Show of Force

by Charles D. Taylor

  “Fine, Bill. Thank you.” Again Nimitz shifted more heavily to starboard as tons of water continued to pour into her innards. “Where is the XO?”

  “He's standing by DC Central. He's waiting for your order to abandon ship. He doesn't want to give it until you're safely off.”

  “Then let's get the hell out of here.”

  “Do you want anything from your cabin, Admiral?”

  “Yes, I guess I do. ... No, forget it. Don't waste any time. The sooner we're gone, the sooner they can abandon ship. Tell the XO I definitely do not want him staying aboard. Give him orders to report to me on California as soon as every sailor is off.” He paused for a moment. “I don't want her to have a slow death, and I don't want them to do it. We'll sink her ourselves.”

  There should have been joy aboard Lenin. They knew they had delivered Nimitz to Gorenko, that it was just a matter of time before the great ship went to the bottom. But Lenin, too, was hurt, badly hurt.

  The concentrated attack on Nimitz had left the Soviet carrier more open to the Americans than Kupinsky preferred, but he had known that there was no choice, that they could not achieve their objective as long as Nimitz was afloat. A flight of Corsairs had been badly decimated before it came within range of the Soviet carrier, but three of them had gotten through with their missiles. One had actually been able to deliver a five-hundred-pound bomb that knocked out the forward missile launchers.

  Of more importance were the American submarines Omaha and Groton. Earlier in the day they had very quietly maneuvered themselves into the line of advance of Kupinsky's force. They remained below the thermal layer, using the sudden temperature change to camouflage themselves from the aircraft flying protective ASW cover in front of the advancing ships. Their torpedo tubes were loaded with Harpoon missiles, quite capable of accurately hitting a surface target at sixty miles.

  The submarines used their on-board computers to analyze the sound signatures of the surface ships. Stealthily, they isolated Lenin and the other major ships they wanted as targets. No sound transmissions were ever exchanged. Earlier planning pretty much obviated that, and their CO's realized it really didn't matter if they happened to hit the same target. They would just be doubling the chances of sinking it.

  That was exactly what happened to Marshal Grechko, the newest guided-missile cruiser in the fleet. Omaha's first missile hit amidships, right at the waterline, ripping a huge hole, tons of water instantaneously filling her engine room. Groton's Harpoon detonated in a missile storage compartment, the force of the explosion slashing upward to smash the bridge. Fires swept out of control through the forward section as Grechko heeled rapidly to port. The flames were blown back along the deck, driving the fire fighters amidships. One of her radiomen had just begun to call for help when an exploding magazine sent shells bursting into the space. He never delivered his message. This explosion also forced the men on the hoses back farther, though they hoped they might gradually control the fires and move forward to help their comrades trapped in the bow. The final blow was delivered by a damaged Corsair about to ditch. Her pilot, as he streaked low over the water, nipped his five-hundred-pound bomb just behind the stack, destroying the engine room. Lucky to survive the blast, the fire fighters now found themselves with flames behind them also. Their only chance for survival was a wall of water between them and the flames advancing from the bow and the stern. And then the water pressure dropped until there was only a trickle. In less than five minutes, what remained of Grechko's crew abandoned ship.

  Zhdanov was also hit by an Omaha Harpoon, followed by the first of the American surface-fired missiles. The leading Soviet ships had more missile launchers than their attackers, but not quite the range. With a lack of air cover to deter the American ships, the Russians were forced to protect themselves before they could establish a surface-missile attack of their own. The combined hits on Zhdanov were too much, her midships' section burning fiercely and her rudder jammed to starboard. Fire-control parties were unable to halt the flames as the circling wind blew from a variety of directions. Her bow was filling and crackling bulkheads signaled the approaching end. A Kashin destroyer came close aboard to take on survivors.

  Groton was the first of the subs to hit Lenin. The initial Harpoon struck aft of the bridge in the superstructure, damaging the carrier's computer center. The second hit forward of the bow missile installation, just ahead of the launcher bombed moments earlier. The detonation of magazines was the first sign the Lenin had been seriously hit.

  At the time, Svedrov had said, “Our attack on Nimitz is progressing, Admiral. She has taken a number of hits, but I don't believe any fatal ones yet. Do you want me to release the torpedo boats for attack?”

  'fifes, Svedrov, I think you'd better.“ They felt the rumble of an explosion in one of the forward magazines. ”As you will note, they have not overlooked us."

  Svedrov had the same feeling his Admiral did. Their fleet had more weapons than the Americans, but their sophistication and range might not be quite competitive. It was a necessity to sink the Nimitz to equalize the battle, but there was no point in being a winner if your own force was too decimated.

