by Dale Brown
“The flight profiles, sir, ” Hart explained patiently. “They launched two missiles each from over a hundred miles’ range-that’s too far for a C80 1. Those missiles climbed first, but now they’re descending to about a hundred feet, and they’re cruising at about six hundred knots-typical profile of a C601 missile. “It’s also the profile of an Exocet, a Harpoon, or a Soviet ASS missile, or any number of antiship missiles, ” Feinemann pointed out, his eyes narrowing on Hart. “If we were facing off against the French or the Soviets, I’d agree, sir, ” Hart replied. “The reports from the recon plane say that a Chinese EF4-class ship was in the area and that Chinese troops invaded Mindanao; I’d assume that the fighters and these missiles are Chinese. My guess is still a C601, and that’s what I’ll assume when we begin responding. “As far as the carrier aircraft-each plane was carrying two missiles plus air-to-air weapons, and it was doing some heavy active jamming, not just uplink trackbreaking. That’s too much payload for a J-7, B-7, or Q-5 fighter-it has to be a B-6 Badger bomber. “And as far as the Tomcats are concerned, I want them out of the way. Aegis can prosecute sea-skimming targets better than a Tomcat, and I’m not worried about enemy fighters right now-I’m worried about those missiles. In sixty seconds I’ll start worrying about the inbound fighters.” Hart was expecting a reply; when he got none, he added, “Sir, I need clearance to release batteries and engage when those missiles cross the horizon.”
“Your captain might be impressed with your amateur intelligence analysis, Commander Hart, ” Feinemann said irritably, “but the Admiral needs concrete data before he can commit any forces under his command. He can’t operate on guesses.”
“Then you can tell him, sir that we’ve got four subsonic inbounds that broke the group’s bubble a minute ago, ” Hart said, trying to control his temper. He couldn’t believe he was having an argument over target identification with this man, with four deadly-and possibly nuclear-missiles heading straight for them. “I make estimates on the threat based on my observations, but the bottom line is that I want weapons online to stop these things from hitting the carrier. In thirty seconds I start acting on my own authority; I’m requesting permission to commit now.”
“You commit when the Admiral tells you to!” Hart had had enough. He hit the intercom button. “Bridge, CIC, emergency, request permission to release the batteries fore and aft and engage.” The Bunker Hill’s skipper did not hear the argument between his TAO and the group commander’s AAW deputy, and he certainly knew the procedures with an embarked group commander, but with a threat this big heading in, he didn’t hesitate. “Bridge to CIC, batteries released fore and aft, clear to engage.” “Understand clear to engage. Clear forward and aft missile decks, clear forward and aft missile decks.” From that point on, Hart ignored Feinemann-everything else was inconsequential except his radar, his console, and his weapon system. If the man had anything to say, it would have to wait until after he dealt with the inbounds. The Bunker Hill was the first Aegis cruiser to use the Mk 41 vertical-launch system, where missiles were loaded into individual canisters and then fired vertically-the system was far less complex, more redundant, faster, and required fewer guided-missile mates to operate the launchers than the older Mk 26, Mk 22, or Mk 13 “merry-go-round” launchers. Bunker Hill had two VLS launchers, one fore and one aft, each with sixty-one missiles-combinations of SM-2 Aegis antiaircraft missiles, Tomahawk shipand-landattack cruise missilessome with low-yield nuclear warheads-and ASROC antisubmarine rocket torpedoes. Hart had been extensively briefed on exactly what options were open to him as tactical action officer-he knew that the only weapon in his arsenal right now was the SM-2 Aegis missile, and his only job was to protect Ranger and its escorts. Even though this was probably the exact situation that the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy was in when they launched their nuclear antiship missile at the tiny Philippine fleet near Palawan, Hart knew he would never be authorized to let fly with one of his nuclear-tipped Tomahawks, even in retaliation. Hart checked to be sure the Aegis system was in AAW COMMIT mode and used a trackball on his console to move a circle cursor to the data blocks representing the inbound antiship missiles. The ASTAB monitors instantly gave him performance data on the inbounds, displayed IFF radio-identification information-there was none-and classified them as hostile. If they were friendlies-unlikely but possible-they were flying without radios, without exchanging coded identification signals, and flying well off the established fleet approach procedures-and they were going to die. “Give me trial engage, ” he told his data-entry technician. “Trial engage, ” the tech replied. Instantly the data block began to blink and a readout on the ASTAB monitor gave a list of the missiles that Aegis would select. On the LSD, a yellow line showed the computer’s best guess as to the Aegis missile’s track, the intercept points with the incoming missiles, and the positions of all the ships and aircraft in the battle group once the engagement was made. “Aegis wants to commit ten missiles, ” the data-entry tech reported. “We got Bullet Two within twenty miles on impact.” The number was significant because if there were nuclear tipped C601 antiship missiles, the Tomcats would fry in the blast. But if Hart waited any longer, Bunker Hill would be doing the frying. It was also significant because the Mk 41 launcher could rapid-fire only seven missiles at one time. He selected sixty-four nautical miles range on his LSD to keep careful watch on the intercept, then said, “Understood. We’ll do six from the forward launcher and the rest from the aft launcher. Clear trial engage, sound the horn, engage weapon commit.”
