B00DSDUWIQ EBOK

by Schettler, John

  Rodenko looked at his screen. The planes were 140 kilometers out now and moving at about 400kph. In six minutes they would cross the 100 kilometer range line. He informed Karpov of this, and the Captain nodded. “Tell them they must break off in five minutes or we must assume they intend to attack.”

  Nikolin translated again, and there was a long minute before he had an answer.

  “What was their response?”

  “They say we can go to hell, sir. They’re coming.”

  Karpov’s eyes narrowed. “We can go to hell, is it? Very well, gentlemen. Let’s show them what the real estate there looks like.”

  Part II

  Argos Fire

  “If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. … You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is.”

  —Charles Bukowski, Factorum

  Chapter 4

  “Cruise missiles positively identified now, sir,” said Haley on the Argos Fire. The radar man was at the Sampson system, his head and hands protected by white flash proof headpiece and gloves as he worked. “Those are SS-N-27s, subsonic and coming in at 15,000 feet. Looks like they’re targeting Princess Irene, and they’re getting close. They’ll be diving soon, sir.”

  A good play, thought Captain MacRae. Princess Irene is still north of Poti and we’re down here well to the south. I didn’t think they’d make this move, but here it is. Some bastard has decided he hasn’t enough arrows in his quiver to get us all, so he’s using his longest range asset to go after the closest target.

  “Iron Duke is firing more Sea Ceptors, sir!” Haley’s voice was edged with the excitement of battle.

  The Russian Black Sea Fleet had been ready for mothballs for years, but now it came out to fight like an old boxer with new legs. The old flagship, Moskva, was renamed Slava and sent to Severomorsk in 2018 where its most significant accomplishment had been towing and placing target barges for live fire exercises. The cruiser Kerch was retired, leaving only two old Krivak class frigates that had been rusting away for years. To save face, however, the Russians delivered three new frigates, the Admiral Grigorovich, the first of its class, along with Admiral Essen and Admiral Makarov.

  Built in Kaliningrad, they were laid down between 2010 and 2012 and delivered to the fleet by 2018. Much more had been planned and promised, but never came. So the Black Sea Fleet was in no position to do much of anything in a general war. Its best play would have been to stand on defense, but seeing an opportunity to hurt the West by further restricting its access to oil and gas supplies, Captain Sergei Pomilov took his three new frigates out that day for a trial by fire, with the two old Krivaks in the vanguard of his tiny fleet. The Captain didn’t have much to shoot with on his five ships, but there were some fairly inviting targets to his south, three fat oil tankers escorted by a pair of British warships, and he had a few missiles that could hurt them badly. He sortied to take a position NNE of Poti, just under 300 kilometers, approaching the maximum range of his cruise missiles.

  True to form, he coordinated a combined air/sea operation that day, sending in all that was left of his 43rd Independent Naval Shturmovik Air Assault Squadron. They were flying SU-24s on a saturation SEAD mission to try and suppress the enemy radars in the two British escorts. One had been identified as the frigate Iron Duke, and the other was simply reported as a Daring class destroyer. To see British ships this close to Russian home waters was rare down here. They held the line against the Northern Fleet in the Atlantic, but seldom entered the Black Sea. Pomilov planned to make them pay a high price of admission this time, and he set his sights on the nearest oil tanker, seeing it as easy prey.

  The SU-24s came in with the element of surprise, but the British were not sleeping and were quick into action with their newest SAM defense systems. They proved more than capable, and the SU-24 pilots were not able to get anything through for a hit, losing one plane for their trouble. Yet Pomilov had also let loose with a salvo of anti-ship missiles.

  The three new frigates had eight missiles each, four speedy Oniks at Mach 2.5 and four of the subsonic 3M-54E Klub cruise missiles, the same P-900 “Sizzler” as on Kirov, with improved range to 370 kilometers. He fired the cruise missiles first from all three ships, a salvo of twelve missiles heading south through the dark skies.

