by Adam Yoshida
“Done,” replied the High Commissioner.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 1000 Miles East of Puerto Rico
The first sign that something was amiss had come with a Russian torpedo was detected heading towards the USS John C. Stennis. The massive Nimitz-class carrier had suffered only minor damage from the first torpedo strike, but within seconds there were fully seven more torpedoes in the water and all hell broke loose on every single ship in the 5th Fleet.
In the seconds after the first torpedo was launched, active sonar flooded the entire space around the ships of the fleet as an urgent hunt was undertaken for the submarine or submarines who had launched the projectiles that the ships of the fleet were now scrambling to avoid.
“Breathe easy, everyone,” ordered Admiral Layton as his staffers watched the delicate and dangerous dance of the ships, “the last thing we need is to have any collisions right now.”
“Jesus, those are some Goddamned ballsy Russian sub commanders. They must have been sitting right on the bottom of the ocean, silent, just waiting for us. We have to be right over them,” said Lieutenant Commander Kingston, his intelligence chief.
The hundred thousand ton Carrier began to accelerate as it sought to evade the second torpedo headed towards it.
“We’ve got a location on one of the Russian submarines,” reported one officer, “from one of our ASW choppers. Dropping on it now.”
A second torpedo struck the John C. Stennis, the carrier that had happened to be closest to the first Russian submarine. It was followed moments later by a third.
“Three hits on the Stennis,” reported one of the Operations Specialists in the CIC.
“Hit on the Russian submarine,” reported a second Operations Specialist.
“AWACS report that we have aircraft incoming,” declared a third, “data is feeding through now.”
“What’s the count?” asked the Tactical Action Officer.
“Still working on it,” replied the enlisted woman.
“CAP is moving to engage,” reported the Commander, Air Group, a Marine Colonel who was operating from the CIC of the Harry Truman.
“The count is two-hundred and fourteen inbound bogies,” called out the enlisted Operations Specialist, “repeat: two one four enemy aircraft are inbound.”
“…the fuck?” said the CAG over the line, before regaining his composure and continuing, “all ready aircraft, launch.”
HMS Queen Elizabeth (R08) , 1300 Miles East of Puerto Rico
They had clearly gotten the jump on the Americans, thought Vice-Admiral Travis Childers as he watched his inbound strike move across the displays arrayed in front of him. They had known that the joint European fleet was out there, but they were moving too fast and failing to properly scout. That made a great deal of sense: all of the world’s major navies had long ago gotten used to having near-continuous satellite assets available to them and, in their absence, their reconnaissance abilities had atrophied to an almost-shocking degree. In addition, he was certain, the Americans would never have expected him to bring his force of smaller Aircraft Carriers into so close a position before striking, as well as his adoption of a strategy that kept his Russian Backfire bombers on standby, which meant that only a third of them were available to him at any given time. Decades of study of war at sea in both its historic and present-day forms led Childers to believe that the victory usually went to the boldest. The success of the Royal Navy once upon a time had come about largely because they had been the quickest and best gunners: closing and firing upon the enemy at a rapid rate. As it was true two centuries ago, so he hoped it was also the case in the present.
“The Americans CAP is engaging with AMRAAMs at maximum distance,” reported the Marine Nationale Captain who was serving as the joint Commander Air Group of the Anglo-French-Russian force that was embarked upon the ships of the Combined Task Force.
“Take the strike in, Captain,” said Admiral Childers crisply.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 1000 Miles East of Puerto Rico
“Our first priority,” ordered Admiral Layton, “must be to find the location of the enemy force. Even if that means sacrificing a few early launch windows for defensive aircraft.”
“Admiral,” called back the CAG, “I think that…”
“That’s an order,” snapped Layton.
“Aye sir,” replied the CAG.
“Stennis is in at least some trouble,” reported the TAO who was coordinating the operations of the fleet.
“Detail two of the Burkes to remain behind to defend her as best as possible,” ordered Layton, “I want to take the rest of the fleet to the northeast.”
“Based upon the approach of the enemy air group,” noted the TAO, “that’s the most likely location of the main body of the enemy fleet.”
“I am well aware of that,” said Layton, “and I want our own aircraft to get clear of the air space over the fleet. Anything that we have on the decks is to be re-armed for anti-ship attack missions.”
The Admiral took a moment and took a look around the CIC.