“Trial engage clear.” A muted horn sounded throughout the ship, followed by, “Attention all hands, missile alert actual, missile alert actual, stand by for missile launch.” The tech then reported, “Launchers in the green and reporting clear. CDS enable. Weapon commit in three, two, one, now.” The ASTAB monitors cleared, and they began to show the Mk 41 launcher status and the status of the missiles in the forward launcher that were being chosen by the Aegis system for the first ripple. A button marked “Hold Fire” was blinking rapidly in the lower-left corner of the communications panel, where both Hart and his data-entry tech could reach it-Feinemann had a blinking Hold Fire button as well, and he had full authority to use it. Aegis selected ten missiles and began a pre-programmed ten-second warmup and target-data transfer cycle. “Missile counting down, ten missiles in the green. . . missile one forward in five… four… three… two… one… launch! Missiles away. Up on the forward deck of the Bunker IIill, a twenty-fivesquare-inch white door popped open atop the Mk 41 VLS launcher, and a cloud of white smoke engulfed the entire forward portion of the cruiser. Once every two seconds, an Aegis SM-2 missile lifted free of the Bunker Hill, climbed to ten thousand feet in just a few seconds, then arched over and began its intercept. The missiles’ autopilots steered them into an intercept “basket, ” an area in which the incoming targets were predicted to fly. When the Aegis SPY-I radar detected the SM-2 missiles approaching the “basket, ” the SPY-I would activate an SPG-62 X-band target illuminator which would “paint” the incoming Chinese missiles, and the SM-2 Aegis missiles would home in on the radar energy reflected off the enemy missiles. “Six missiles away forward, ” the tech reported. “Forward launcher secure and reporting clear, plenum status normal, refire status normal. Counting down on aft launcher . . . in three… two… one… mark.” The canister door on the aft launcher flipped open and the first SM-2 fired… But something happened. Instead of shooting skyward, the SM-2 rose about twenty feet above the launcher, the solid-propellant motor stopped running, and the missile slipped backwards, crashed to the deck, and exploded. The concussion threw half of the Aegis crew members to the deck. Feinemann was the only one able to react-he hit the Hold Fire button to ensure that no other missiles from the aft launcher tried to launch. “Status report!” he cried out. “Get me a status report!” The damage-control alarm was ringing throughout the Bunker Hill, and there were a few seconds of momentary panic as the CIC lights went out, the emergency lights finally cli
cked on, and a few purple wisps of smoke issued from the ventilators, “Status report, dammit!” Hart’s ears were ringing hard-from the blast, the confusion, or the sudden disorientation of having the normally steady deck heaving beneath him, he couldn’t tell which-but he managed to straighten himself in his seat and help his tech up. Several ASTAB monitors had gone down, and Feinemann’s LSDs were blank. “Mark 7 system is faulted… both launchers shut down . . . SPY-I is still on-line, ” he reported. On the intercom, he shouted, “Bridge, CIC, Mark 7 system fault, recommend immediate AAW command transfer.”
