B00DSDUWIQ EBOK

by Schettler, John

  “I’ll agree with that, but we have the intelligence. I can see that you receive a copy of the file if you wish. The fact is, Admiral, this is no ordinary ship. As I said earlier, it’s fast, it has advanced weaponry—naval rocketry in fact—and it can strike from a great distance, even beyond the range of those big sixteen inch guns out there. It looks like a battleship if you ever lay eyes on the damn thing, as I did one black night. There wasn’t a gun on it bigger than a QF five incher, but it could pound a ship like Yamato to near scrap. Needless to say, this is an extraordinary vessel, and so are the men that built and crew this ship.”

  “There are no extraordinary men,” said Halsey, “just extraordinary circumstances that ordinary men are forced to deal with.”

  “Well I’m afraid that we have exactly that on our hands here—extraordinary circumstances—very extraordinary. The only question now is how do a pair of ordinary blokes like us deal with the matter?”

  “We deal with it the same way we dealt with the Japanese, Admiral. We put more steel and fire in the sky and on the sea than the Russians could possibly imagine. I don’t care how good this ship of theirs is, or even how they managed to build it for that matter. Old Uncle Joe Stalin may have been holding some cards close to his chest, or he may have even stacked the deck. None of that matters. No matter how big and tough they build them, ships sink. You just ask the Japs what they know about that. They floated a couple of real monsters in Yamato and Musashi, and we put both of them at the bottom of the sea. Now, I’ve got Sprague’s TF.38.3 up there looking for this ship. In fact he’s probably got planes in the air at this moment.”

  “Planes in the air?” Fraser had a worried look on his face now. “They’re going up after Geronimo? Admiral, you must recall them, at once!”

  “Recall them? What for? The Russians asked for it. Now they’ll take a few lumps and we’ll finish all this hubbub over Hokkaido once and for all.”

  “It’s not the Russians I’m worried about, Admiral. It’s your planes. Get them out of there—before it’s too late!”

  Chapter 3

  The planes were forming up over Sprague’s fast carrier group, mostly off Ticonderoga and Wasp. The “Big T” was sending 18 Hellcats, 24 Helldivers, and 12 Avengers, 54 planes in all, with 30 in reserve. These were joined by 15 Helldivers and an equal number of Avengers off CV Wasp from Air Group 86. They were escorted by another 24 Corsairs, the F4U-4 model, to bring the total formation to 108 planes. It was only about 40% of his total air wing, but Sprague deemed this more than sufficient for a show of force, and the planes were already on their way. If need be he could throw another 60 aircraft up off Ticonderoga and Wasp, and then he still held another 90 planes split between the two smaller carriers in his group, Bataan and Monterey. Both these ships were converted light cruisers that had become the Independence class carrier that played such a vital role alongside their bigger Essex class fast fleet carriers.

  Chuck Malkasian was on his way to his duty shift in the Wasp’s engine room that morning as a water tender. He was passing a couple of seamen putting the final touches on the carrier’s “scorecard” for its effort thus far in the war. It was mounted on the forward bulkhead, of the hangar deck level, just behind the forecastle, and laid out the tally. CV Wasp had destroyed 14 enemy planes in the air with her own gunfire, and her air groups had taken down another 230. They also caught 405 on the ground and put them out of action, a total of 649 planes.

  “Let’s hope they get one more,” said Malkasian. “650 is a nice round number.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ flying for the Japs these days,” said one man as he dabbed paint on a kill flag symbol. “They get many more and we’ll have to find more space on this bulkhead.” Beneath the air flag toll there were score marks for 114 ships sunk, and another 234 ships damaged, a fairly impressive tally. The tonnage of bombs and rockets dropped and fired was also compiled. It was ample evidence that the carrier was the preeminent weapon of war in the world, a template that would hold true for decades to come.

  “You’re going to have to repaint all those numbers if things get hot today, and save room for more ships too,” said Malkasian. “Only paint the next three red. Scuttlebutt says we’re going after the damn Russians now.”

  “The Russians? What are they getting into it for?”