“Engage with SAMs as soon as you have a chance at hitting anything,” he ordered, “fire at will.”
Fleet Air Arm F-35 Lightning II, 1100 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Lieutenant-Commander Harry Windsor and the rest of the inbound Joint Strike Force saw their morning get worse in a moment. Where, just seconds before, they had been dealing primarily with the threat posed by the mix of thirty F/A-18E Super Hornets and F-35 Lightning fighter aircraft that made up the combat air patrol that was covering the massive American fleet, suddenly they had a cloud of more than two hundred American Standard Missiles of both the SM-6 and SM-2 varieties heading into their direction.
The sudden launch of so many Surface-to-Air missiles forced the JTF’s air strike to launch their own missiles, a mix of Anglo-French Perseus and Russian Kh-22 anti-ship missiles somewhat earlier than anticipated and also resulted in some confusion as to targeting as the aircraft of the incoming strike hastily fired and turned to evade.
Commander Windsor’s F-35 dove quickly towards the ocean, hoping that both of the missiles fired and guided by the American AEGIS ships below that were now following his fighter would lose track of him amidst the confusion of nearly a thousand objects of various sorts zipping through a fairly enclosed air space. From the side of his eye the commander watched as the consequences of this were made starkly clear when a a French Rafale managed to collide in mid-air with one of the Russian Backfires as both turned to evade incoming American SAMs.
Windsor took his Lightning sharply upwards and activated his afterburners as he did. The sudden change in altitude was enough to allow him to shake clear the first of the Standard Missiles, sending it flying harmlessly over him and into the ocean. The second missile continued to track his fighter, even as he pulled into a near-vertical climb. After ten seconds he dropped chaff and brought the aircraft in a long looping turn, which oriented him back towards the American fleet. As he completed the turn his warning indicator abruptly stopped sounding, though he had managed to lose visual track of the incoming missile somewhere during the process.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 1012 Miles East of Puerto Rico
“Total incoming is now one hundred and sixty-seven missiles,” reported the TAO as the second round of Standard Missiles began to attrition to the vast wave of missiles that was inbound towards the Fifth Fleet.
“Admiral,” reported the TAO, “the first two rounds have depleted 23% of the magazines of the fleet.”
“Keep up your fire,” Layton ordered, as the AEGIS ships began to launch a further round of SM-6s and SM-2s towards the cloud of anti-ship missiles that were still targeting the fleet.
“Admiral,” reported the CAG, “most of our aircraft are re-armed and ready to launch.”
“The second we finish off these missiles, one way or another, I want you to put everything that we can into the air,” ordered Layton.
“Into the air and heading w
here?” asked the CAG.
“I’ll get you that,” replied the Admiral.
“Range now less than fifty kilometres on the incoming fire,” reported the TAO, “we are engaging with ESSMs and point defenses.”
The criss-crossing trails of the missiles made for a spectacular mid-day fireworks show over the fleet, as four-packs of Evolved Sea Sparrow Missiles burst open one after another and sent their cargo to meet and duel in the night. Moments after the first blasts of the Sea Sparrows occurred, the Rolling Airframe Missiles contained onboard almost every ship came into action, sending more streaks of fire across the clear sky, followed in the seconds after that by the fire of every single Phalanx CIWS within range.
On every tactical information screen in the fleet the count of the missiles dropped down. It was forty-seven now. Thirty-two next. Then it was nineteen. Then it was too late.
One of the Kh-22 missiles impacted the USS Paul Hamilton, an Arleigh Burke-class Destroyer, just off the starboard side of the Reagan. The massive warhead of the supersonic missile tore apart the superstructure of the ship, sending debris into the air with so much force that some of it wounded deck personnel onboard the deck of the American carrier. Fires spread across the ship in what seemed like moments, leaving her dead in the water.
Further away, the USS New Orleans, a 25,000 ton San Antonio-class Amphibious Transport Dock that was carrying seven hundred US Army soldiers was struck by two missiles in the space of thirty seconds. The fires onboard that ship, despite the gallant efforts of the crew and hundreds of soldiers who volunteered to assist, spread out of control in less than an hour, forcing the ship to be abandoned with a loss of three hundred and fourteen lives.
All told nine missiles struck six ships, forcing three of them to be abandoned within hours, and damaging a fourth so badly that it would never be repaired.
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 he
lp 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.