  * * *

  Captain Ian Williams on HMS Iron Duke was point man in the battle now. His ship was standing picket duty about twenty kilometers NNE of Princess Irene, close enough to cover the tanker with his Sea Ceptors. He was also about 300 kilometers southeast of the Russian formation, feeling just a little lonesome as he considered the tactical situation.

  He read five ships in the Russian formation, three newer frigates, and two old Krivaks that were of no concern. They were ASW ships and most likely only there to form a screen. His XO was keen to point that out as they studied the chart plot board, ready to engage. Williams took a long draw on his pipe, filling the air around them with the aromatic smell of Top Black Cherry. He seemed calm and unruffled, in spite of the fact that they had just been in the thick of it, beating off a SEAD strike by a gaggle of Russian SU-24s, and now they were tracking a salvo of cruise missiles closing on their position at just under Mach 1.

  “Sea Ceptors engaging this salvo now, sir,” said XO Lt. Commander Colin Firth. The missiles were a ‘soft launch’ system, piston ejected from the forward deck VLS canisters and then turned over by gas jets before their main engine would ignite to send them on their way. Iron Duke had the new ‘Quad Pack’ that housed four missiles in each of her 32 firing tubes, giving her a considerable inventory of 128 missiles. They had fired 32 of these already to repulse the SEAD attack off those SU-24s, and Williams was more than pleased with the results.

  Now he watched another salvo firing, but the target had already completed its subsonic cruise phase and was diving steeply for the deck to begin its final supersonic run. It was missile against missile now, each about the same speed, one with active radar seekers probing the darkness to find its prey, the other executing a series of pre-programmed maneuvers as it settled into its sea skimming run and rapidly accelerated towards Mach 2.5 They had to get them all as they came in, and Williams watched as they recorded kill after kill. Yet the range was diminishing rapidly and two of the twelve were good enough to evade the defensive salvo. Williams saw them streak by the ship in the distance, two bright fiery tails well off his port quarter. They were obviously bearing down on Princess Irene, and they were well out of range of the ship’s close in gun systems.

  “Once again, gentlemen,” he said, “and be quick about it.”

  Four more Sea Ceptors were launched, accelerating rapidly in pursuit, but the Sizzlers were now burning full out and were reaching their maximum speed. The Ceptors could not catch them, and both hit their target with a thundering explosion. The heavy warhead blew through the outer hull and their kinetic impact started a raging fire in the tanker’s fuel compartments. The combined force of the two missiles put 800 kilograms of explosive power on the ship, and the rest of the damage was done by the burning oil. It was a fire that would not be put out by any means, and the ship was doomed. Fairchild had lost its youngest daughter, and the bridge crew on the Russian flagship, Admiral Gigorivich, clenched their fists in a victory cheer. First blood in the battle was their claim now, black oily blood spreading over the sea near the stricken tanker and surrounding it in a halo of fire.

  But it was far from over.

  * * *

  Captain Gordon MacRae got the bad news a few minutes later and considered what to do. The damn Russians had one thing on him in this engagement—range. Their missiles had long reach, exceeding his own anti-ship systems by just enough to matter. That was the deadly calculus of modern war at sea. The speed and range of a missile could make all the difference in the engagement. If he wanted to repay the Black Sea Fleet in kind he had to get up north with Iron
Duke and close the range a bit.

  Fairchild had pressed a new ship-to-ship missile prototype into sea trials on the Argos Fire, the GB-7, or Gealbhan for ‘Sparrow.’ It was faster than the Harpoons on the Iron Duke, and had range almost equivalent to their Block 1D version at 320 kilometers, but he was too far south. The Duke could fire back now and their Captain Williams was doing so, but the frigate only had enough for one good punch, just eight Harpoons.

  “Come about to 340 degrees and ahead full,” he said grimly. “We just paid a high price for a chance at getting at the oil quickly. Now it’s out there burning on Princess Irene.”

  His Executive Officer Dean had a troubled look on his face. Iron Duke was alone, fighting the brave fight while Argos Fire was escorting the core of what remained of the Fairchild flotilla, two larger tankers with a million barrels each in their holds. MacRae reasoned that he could defend the tankers as long as he kept them inside the circle of his air defense umbrella, and the ship’s Sea Vipers could range out 120 kilometers.