  Alex Kupinsky watched the screens closely in front of him. His aircraft were inadequate to protect his ships. It was a matter of having more small carriers to spread over the ocean, for the airpower was still a controlling factor. He would have few aircraft or pilots left after this day was done. When he returned to Moscow, he would hammer home this lesson well. More shipyards would be converted to building many of the small VTOL carriers.

  His own status boards reflected much the same information as David Charles's. Sunk: cruisers Azov, Vasili Chapaev, Marshal Voroshilov, Admiral Izakov, destroyers Bravy, Bedovy, Zorky, Strogy, Smetlivy. They were names etched in Russian hearts and minds, and their brave men would be missed. Countless statues would be erected in city squares to a new generation of heroes.

  A third Harpoon plowed into Lenin, this time from Omaha. It hit just below the after section of the flight deck on the starboard side, exploding inside the hangar near the number-six elevator used for hoisting explosives. Ammunition was being loaded at the time, and that, too, began to detonate as the flames spread. If the explosions had been confined to a single area, the fires might have been contained, but rockets were being prepared at the time for the last flight of Forgers. Set off by the intense heat, they streaked wildly through the huge hangar, striking other aircraft and igniting their fuel. Damage-control parties were unable to enter. Bulkheads collapsed as explosions penetrated into adjacent spaces. Kupinsky was soon notified that the fires in the after hangar deck were out of control. The smoke filtering into his flag plot was already making breathing uncomfortable.

  “Admiral, our reports indicate that Nimitz has been crippled. One more air strike will sink her.”

  “Svedrov, there is no doubt in my mind that you are correct. Yet, right now I can't launch another strike. We have almost no Rigas or Forgers left. We have fires in the aft section of the hangar deck that are out of control, and ammunition is exploding so fast that I could only arm the few aircraft I have up forward. The ammunition would have to be carried by hand, but we need every man available to fight the fires. We have succeeded with Nimitz.” He took a deep breath. “She will either sink or David will torpedo her himself. But we are close to losing Lenin, also. And look at the losses already on that board. What have we won?”

  “The Americans, too, have sustained heavy losses, including three cruisers.”

  “Admiral?” Kupinsky turned to another voice by his shoulder. The man had been trying to attract the Admiral's attention, but he was vying with the low rumble coming from the hangar deck.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “We have just received a plain-language message from Moscow, sir. Intelligence reports that the American carrier, Constellation, has passed through the Strait of Malacca.”

  Alex turned back to Svedrov. “You see, strength in numbers. The Americans h
ave lost a great carrier, but even before they knew it, they were directing another with equivalent airpower in our direction.” The phone by his elbow buzzed. He picked it up, muttered his name into the mouthpiece, listened for just a moment, and hung it up without a word.

  He stared intently at the displays framing the dimly lit plot, looking at but not seeing the lights and symbols that kept track of the battle. Finally his eyes stopped at the board with the list of ships' names, the ones already lost. “That was Captain Scherensky. He is concerned about Lenin. He feels we may want to shift our flag to another ship, or at least make plans to do so.”

  Svedrov's eyes dropped. The heavy eyebrows and stocky body gave him the appearance of a bulldog. There was still a lot of fight in him. “I see.” He said nothing for a second. “I will contact the Admiral Senyavin. They have the capacity for our staff.”

  “She has also been badly damaged, Svedrov. Our cruisers have been excellent targets today, just like the American cruisers. Perhaps we shall have to pick one of the destroyers.”

  “I will see to it, Admiral.”

  As Svedrov was uttering those words, the fate of Lenin was being sealed. While the Aegis ships had sector positions to maintain to protect Nimitz, the little frigates and destroyers had continued directly into the Russian line of advance. They were, as they had been in earlier wars, expendable. In this case, they were literally the only ones to see the Soviet force with their own eyes.

  The brash, young commanding officer of Capodanno, one of the smallest of the frigates, found himself watching the burning Lenin through his binoculars. He asked a messenger to find the pilots of the ship's LAMPS helicopters. Ensign Steve Young reported to him in less than a minute, fully dressed to fly and quite out of breath. “I'm sorry, sir, we have only one helo left. Bob Kerner didn't come back.”

  “I'm sorry. I hadn't been informed.” The captain handed the young officer a pair of binoculars, then pointed to the wing of the bridge. “Come out here with me, Steve. I want to show you something.”

  They leaned together against the windbreak, their elbows on the edge to steady their glasses. Wherever they looked ships were racing to unknown positions. Ships were firing missiles.

  Ships were burning or sinking. But the CO of Capodanno centered his binoculars, and the young ensign's as well, on the burning Russian carrier on the horizon.

  “Your torpedoes can be set to run shallow?” It was a question and a statement at the same time.

  “Yes, sir. I guess so, although they're designed to home on subs.”

  “I know that. But could your torpedoman set them to maybe run a thousand yards and sink that carrier?”

  “I don't think the people in Washington had that in mind for the Mk 52, but we can sure take a shot at it.”