  “Beats me, but our boys will finish the job.”

  Seaman James Long scratched his head. “I got room here for two more ships, and that’s it. Someone tell the flyboys to lay off the Russkies and let Big T handle them. Then they can spend another hour revising their scorecard.”

  “Right,” said Malkasian. Then he was off to the engine room, expecting another dull day at sea keeping the big turbines cool.

  Wasp, (CV-18) was a short hulled Essex unlike her companion Ticonderoga, the first of the long hulled carriers in that class. The flight deck had been busy that morning as the planes were spotted and launched, but the air crews were feeling light hearted. There had only been fifty-four planes to arm and spot and the air crews were accustomed to running out the whole ship’s compliment of nearly a hundred planes, so the work seemed light that day.

  Originally slated to be named the Oriskany, the Wasp was, of course, renamed in honor of the venerable CV-7, sunk just before the war in the Atlantic off Iceland. There was another plaque near the scorecard on the bulkhead that read: “Dedicated to the men of CV-7, who never got their chance.” The men of CV-18 were going to get their chance today, and more than they imagined.

  Gunner’s Mate 3rd Class Alfred J. Lewis was also going to get his chance as he reported for duty that morning. He was a “Plank Holder,” on the ship with an official certificate to prove it, #408. He displayed it proudly above his bunk below decks where it read: “To all sailors of the sea and aviators of the sky wherever ye may be—Greetings! Know ye by these presents that: Alfred James Lewis, Gunner’s Mate Third Class, was a member of the original crew which commissioned the USS Wasp and is therefore entitled to all the rights and privileges of a Plank Holder on said ship, including a clear and unencumbered title to one plank in the flight deck.” It was signed by C.A.F. “Ziggy” Sprague, right next to the buxom mermaid in the corner and the two fish giving her ample chest a wide eyed appraisal. Silhouettes of all three plane types adorned the certificate, and the image of the Wasp herself was drawn at the top.

  AJ, as the rest of the crew called him, was also known as “Lucky Lewis” for his skill at cards. He had already staked out his claim to a plank on the carrier’s flight deck, a place he often liked to sit with his buddy “Ski” Kotoski, right up near the bow. Now he was settling in behind a quad 40mm and looking into the clear skies up ahead.

  It was finally over, he thought, or very nearly so. If it were really over then why would he be sitting behind these four steel barrels? If it were really over he’s be out on his plank on the bow taking in the sun and sea with Ski. The Emperor had thrown in the towel and made his announcement, but there were many who would refuse the order to surrender in Japan. At that very moment dissident Japanese airmen were flying over Tokyo and dropping leaflets urging revolt and a continuation of the war. Their actions prompted officers loyal to the Emperor to order all Japanese warplanes disarmed and drained of their fuel, but some slipped away, the last of the Kamikazes led by Admiral Ukagi.

  “You figure this thing is ever really going to end?” AJ asked his buddy.

  “Everything ends, Lucky,” said Ski. “Don’t worry. The day will come when you’ll miss your time on this ship.”

  “Well I’m taking that plank with me when I go,” said Lewis.

  “Who says they’ll retire the ship as soon as we make port, AJ?”

  “Well if they don’t I’ll leave it here on lend-lease, but nobody scraps this baby without checking with me first. I get my plank, one way or another.”

  * * *

  Karpov was staring at the big Plexiglas display illuminated in luminescent green, blue, and red to indicate the position of all su
rface traffic in the vicinity.

  “I knew they would push things,” he said to Rodenko, his acting Starpom. “That’s a sizable task group heading our way.”

  “What’s the plan, sir? Are you thinking to engage or avoid conflict here?”

  Karpov thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. “If we’re going to start changing things it may as well begin here.”

  “We could just as easily sail due east if you need more time to consider the situation, sir.”

  “Yes, we could sail east, but that won’t stop what you just reported Rodenko, will it? Those are planes in the air, and heading our way. Every time I turn around someone is flying an air strike my way. I just beat off the best the US had on CVN Washington. Now these little men want to pick a bone with me. What does our SAM inventory look like?”

