Show of Force

by Charles D. Taylor

  After returning to Moscow and presenting his detailed plans to Gorenko, he went on to Leningrad for leave, and that was where he met Tasha. In a renaissance city, one savors the culture, especially during the winter when everything is frozen. He first saw her in the Hermitage, leading a class of her students from room to room in the standard-issue Russian slippers. There was so much to see that she was barely giving them enough time to survey each painting before she hustled them to the next room.

  She didn't look like a native to him, though she seemed to be quite comfortable in the Hermitage. She was slimmer than many of the Russian women and her clothes were more stylish. She wasn't dressed in the manner of the European or American tourists, but she carried herself in a special way, and her clothes had more color than one normally saw in Leningrad.

  It was her face that had first caught his attention, her eyes. They were a lovely green, and he noted that they crinkled at the edges and seemed to smile by themselves when she was smiling at the children. When she began a lecture about a certain painting or an artist, her round face would become serious again. But she was still pretty to him, especially her eyes. When he decided to talk to her, he noticed she was speaking another language, but perhaps she was a guide.

  His introduction to her failed miserably. “Your students won't be able to tell you tomorrow what they saw today at this speed. Perhaps I could assist you.” He smiled at her serious face. “I'd be happy to escort some of your children.”

  She looked first at his uniform, then at his face. She did not smile, nor was there even a change in her expression. She shook her head, “You are the military. What do you know of art?” And she had turned her back, having barely broken the running lecture she was giving.

  He saw her again that night when he went to the rooftop bar in the Leningrad Hotel. This time he was not wearing his uniform and she was not with her students. He carried his brandy over to her stool at the bar. “I'm sorry if I upset you today. I really do know my way around the Hermitage. I go there whenever I am in Leningrad.” Alex wanted to apologize before she could put him down again.

  She turned in her chair, staring at him, not quite realizing that the short, quiet gentleman in the dark suit was the same officer that had interrupted her class. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Today. You were in one of the seventeenth-century rooms with your students. You were moving and talking so fast, I didn't think they'd ever remember what you were saying.” She tilted her head, looking more closely at him. “I was wearing a naval officer's uniform. I don't believe you liked it.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember now.” There was no smile on her face, nor even a sign of recognition that he had offered to help. “Why would a military man be in a place of culture?”

  “As I've said, I go there whenever I am lucky enough to be in Leningrad. Doesn't everyone who conies here?” He smiled again at her, trying to make her believe he was harmless. “Haven't you ever seen military people there during your visits?”

  “Perhaps they have appeared. I never look for them. I am always too busy with my students.” She began to turn to the bar.

  “where do you and your students come from?”

  “Nisula.” She looked over her partially turned shoulder at him. “Over the border. In Finland.”

  “I see.” Silence. Finland. Many of the Finns hated the Russians for the centuries of invasion of their peaceful little country. On the border, he knew they were constantly harassed. “And has your family been there for a long time?”

  “Yes. A few hundred years, I suppose. Whenever it was called Finland. When it wasn't, they were Russians.” She looked back at him again. “I really don't think we have anything more to talk about.” Her voice was quiet and soft, now that she was no longer lecturing students, and her accent was not as heavy as many of the Finns who spoke Russian only when it was required.

  “I'm sorry,” he responded quietly. “I meant no offense. I am just here by myself, and I plan to spend another few days at the Hermitage before I return to my university.”

  He was from a university, polite and quiet, and, she decided, even a bit shy. She turned around in her seat again and smiled for the first time. He extended his right hand and introduced himself, and he never had any doubts about his life after that. The Navy could do what they wanted to him, but he would be happy. And for Tasha's part, he erased the evil memories that had passed down through her family for a few hundred years. She found at least one Russian military man who was gentle and kind.

  They were married in Leningrad late that May, when the snow was gone and the canals flowed once again. The wind from the Gulf of Finland filled the air with the warm smell of apple blossoms. They honeymooned in the city, taking day trips to the Summer Palace and Lake Ladoga and the seacoast, and even boated on the Neva with the tourists. Too soon it ended, and they were back at the university, more work already waiting for Alex from Gorenko. The plans for the carrier were acceptable. Now he was to design it piece by piece with the naval architects that were being sent to assist him.

  It takes as long to design a new class of ship as it does to build it. His duties consisted not only of development of the carrier but of advising Gorenko in building his blue-water service force: tankers, ammunition ships, repair ships, and full-line replenishment ships. They must be capable of handling a variety of warships steaming together in a task force.

  He was promoted in line with his peers, but he did not get back to sea. While the Commander in Chief of the Navy was literally his patron, there were enough senior Party members who had not forgotten the dark days of Cuba. Gorenko was not about to antagonize them further. Kupinsky traveled freely about the country, visiting shipyards and discussing his plans with both military and civilian builders. He was allowed to attend a variety of schools, including the staff and command schools that he had been scheduled to attend earlier in his career. He was also allowed a brief tour in the embassy in London, where he learned even more about aircraft carriers from the Americans.

