by Adam Yoshida
“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 honou
rable,” 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.
He looked around the CIC. The officers and sailors there, flush with victory, were ready to go. If he ordered them into battle, they would jump forward at this particular moment with an adrenaline-fuelled surge of energy.
Yet, he thought, what would be the gain? The enemy fleet is already almost-entirely depleted. We did far more damage to them than they did to us. What are we pressing on for if we continue the attack, when the objective is to take this army home?
“Change our course,” ordered Layton, “maintain our patrols, but put us back on a course that will take us to North Carolina.”
Russian Aircraft Carrier Admiral Kuznetsov, 1275 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Still wearing his flight suit, the pilot came running into the Admiral’s bridge of the Russian Carrier.
“Halt!” ordered the non-commissioned officer who was performing security for Vice Admiral Dimtry Khvostov, who commanded the Russian portion of the Combined Fleet.
“Let me through!” insisted the pilot.
Admiral Khvostov looked up, sized up the sweat-soaked pilot, and then waved his hand, inviting the young man on through.
“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked, slightly amused.
“Admiral, I know that this is irregular,” said the pilot, a slight shake in his voice, “but my squadron commander…”
He bent over for a second, panting.
“Yes, Lieutenant. Your squadron commander?”
“He didn’t want to pass this information up the line. He said that the battle was over and that I should leave it at that.”
“But you couldn’t or wouldn’t do that,” said Khvostov.
“Do you have a map?” asked the Lieutenant, pacing.
“We have many maps,” replied Khvostov, “that’s most of what we do here.”
“Let me show you,” said the pilot, rushing over to a console that the Admiral pointed to with his hands.
“Now,” said the pilot, frantically tracing the map with his hands, “we all know that the main body of the American fleet is here.”
He indicated the spot a few hundred miles to the west where the primary missile engagement had occurred, and then continued to allow his hands to drift southwards.
“But I encountered an American aircraft carrier here,” he said, stabbing at the screen with his finger in a position far from any that was indicated upon the map itself.
“Oh?” asked Khvostov.
“One Carrier protected by just two of their AEGIS ships. I think that it was two of their Burke-class destroyers. But I wouldn’t swear by it. Check my logs and you’ll see.”
“And you saw this?” asked Khvostov.
“They shot at me,” insisted the pilot, “I barely got away with my life.”
“Which way were they moving?” asked the Admiral, leaning forward as he spoke.
“They were headed to the southwest,” said the pilot, “they were headed in the other direction versus the rest of the fleet. I swear upon everything that it is so.”
“Well,” said Admiral Khvostov, stroking his beard, “you have done a very noble and brave thing in bringing this to me. If you’re not shot for disobeying your orders, then there’s a good chance that we’re going to give the Americans another chance to try and kill you.”
HMS Queen Elizabeth (R08) , 1305 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Admiral Childers looked blank-faced at the video screen.
“You must be quite mad, Admiral Khvostov,” he said, “we are getting out of here with all possible speed. We have certainly slowed them and done our duty.”
“Slowed them, perhaps.” agreed Khvostov, “but they have gotten the better of us so far on this day. My force alone has lost two ships to the American missiles.”
“I fail to see how we can improve upon that now, sir.”
“We were facing the combined might of the whole American battlegroup at once, Admiral. In this case we would be fighting only a small portion of it,” said Khvostov.
“Do you have any idea when these ships were detached?” asked Childers, “for all we know, they may have entirely fresh magazines.”
“I know that your ships are damaged,” said Khvostov, “and so I am not asking that you turn them around and throw them directly into this engagement. All that I am asking is that you provide us with enough air cover to allow our missiles to get through. The Kirov and Kuznetsov can, combined, throw thirty-six Shipwreck missiles towards those ships. Give us enough extra cover and combine it with the planes that we can throw into the air and I think that we can make the case that this is a victory.”
“I am in command of the Combined Fleet,” insisted Childers, “and we are going home.”
“It is, of course, your right to insist upon that, Admiral,” replied Khvostov, “but, of course, I am accountable to my national government and if I should be asked afterwards by, for example, the President why we did not triumph in the battle, I would have little choice but to single out this particular moment.”
Goddamned Russians, thought Childers, though he did not say it.
“It would be quite impossible and irresponsible, given the condition of the fleet overall, to alter course and to attempt to have the main body of the fleet join with you. You, however, are the commander of the Russian forces here and, if - in your absolute judgement - this is a risk that you believe has a reasonable possibility of success, then I will give you such support as is physically possible.”
“That was all that I was asking for,” said the Russian.
“Fight your ships, Admiral,” replied Childers coldly.
Fleet Air Arm F-35 Lightning II, 1160 Miles East of Puerto Rico
/> Lieutenant-Commander Windsor could feel his hands shake as he manoeuvred his F-35 to a lower altitude. It was still a long way back to the Queen Elizabeth and he and his comrades were now caught in a difficult dilemma: the more fuel that they burned evading incoming missiles, the less that they would have to return to their base. The Prince, however, like most of his comrades chose to worry about long-term considerations later.
His HUD showed that he had an AMRAAM headed right for him. The F-35 was equipped with the latest low-observable technologies, but the United States military not only had the latest radar equipment, but they also had the distinct advantage of being from the nation that had designed the Lightning II.
“Move, move move,” whispered the Prince to himself as he accelerated and pulled the plane closer and closer to the surface of the water. He could see that the AMRAAM was still chasing him.
Watching his display, Windsor could see one friendly aircraft after another disappearing. A sick thought suddenly seized him: he could very well be killed by the wreckage of one of those destroyed planes falling down upon him from above. He pushed his throttle to full.
USS Ronald Reagan (CVN-76), 982 Miles East of Puerto Rico
Admiral Layton practically sprinted into the CIC, having taken just a few moments away from his station to relieve himself.
“It looks like most of their air wing, given the information that we’re getting from our E-2,” said the TAO.
“Russian, French, and British aircraft all there. Around one hundred and thirty,” he continued.
“Do you think that’s all that they’ve got left?” asked Layton.
“Well, they must have retained some as a CAP,” said the TAO.
“True enough,” said Layton.
“I’m going to send our own CAP down to assist,” said the CAG, “we can launch replacements immediately and we’re still well-covered by our own Surface-to-Air missiles.”