  “We used half our S-400s and a good number of other missiles in that last defensive action before the Demon blew its top. That leaves us with 100 medium range missiles on the Klinok system, but only 32 long range S-400s. Close in Kashtan system fired 12 missiles, leaving us with 52 there. That means we have exactly 184 SAMs of all types for this ship.”

  “Have the other ships reported in?”

  “Yes, sir. Orlan was in the inner screen with S-400s as well. They fired only 16 missiles and have a substantial inventory remaining, 180 in all. These are the 9M96E and E2 missiles, sir. They will only range out between 40 and 120 kilometers. The long range S-400s are with us, the 40N6Es, but Orlan’s missiles are lightning fast—Mach 15 and capable of thrust vectored high G maneuvers. The damn things can pull 60 Gs at sea level and 20 Gs at 30,000 meters!”

  “A superb air defense ship,” said Karpov. “I want her station keeping on our bow at all times.”

  “One more thing, sir. This is a hit to kill weapon system. Orlan is going to have to put a missile on every plane they take down.”

  “No proximity fragmentation warheads?”

  “Not on this particular version, sir. We have them, but not Orlan. That said, I’ll guarantee one thing—they’ll hit what they fire at.”

  Karpov thought about that, then decided he would also cover his undersea battle space. “Admiral Golovko will be out on the starboard side as an ASW picket, and I trust Tasarov has the horse tail sonar out behind us.”

  “He does, sir.”

  “I’ll want a KA-40 up as well.”

  “It will be ready in ten minutes, sir.”

  “Good. Golovko, is not configured for air defense. They have Kashtans, but I’ll use the frigate for some good SSM punch if we need it. That means we’ll have to provide the air umbrella along with Orlan.”

  “Feels a little different this time, Captain, now that we’ve got company here.”

  “It does, but I have no idea how the officers and crew on the other two ships are responding to this situation. We may have convinced the two Captains, but the rest of the crew will have a lot to learn.”

  “It took us all a good long while to come to grips with this,” said Rodenko, “and for the life of me none of us still really know why this is happening.”

  “We were in the wrong place at the right time,” said Karpov. “Or you can look at it the other way around if you like to feel better about it. I say we were in exactly the right place at a decisive time. Now we’ll see what we can do about the situation.”

  “Well sir, with Orlan and our own inventory, we’ll have 364 SAMs. Throw in the Kashtans on Golovko and we’re looking at over 400 missiles in the flotilla.”

  “More than sufficient,” Karpov nodded.

  “For the time being, sir,” said Rodenko, with just the slightest edge of a warning in his voice. He remembered all too well those tense moments as the ship’s SAM inventory dwindled away to nothing. “When we made port in Vladivostok there wasn’t a single SAM left on board, and we had exactly eleven surface action missiles left. We would not have had even those if not for the reloads we were carrying for live fire exercises. Our missiles are the one great advantage we have now.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Karpov said quickly. “So here we are back in the same old borscht. I’ll have to conserve that missile inventory as much as possible, but realize that the Americans will have something to say about it as well. If they get pushy, we’ll have to respond.”

  Rodenko nodded. “We had the KA-226 up with good long range feeds earlier, Captain. There’s a considerable naval presence in this region at the moment.”

  “Yes… I’ve been reading Fedorov’s book. Nikolin has also identified this force here from radio traffic as the American TF.38.3. The history notes it is commanded by an Admiral Sprague.”

  “I’m reading at least six large capital ships in the core, sir, and then two large groups in the outer screen—looks like a great many destroyers and light cruisers.”

  “I can name them all for you, if that book holds true.”

  “And they have planes in the air now, Captain. We have about twenty minutes to make a decision here. The Fregat is indicating over a 100 aircraft.”

  “The Japanese hit us with that many planes on two occasions.”

  “And those attacks drained a considerable percentage of our SAMs, sir. Even so, we took a near fatal hit. If that plane had struck us anywhere other than the aft citadel, things could have been very bad.”