  Gorenko was ensuring that Alex would catch up with the officers in his own age group, yet satisfy his detractors at the same time. The Party sometimes worked in strange ways, and in that massive country one individual could not avoid the continual observation of his seniors. When the keel for Kiev was laid in 1971, Kupinsky's job was finished. Now the supervision would be turned over to the shipbuilders at Nikolayev, and he would only return irregularly to review progress, especially when alterations were introduced.

  He was now able to convince Gorenko that he must go back to sea. But the major problem was that his seniority demanded an advanced position onboard, and he had been away from the water for almost eight years. In the Russian Navy, an officer spends a great deal of time, five years or more, aboard the same ship, learning his specialty. He may even assume a department , head's rank and then become an executive officer, if the captain and the political officer deem him fit. Unless he makes too many mistakes, he will often become commanding officer. It was therefore most difficult to find the right ship for Alex. His future was in the surface force now, and he was almost too senior for command of a destroyer. Gorenko again dipped into his purse of influence and found an executive officer of a guided-missile cruiser in disfavor with his political officer. Captain Second Rank Kupinsky became executive officer of the Admiral Fokin, a Kynda-class cruiser in the Red Banner Northern Fleet.

  Alex was able to reverse the natural distrust of an outsider into respect in a short time. He approached his new job with the same determination that he had found to create the first carrier. He was not hurt by the fact that Gorenko had interceded for him. His knowledge of submarines and antisubmarine tactics were invaluable to the Admiral Fokin, more attuned to surface and air warfare but often finding itself involved in antisubmarine maneuvers. When the captain was transferred to a senior command, Alex became commanding officer and captain first rank. He would be ready for flag rank after this tour.

  “Excuse me, Admiral.” Kupins
ky's thoughts shifted quickly back to the signal bridge of Lenin. He straightened from the railing, turning quickly, and returned the salute of the young staff officer who had interrupted his dreams. “Sir, Captain Svedrov reports that our Rigas have inflicted heavy damage on surface units of the American forces. They left at least four ships, One of them a large cruiser, burning.”

  “Were any of them sunk?”

  “I do not believe so, sir, although a guided-missile destroyer was severely damaged.”

  “And what of our own casualties?”

  The young man hesitated. “The American missile system was very accurate, Admiral. Three of our Rigas escaped, only to be set upon by fighter aircraft.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Only one is returning, sir.”

  “I see.”

  “Also, he wishes me to inform you that the American attack aircraft are only ten minutes away. We have sent our helicopters south to assist the destroyers with the approaching submarines. He respectfully asks if you will join him and the staff shortly.”

  “Yes. Inform Mr. Svedrov I will be down in a few moments.” The young man saluted, then wheeled about to carry his message, even before Kupinsky had returned the salute. He hated the idea of going down into the dark flag plot where he could see nothing of the action taking place. It was simply moving dots on screens with no size or shape or animation. He would have much preferred to be on the signal bridge watching the effect of the various weapons. But he realized that most of the action would take place beyond his eyesight anyway, and they needed him to coordinate the action once they had initiated his battle plan.

  Plot in Lenin was similar to that in Nimitz. It was a bit smaller, since the Russians often sacrificed human space for weapon space, but it performed essentially the same functions. Many of the weapons were different, yet they had been devised for the same purposes. As Alex entered the room to assume his position next to Captain Svedrov, his Chief of Staff, he quickly reviewed the status of operations. He saw the flight of A-7's approaching his force, the American submarines to the south, and in another corner of the room, a board showing the dispersed American force.

  As he seated himself, Svedrov reported, “All ships have expanded the screen in preparation for any nuclear attack, sir. Our computers indicate that the American planes are not armed with atomic weapons at this time, but I felt it better not to take any chances. We have already dispersed high-level chaff to counter their missile radar, and our escorts are radiating large-ship signals. I doubt they will be able to select Lenin unless they are willing to come within visual range.”

  “The lead aircraft will fire Harpoon missiles, and that should be any minute now. Their range is over fifty miles,” remarked Kupinsky. “Once those are locked onto a target, they will then send the secondary flight in with their Bullpup missiles. Do not let anyone be fooled when those first aircraft turn back after firing. I know that is just what David Charles would like to see.”

  “Who, Admiral?”

  “Admiral Charles, their commander. He believes quite strongly in the dual-strike method.” Svedrov looked quizzically at his commander. “I know the man well v Svedrov. Remember my explanation of the other day? He is a brilliant commander. I can also assure you that his submarines are maneuvering to position now to fire at about the same time as those aircraft.”

  It didn't happen exactly the way that Admiral Kupinsky predicted, but it was close enough to satisfy his staff. The submarines anticipated the A-7's by just half a minute, but David Charles had expected that would be possible. All of his fleet units were instructed to act independently when they were going into action, unless they were tied into the master computer. In this case, he wanted his commanders to shoot when they were in the best position.

