-one missiles incoming. The drop-off rate began to slow and then stopped. Even with the expenditure of almost every long-rang missile in the fleet there were still two hundred and thirty-six supersonic anti-ship missiles inbound.
As the range of the incoming missiles dropped to less than fifty kilometres, the first of the close-in weapons systems began to engage.
I don't know why we ever built the fucking ASTER-15 , thought Childers, it's the same damned missile in almost every respect, but just shorter-range and it uses up exactly the same number of VLS cells. Actually, I do know why we built it: it was slightly cheaper. Bastards.
The count of incoming missiles dropped to under one hundred. Cheers began to ring through the bridge and then to echo through the ship, but Childers did not join them. He could do the math. Every missile and gun that could be brought to bear was now engaged, creating a solid wall of sound that was shattered seconds later as the impacts began.
A few hundred metres ahead of the Queen Elizabeth , the French Destroyer Forbin took three direct hits from the American LRASMs in the space of a few seconds. It was simply too much for the seven thousand ton Frigate, which blew apart like a pumpkin stuffed with fire crackers on Halloween. A little further away the Type 45 Destroyer, HMS Duncan , was wholly aflame. From where he was standing Childers couldn't determine what exactly had struck it.
Nor was Queen Elizabeth held immune admit the carnage. One missile stuck squarely in the middle of the flight deck, scatting burning fuel, debris, and fragments of men in every direction with utter impartiality. A second missile struck the side of the ship, tearing an ugly hole into the steel and killing twelve and wounding another forty.
It was a creditable performance in its own way, reflected Childers as he regained his bearings and surveyed the damage done to the fleet, there had been five hundred and forty-six missiles fired in the direction of the fleet and only thirty-four had actually struck ships. In other words, the Combined Fleet's missile defenses had been just under 94% effective. However, when the consequences of each miss are that a thousand pounds of improved high explosives will rain down upon your men, then the consequences of any individual miss are quite severe indeed.
"Admiral," the voice of his chief operations officer cut clearly through the confusion. Childers turned to look at him.
"Admiral," said the ashen-faced man, "the Prince of Wales , sir. She was hit four times."
The other British Carrier was positioned on the far end of the fleet's formation, outside of the view that Childers had from onboard the Queen Elizabeth .
"How bad?" he asked.
"Bad enough that the ship is almost immobile. It's early goings yet - but a lot of fires. An ammunition bunker blew, among other things. Electrical problems. A Godawful mess."
"Ok," said Childers quietly, processing the information.
"Sir," pressed the Commander, "if we continue our present course and speed, then we are going to leave Prince of Wales outside of whatever defenses we still have."
"We don't have defenses, Commander. We shot off everything that we had in that last round."
"Perhaps so, Admiral. Perhaps so. But what, then, are we to do about Prince of Wales ? She'll be a sitting duck if we don't protect her."
"The American Navy has always been honourable," said Childers, "order the fleet to continue on its present course. Aircraft are to move, to the degree that it is possible,
from any ships that are not capable of keeping pace to those that are on the move already. Authorize Prince of Wales and the other ships that aren't capable of coming with us to strike their colours. Signal that to them in the clear so that the Americans do not misunderstand our intentions."
Su-33 Flanker, 1075 Miles East of Puerto Rico
The Russian fighter had been driven off course during the great exchange of missiles and was still, nearly twenty minutes later, trying to find a way home that didn't involve a further exchange of fire with American air patrols.
The pilot was still trying to get his bearings when his console suddenly indicated that he was being electronically tracked. As far as the pilot knew he was a significance distance from the American fleet, having actually circled around it in an effort to avoid falling into either the crossfire of the missiles or being chanced upon by the U.S. Combat Air Patrol. He studied the screen in front of him. The radar he was being tracked by wasn't an ordinary fighter's radar or even an AWACS. It was the SPY-1 radar of an AEGIS-equipped vessel.
A second warning sounded, indicating that an SM-2 had been launched in his direction. The pilot dove to evade, seeking to pick up speed as he did. Moving towards the ocean, he squinted and looked forward, attempting to evade the setting late-afternoon sun.
It was then, looking towards the water and attempting to eyeball his position, that the pilot saw his opponent. It was impossible to miss: a giant American aircraft carrier with two escorting ships nearby.
Upon seeing what he was headed towards, the pilot instantly began to execute a turn He could evade one or even two missiles, but those things below carried hundreds of them. As soon as he was oriented away from the small American group, he kicked in his afterburners, seeking to put as much distance between himself and them in as short a time as physically possible.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 1025 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Admiral Layton reviewed the latest figures. His ships were largely depleted of missiles and his pilots were exhausted. Yet, from what he'd been able to observe, the enemy had to be in at least as bad a position and, in all probability, one that was much worse given the paucity of missiles in the magazines of most European ships.