  Karpov recalled those attacks, the Japanese screaming in on the ship from all compass headings, missiles firing in selected barrages, the Gatling guns burning down the rest. But they had to be 100% accurate. They had to get them all. If even one got through to deliver its bomb or torpedo…

  “I intend to warn those planes off,” he said. “They’ll probably pay no attention, but it’s worth a try. I owe Fedorov at least that much.”

  “I understand, sir. But if we had not engaged that smaller American scouting force earlier…”

  “What’s done is done, Rodenko.” The Captain walked briskly over to the communications station where Nikolin was monitoring radio traffic.

  “They’re very chatty,” he said. “Everyone has two names.”

  “Nicknames, Mister Nikolin. The Americans love them.”

  “Yes, sir. I believe one of the flight leaders is called “Iron Mike.”

  “Can you broadcast on that band?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Then warn those planes off. State that we are on a diplomatic mission to Sagami Bay. We are not to be overflown by armed planes, and if any attempt to do so they will be opposed.”

  Nikolin translated and broadcast the message, but the voice on the other end of the line didn’t seem too accommodating. “He says they have orders to investigate the downing of five American planes, and that’s what they intend to do, sir. And he doesn’t sound impressed by our threat to oppose an overflight. He wants us to identify ourselves.”

  That was expected, thought Karpov. Identify ourselves. Just who in God’s name are we in this world now? Could he say he was on a mission from the Soviet government? That may provide some thin cover for a time, until inquiries were made and it was denied. How could he possibly explain his situation and intent to a fighter pilot named “Iron Mike?” He might just as well try to explain it all to a dog, or so he thought in that moment. The notion that he was bigger, better, more evolved and definitely more powerful than the men behind those radar blips on the ship’s screens was evident to him now.

  “Tell them this is Captain Vladimir Karpov on an independent diplomatic mission, and that if they do not break off and alter heading within ten minutes we must assume hostile intent.”

  The word came back a minute later. “He says they have no intention of altering course and advises us to reduce speed and prepare to be overflown. He says boarding parties will be dispatched from nearby ships and we can take up our diplomatic request with the proper authorities.”

  The proper authorities, thought Karpov. As if I am answerable to these men for my presence and actions here! Their immediate assumption is that they hold all au
thority, that they are the law and rule the day. There was a brief flash of anger in his mind, and his next words reflected his mood well enough.

  “You tell Iron Mike that he has no authority over this ship, over these waters, or anything else in this region. We will not be boarded, nor will we be overflown by armed aircraft. He has about five minutes to divert his heading.”

  Nikolin listened intently, turning to Karpov, his brown eyes large under this head phones now. “He’s talking to his superiors now sir…Here he is again…” He translated as he listened. “Captain Carp, or whoever you are, might makes right, and we have both, as you will soon bear witness. The United States Navy is presently the sole authority in all these waters now. You’ll give way and heave to for boarding and inspection or be damned. If it is found that you are not an authorized agent of an allied government, then you and your crew will be arrested, the ship impounded, and your case heard before a properly formed military tribunal. We will not divert.”

  “The United States Navy…” Karpov’s tone carried the obvious disdain he felt now. “They’re all the same,” he breathed. “This one is no different than Captain Tanner was eighty years hence. They will hound us from this moment until that volcano erupts. This is where it all started, but not this time; not on my watch.”

  Rodenko gave the Captain a wide eyed look, but said nothing. He knew what was likely to happen here, and feared the worse from the moment he saw those radar returns on the incoming planes.

  “Mister Nikolin. Contact destroyer Orlan. Signal Air Alert One and prepare to oppose incoming strike wave. Tell them to track and prepare to fire at any target crossing the100 kilometer range line. They are to use their medium range S-400 system, salvos of eight until I give the order to cease fire. Admiral Golovko is to hold fire and observe unless directly attacked. They should be especially vigilant for any sign of undersea activity. Once you receive confirmation of that order from Captain Yeltsin, contact this Iron Mike again and tell him if he moves inside the 100 kilometer range line, then he and his planes will be presumed hostile and will be fired upon and opposed with deadly force.”