  Argos Fire surged ahead, her engines quickly developing 30 knots. With the Russians still heading southeast at 25 knots, the two sides would be closing at just over 100 kilometers per hour. That would put his Gealbhans within range in just a few minutes, and he was ready to engage.

  “Wake up the birds,” he said to Dean. “Salvo of eight. Iron Duke has na’ but a handful of those Harpoons, and they’ll be lucky if they get even one through.”

  Ten minutes later the Argos Fire engaged, but Captain Pomilov was ready with his final salvo of Oniks missiles as well. His three new frigates were able to get their salvo off before they had to go defensive and switch to SAM systems. He soon had another twelve P-800s in the air and targeted at the Iron Duke this time, intent on taking out a warship after his initial salvo had found and killed its commercial target.

  The Oniks was the missile that had eventually been merged into the Yakhont/BraMos project for the Indian Navy. It was a successor to the original SS-N-22 Sunburns, fast, furious, and with a 250kg warhead. It’s ideal flight trajectory over the 300 kilometer range was a high altitude approach followed by a rapid descent to sea level for the final 40 kilometers. So while the eight Harpoons off Iron Duke forged in on the deck, low and slow, the Russian response was climbing high.

  * * *

  The frigate was firing with her Sea Ceptors and the deadly dance was on again in the midnight black of the starlit sky. Bright new shooting stars clawed the heavens as the missiles engaged, and all the while the Gealbhans off Argos Fire accelerated to join the fray.

  The Harpoons found an old Krivak and two got through to break its back that night. A third made it through to hit Admiral Grigorovich. Yet the Russian missiles were fast and, in spite of a violent defense from her 30mm Mark 34 Bushmaster IIs, Iron Duke took a hit on her aft quarter, igniting the helo deck area in a torrid fire.

  Captain Williams was on the bridge in command of the action, pipe in one hand, the other steadying himself against the roll of the ship. He shunned the Captain’s chair, preferring to stand out his watch whenever he was on the bridge. There was a lot going on in the heat of combat, but Williams was a steady rock, with typical British reserve and a well of calm in his gut that would not be rattled. He felt the ship quaver with the missile hit, but a raised eyebrow was the only outward sign of reaction.

  “Took one on our backside,” he said calmly to his XO Lt. Commander Colin Firth.”

  “That we did, sir.”

  There were two other near misses, one spoofed by ECM and chaff, the other bearing in, right amidships.

  “Mister Simms, look to your Bushmasters,” said Williams firmly.

  The rattle of the frigate’s two automated cannons scored a lucky hit, igniting the last missile not thirty feet shy of the frigate. The clatter of shrapnel striking the hull was evident to them all, and a junior midshipman exhaled loudly with obviously relief. The demonstration drew a stern eye from Captain Williams, who quietly reached into his pocket and found his tobacco tamp.

  Then the Gealbhans broke through the Russian defense to get the second Krivak and put another missile into Grigorovich that would make a fiery end to that ship’s brief career. A third found the Essen, striking amidships, and the Black Sea Fleet had had enough.

  * * *

  Back aboard Argos Fire radar man Haley turned to report .

  “The remaining ships are executing a high speed turn, sir. They’re coming around on a new heading of 340.”

  “They’re turning tail and running for home,” said MacRae. “But they’ve already done their worst. Miss Fairchild won’t like the news tonight. We just lost twenty percent of our oil, and a good ship and crew with it.”

  “Aye, sir. Lucky Iron Duke had its Westland Merlin helo up on ASW watch. They’re vectoring it to Princess Irene for rescue operations. Chances are we’ll bring a good many home.”

  The entire action had taken little more than an hour. It would end with three Russian ships on the bottom of the sea, and both Iron Duke and Princess Irene hit and burning. Captain Williams was on the radio from Iron Duke with his report.