  While Dallas sped off underwater to the east to draw off some of the helicopters, the captain of Mendel Rivers simply went full ahead for a few moments, directly toward the center of the Russian force. It was relatively easy to evade the helos in the vicinity for long enough to confirm a solution in the computer and fire the Harpoon missiles. The formation had been adequately plotted by satellite earlier in the day and Rivers' sensors were able to maintain the locations of the larger Soviet ships.

  The missile broke the water approximately forty miles from the southernmost cruiser in the extended screen. After igniting and orienting itself, it raced toward the target in full view of the helos already warning of its approach. The CO of Rivers had chosen his target because of its name and importance to the Russian people. He had a perfect solution for the missile, and it was fired too close for the captain of Marshal Timoshenko to consider evading. There was no time for a solution for his own antimissile weapons, and his men vainly fired their 76- and 23-mm. guns at a missile that could barely be perceived at that speed. The ship also tried to maneuver. The explosion on impact literally ripped the stern off the 7,500-ton ship, completely destroying the after engineering spaces and detonating one of the magazines. The secondary explosion tore a hole farther forward from the main deck to well below the waterline. She was dead in the water in less than thirty seconds, the fires providing an excellent target for any aircraft that cared to finish off the long sleek cruiser, but she soon sank of her own accord.

  Just moments later, as the lead aircraft from Nimitz were launching their own attack, Dallas successfully fired two missiles, one at the lead destroyer of a group of four heading in her direction, and the second at another cruiser in the rear of the formation. An instant before the missile exploded, blowing the bow off. Bodry, one of the newest destroyers in the fleet, the Russian ship fired its own antisubmarine missile, based on a quick solution in tandem with one of the helicopters. The missile from the fated destroyer did not land in the water as close to Dallas as it had been planned, but that was of no help to the American boat. The torpedo carried by that missile locked on to its target immediately. Seconds before Dallas's pressure hull was shattered, each man heard the whine of the high-speed propellers overtaking their boat. The destroyer, racing forward at thirty-two knots, ripped itself apart. With no bow, its weak interior bulkheads collapsed from the forward motion. The second missile from Dallas removed the bridge and the three top levels from the giant cruiser Nikolayev, named after the yard that had built so many of the ships in that task force. Nikolayev was also a target of the air attack. Just as she regained control in after steering, with her executive officer now in command, two more missiles hit, one amidship at the waterline, destroying main control, and the second in a torpedo magazine. The dual explosion, and the water rapidly filling the starboard side, rolled Nikolayev onto her beam. Secondary explosions completed the job, and she turned turtle.

  As far as Admiral Kupinsky was concerned from his position in flag plot, the exchange was weighing in favor of the Americans. While the latter did not have as strong a defense against airborne missiles as his own force, he decided -that his own antisubmarine protection was not as effective as it appeared on paper. Though their ships carried enough weapons to sink each American sub three or four times, they had to catch them first, and the rapid acceleration of a nuclear attack boat easily confused his own helicopters. He needed the long-range standoff capability to fire on the subs before they fired on him. The loss of one cruiser and one destroyer convinced him that it was time to send his ASW units away from Lenin to keep the subs at a distance. He would have credited Dallas with a second cruiser, but that had actually been finished off by the Americans' planes.

  Just as he had predicted to Captain Svedrov, the American aircraft first launched their long-range missiles from enough distance to protect them from shipboard missiles. Then, right behind that attack, came more aircraft with the shorter-range weapons. Their ploy was to hide behind the Harpoons, assuming the Russians had their hands full just bringing down the first flight of missiles. The less maneuverable Forgers that Lenin had launched earlier were no match for the American fighters. The Tomcats flying shotgun had been armed with Sidewinder missiles. These easily brought
down most of the Soviet jets, which had been designed as bombers anyway.

  The Russians' electronic deception equipment was the equal of the Americans'. The missiles fired at the Soviets had locked on the best available targets. They wanted Lenin, but only visual contact would suffice. As the second flight came in more closely with their Bullpups, they saw the destruction caused by the submarines. They had unknowingly assisted Dallas in the sinking of Nikolayev, but many of their Harpoons had been picked out of the air by antimissile fire. One had streaked in past the defenses to explode on Sevastopol, a guided missile cruiser, but now this secondary attack was necessary to inflict maximum damage.

  The Bullpup missile has a range of about ten miles. The Soviet antiair missiles have a range of about fifteen miles, and the latter were fired first. The A-7 pilots spent their time evading these missiles while their men in the rear coordinated their own firing. First one, then two, then three of the attacking planes were hit. The remainder were able to complete their attack, turn, and head back for Nimitz. As they turned, two more were brought down, and a third was hit and began immediately to lose altitude, desperately struggling for that long glide toward safety.

  Kupinsky watched the boards before him anxiously. Nikolayev was lost—a combination attack. One of the Harpoon missiles had exploded aboard Skory, one of his older high-speed destroyers, leaving her dead in the water. A total of twelve Bullpups were fired by the surviving aircraft.

  “Svedrov. Are our destroyers using that new countermeasure equipment, the one that radiates false targets to their missile radar?”