“CIC, bridge, copy, command transfer to Sterett.” With SPY-I still operating, the cruiser Sterett could act as pseudoAegis cruiser by receiving Aegis data via the Battle Group Anti Aircraft Warfare Coordination system on its Mk 76 weaponscontrol consoles. The transfer was made, but far too late. Three C601 antiship missiles, air-launched versions of the huge Silkworm missile, survived the Aegis counterattack made by Bunker Hill and the Sea Sparrow antimissile barrage by Sterett. One missile was destroyed by combined Sea Sparrow missile hits by Sterett and Phalanx Close-In-Weapon System gunfire seconds before it reached Bunker Hill, and a second missile was destroyed by a last-second burst of gunfire from the Ranger’s portside Phalanx gun just a few hundred yards before striking the carrier . The last missile hit the carrier Ranger just aft of the port bow. The missile’s titanium nosecap pierced the outer hull of the carrier before the eleven-hundred-pound high-explosive warhead detonated, ensuring that most of the missile’s deadly force was directed inside the vessel. ABOARD BULLET SIX “Bullet Six flight, say your bingo status, ” the controller aboard the Air Force E-3C AWACS plane radioed. “Bullet Six is seven minutes to bingo, ” Lieutenant Jason “Razor” Penrose reported. “Ditto for Bullet Seven.” “Copy. Stand by… Bullet flight, code is ‘slippery, ‘ repeat, ‘slippery.’” Razor Penrose couldn’t believe what he just heard. The code word “slippery” meant that their carrier Ranger was damaged, extent unknown, and no one would either launch or land. Dammit all to hell. They missed and it had cost them! Because they couldn’t get the fighters or the big missiles, Ranger was hit. Fortunately, there were other code words for more serious damage, so there was a possibility that they wouldn’t have to divert-it could be something as noncritical as a damaged aircraft on the deck or foul arresting gear. There were a few nearby divert runways available, and dozens more as long as the K-10 tanker was still available. The closest landing facility was a small runway on the island of Sangihe, one hundred and thirty miles to the southeast. With a KC-10, however, they could reach and rearm on Guam, fourteen hundred miles to the northeast. They still had lots of options. . But Penrose had no plans on diverting right now. As long as he had gas and guns, he was going to stay aloft. Their primary job now was to protect their damaged carrier. “Three bandits at twelve o’clock, forty miles, high, northwest-bound at high speed, they appear to be withdrawing, ” the AWACS controller continued as calmly as if he were reporting the weather. The three surviving first-wave fighters had done their job-deliver the big antiship missiles-so they were bugging out. “Four additional bandits, one o’clock, Blue plus twenty miles, southeast bound, looks like they want to engage. “Basket, give me a SITREP. Who do we get up?”
“Bullet Two, Four and Five are emergency fuel and are rendezvousing with Shamu, ” the AWACS controller reported. “They report nine AIM-7s and five A1M-9s between them. They will stay with Shamu and Basket after refueling.” No report on Bullet Three, Penrose noted-the Chink bastards got Kelly, damn them. “Bullet Eight and Nine are airborne, ETE ten minutes; they are staying within a hundred miles from home plate for inner defense. They are max loaded with four AIM-54s, two AIM-7s, and two AIM-9s apiece. You’ve got two KA-6s up but they’ll have to tank with Shamu before you can use them. One Hawkeye up, range one-niner-zero miles east. Flashlight is at your three o’clock, eight miles, low, southeast bound at vee-max.” The big spy plane was on the deck, trying to lose itself in the radar clutter of the sea. “Basket is southeast of your position, one-one-zero miles. Say your load and fuel.”
“Bullet Six flight of two, two -7s, two -9s, seven minutes to bingo.”
“Copy, Bullet Six flight. Vector to join on Flashlight, starboard to heading one-one-zero, take angels eight.”
“Negative. Bullet Six flight wants a vector to the inbounds.” Penrose had had enough of screwing with trying to protect the Air Force’s radar plane-his job was to protect the fleet and keep any more Chinks from lobbing missiles at his home. “Your OPORD says to escort the RC, Bullet flight “Fuck the ops orders, Basket. I want a vector to the inbounds.” On interphone, he told his RIO, Lieutenant Commander John Watson, “Lion Tamer, lock those inbounds up if this bozo doesn’t give us a vector That was usually not very good practice-they would keep the element of surprise if Penrose’s RIO kept his radar off-but if he had to, they would go it alone. . There was a brief pause from the AWACS controller, but he was obviously not in the mood or not authorized to argue. “Roger . . . Bullet Six flight, four bandits at one o’clock, fifty miles, take angels three-five, that’ll put you ten thousand above them.”
“Six flight.” Penrose held his heading and started his climb. “Bogey-dope.”