  “Well, we took one on the fantail,” he said “But it looks a whole lot worse than it is…. Sorry about Princess Irene. We’ll get to the crew, but may have to send our Merlin your way until we sort things out here. Those damn Sizzlers…We took down ten, but two got through.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said MacRae. “You’ve given your best, and we sent them home three ships light with a fourth on fire. I don’t think we’ll see much more of the Black Sea Fleet from here on out.”

  “Seen more of it than we needed already,” said Williams. “Damn bloody business.”

  “If you can still make way would you join us off the Turkish coast? We’re coming up to give you just a wee bit more missile umbrella.”

  “Much obliged, Argos Fire. We can only make 20 knots at the moment, but that should get us south well enough. Iron Duke over and out.”

  That night the survivors aboard Admiral Grigorovich lowered the body of Captain Pomilov into the last launch and made way to join Makarov, the only ship in the fleet that had come through the battle unscathed. The flotilla leader would burn for another three hours before it keeled over and sank, joining the two Krivaks that had already gone down.

  Command fell to Captain Tsukov on the Essen, senior officer in the fleet after Pomilov’s death. His ship had taken significant damage, but was still seaworthy and could make 25 knots. The flotilla had expended its entire SSM missile inventory in the brief, violent action. So now he turned and led what was left of the Black Sea Fleet home to Novorossiysk, his war over for the moment.

  In his wake, far to the south, Princess Irene would burn all night before her hull gave way and she listed heavily into the massive oil slick blighting the sea. Turkish ships were out on a rescue operation, trying to fish as many of the crew out of the sea as possible. Half a million barrels of oil would go down with her, and now the hopes of the Fairchild company rested on those two last tankers, slowly creeping west along the Anatolian coast and soon joined by two more Turkish Frigates in escort. NATO was late to the game, but they were welcome, as were the flights of Turkish fighters up now to provide additional air cover.

  By dawn of the fourth day of the war, Argos Fire had but one last charge to recover. The ship still had three of her X-3 helos and thirty Argonauts in the Caspian Sea region, and each minute that passed extended the range and stretched the tether of safe recovery thinner and thinner. Captain MacRae headed to the Executive cabin to see the company CEO and explain what had happened. He was determined to push for the immediate extraction of the Argonauts and a speedy run for the Bosporus before the Russians could scrape up more aircraft for another attack.

  When he got there the little nightmare of naval combat that had darkened his watch was about to deepen to yet another shade of black.

  Chapter 5

  “Steady on that winch!” said Dobrynin, hands on his hips as he supervised the loa
ding operation. They had a crane up on the upper roof of the Anatoly Alexandrov, and they were hoisting up a long metal tube that might resemble a missile canister to any watchful eyes. Cover of darkness and overhead clouds would prevent satellites from looking in, but they had seen NATO drones earlier, and it was obvious that someone was taking an interest in the operation being mounted on the Caspian coast.

  Dobrynin watched until the tube was safely hoisted up and lowered into an ordnance mover. It wasn’t a missile canister, but a radiation safe container housing some very special cargo, a fresh delivery from Admiral Volsky that had been flown all the way from Severomorsk up north. The Admiral had spoken to him an hour ago on a very secure channel.

  “Is Rod-25 mounted, Dobrynin?”

  “Yes sir, and I have the reactor up and ready for operations.”

  “Good news. Well, I’m sending you a backup.” The Admiral went on to explain the complex new twist in the mission they had planned, and the longer Dobrynin listened, the more he began to silently shake his head.

  “1945?” he said incredulously. “How could it happen, Admiral? We had Rod-25 safe with us here.”

  Volsky explained what he could, but the fact remained that it was all still a mystery. Kirov was gone, and so were Orlan and Admiral Golovko. Aside from his submarines he now had no Red Banner Pacific Fleet to speak of, and the Black Sea Fleet had just been gutted and largely neutralized as an effective fighting force in a scrap with the British. Everything was now riding on this mission, Volsky explained. It wasn’t only to try and bring Fedorov home again, or even Orlov. Now there were three ships and over 1500 officers and crew to worry about as well.