“Bandits at your one o’clock, level, fifty miles, closure rate eleven hundred. Be advised, Bullet flight, Flashlight reported naval radar and possible naval antiair at your twelve o’clock, two hundred miles. You may be coming within detection range. “Six copies.” Well, if that happened, they’d be about even it was a two-vee-four, but there was not yet any sign that they’d been detected. Penrose wasn’t going to turn on his radar until absolutely necessary. “Two.”
“One o’clock, moving to one-thirty, forty miles . . . thirty miles, two o’clock, low . They weren’t going in completely blind. Penrose’s RIO was adjusting his IRSTS, or Infrared Search and Track System, a long-range heat-seeking imager that could detect and display hot targets at medium to short range; his was one of the few older F- 14A models with both an IRSTS sensor as well as the typical TCS telescopic camera system, in side-by-side chin pods. IRSTS allowed the crew to launch missiles against targets at long range and activate their AWG-9 radar only a few seconds before the missiles impacted-that was precisely what they were trying to do now. “Two-thirty position, thirty miles.. .” Penrose corrected his course to keep the bandits within the 30-degree limit of the IRSTS seeker. “Cowboy, can you get an IR track on these guys?”
“We got ‘em all the way, ” Penrose’s wingman, Lieutenant Commander Paul “Cowboy” Bowman, replied. “Ready when you are. “Stand by.” On interphone Penrose asked, “Got ‘em yet, Lion Tamer?”
“Hold on… tally-ho, finally got ‘em… IR track. Compiling data… got a good data feed. Wish we had a laser ranger right now-their guys would be dog meat. Be advised, Razor, my radar’s coming on three seconds after missile launch. We won’t be invisible no more… okay. I got a firing solution. Clear to launch.”
“Good. Lock up the rest as soon as the radar’s on.” On the interplane frequency, he called out, “Seven, give it to ‘em. Bullet Six, fox one. “Seven, fox one. Penrose squeezed the launch button on his radar, and the light-gray outline of his Tomcat fighter lit up again as the big Sparrow missile leaped into the dark sky. He could see a missile from his wingman slash through the sky just a few hundred feet away-the two missiles appeared to be flying in formation as they streaked toward their targets. The missiles seemed to track perfectly . But suddenly Penrose’s missile seemed to diverge away faster and faster-his wingman’s missile curved to the right, tracking all the way, but Penrose’s Sparrow was going off in the weeds. “Lion Tamer, what’s going on…?”
“Damn! Radar’s not coming up!” Watson shouted. “Shit, it cooled down too much!” A status light to the right of the RIO’s tactical information display read ENV STBY, meaning that the system would stay in nonradiating mode until the electronics fully warmed up. “Two! Take the lead! Six is gadget-bent!”
“
Seven’s taking the lead.” Penrose began searching to his right, hoping he could see his wingman, but he made it easy for him: Bullet Seven had his left engine in min afterburner, both to help Penrose find him and start closing in on the Chinese fighters faster. “Cowboy, got a tally on you, kill your burner, ” Penrose said. The burner flicked off. They continued their right turn to put themselves right on the four Chinese fighters’ tails. Lion Tamer’s APR-45 radar threat scope suddenly came to life. It showed first a friendly search radar directly aheadBullet Seven-and, seconds later, several bat-wing symbols appeared off to the right as the Chinese fighters, after detecting the Tomcat’s radars, activated their own search radars to find their ambushers. All four bat-wings were superimposed, with a diamond around the closest one. As Penrose searched out his canopy bubble to see if he could see any of the enemy fighters, he saw a tiny puff of fire in the distance-Bullet Seven’s Sparrow missile had exploded. One of the bat-wings promptly disappeared. “Bullet flight, splash one bandit, ” the AWACS controller reported. “Dead bandit descending rapidly, turning right, decelerating. Two bandits breaking left, same altitude, nine miles. One bandit looks like he’s descending, heading straight ahead… lone bandit is thirty miles from Flashlight, appears to be closing on him.”
“Six, go after the solo. I’ll take these two.”
“Negative. I’m bent. I’m staying with you. “I can take these two. Use your IR and the AWACS. Get the solo.” “Dammit, Cowboy, if those two are bugging out, let ‘em. Don’t get sucked into a one-vee-two. Let’s go get the solo together.”
“We got these two locked up, no sweat. Take the solo. I’ll be back in a flash.” He punctuated his sentence by banking hard left in pursuit. Penrose and Watson were suddenly right between two enemy cells. “You gotta protect the recon plane, Razor, ” Watson told him. “Fuck the recon plane. My wingman might be in trouble…”