  “Okay. You get on that phone,” he pointed at one by the chart table as they stepped back into the pilothouse, “and get that man up here on the double.”

  The Mk 52 could be set for shallow running, and the torpedoman was sent back to the hangar to arm the helo. Over the chart table the captain spread photos and drawings of Lenin from almost every imaginable angle. He pointed out to the young pilot where the 76-mm. and Gatling-style guns were located. The helo was to fly up on the Soviet carrier from the starboard quarter, hugging the water. It would be hard to pick up on radar, and likely would not be seen by lookouts until very close. He would have to judge for himself when to release his fish. The guns were radar controlled, the Catlings used more as a last-ditch antimissile weapon. Perhaps their fire-control radar couldn't lock on him, but the minute they did, there would be little time. Once the torpedoes were launched, he was not to turn back to Capodanno. Simply put his bird in hover and jump into the Indian Ocean.

  Rezvy, a relatively new Krivak-II guided-missile destroyer, had been selected by Svedrov. It could not take the entire staff by any means, but its communications system would allow the Admiral to regroup his force and maintain tactical command. As they prepared the last of their materials for transfer, the American LAMPS helicopter from Capodanno had succeeded in closing to less than a mile from Lenin. Because of the interior communications problems caused by the fires, the lookout on the stern could not immediately get his siting message to the bridge. It was finally relayed by a unique jury-rigged system that is the mark of sailors in every navy.

  But by that time, the helo had positioned itself on the starboard beam of Lenin. Normally, there are two pilots and a systems man to coordinate the search-and-weapons section in the helo, but this time Steve Young had been selected to pilot the craft with his torpedoman flying shotgun. Lenin brought the 76-mm. guns to bear, but the fire-control radar could not isolate the helo. The mount captain put the gun in local control, and his crew began the process of firing short bursts to pinpoint their target.

  The first torpedo was released for a straight run at the after section of the ship at a fifteen-foot depth. The helo then shifted its position slightly to direct the next one at the bow. That caused the gun crew to shift their own sights slightly, and allowed that extra second to release the second fish. The helo was in hover. Ensign Young pushed open his door, nodding to the other man to do the same, and together they jumped.

  As they came to the surface, the two Americans found their attention divided. The first torpedo had struck about one hundred feet from the stern of Lenin, sending a tower of water skyward. At almost the same time, Lenin's guns found the helo. The 76-mm. shells caused the machine to falter for a moment before it began to dip. Then the Galling guns found their target, tearing it apart before it hit the water. The explosion of the second torpedo, just forward of Lenin's superstructure, riveted their eyes on the big ship. Lenin was definitely heeling to starboard. What they didn't know was that the first fish had exploded inside the after engine room, buckling the giant shafts. Her motion was simply the movement of a ship coasting. Afraid to inflate their life raft yet, they watched fascinated as more secondary explosions racked Lenin's hull. She was beyond saving.

  In Lenin's flag plot Alex Kupinsky felt the torpedoes through the deck before the sound ever reached him. He no longer was in contact with Captain Scherensky, and he did not know where the torpedoes had come from. He simply knew that today he and David had exchanged carriers.

  It was too dangerous for Rezvy to put a line over to Lenin. She stood off a few hundred yards and put her whaleboat in the water, Alex Kupinsky departed his flagship in the same manner as David Charles. He leaped from the lowest non-burning deck into the Indian Ocean, inflating his life preserver as he surfaced. The whaleboat was quickly beside him, and Admiral Kupinsky was hauled aboard just as soaking wet as Admiral Charles had been. As the boat made a wide turn away from the burning ship, it was Alex Kupinsky who sighted the two men in the water and directed the boat to them, assuming they were Soviet sailors. It was also Alex who was the first to offer a hand to the youth, whom, he noted immediately, was wearing American pilot's gear.

  The ensign had no idea who the man was who had offered him a helping hand, just that he had seen him recovered from the water also. In English, Alex inquired, “Where is your aircraft?”

  “Shot down.”

  “You are from the Nimitz?” “U.S.S. Capodanno.” The Admiral shook his head curiously. “I do not know that ship.”

  “FF - 1093.”

  “A frigate?” Curiously, he asked, “You are a helicopter pilot, out here?”

  The ensign simply nodded.

  “What was your mission before you were shot down?”

  Again no answer. The young man simply pointed at Lenin, now dead in the water, smoke pouring from every section of the ship.

  “Those torpedoes were yours?” Kupinsky asked in awe.

  The ensign's head again bobbed up and down a few times, agreeing with the Russian's questions.

  Kupinsky turned to Svedrov. “We have both learned something today, my friend. That boy flies American helicopters off the fantails of those little frigates. Today, Lenin was sunk by a tiny
helicopter.” He halted his thoughts momentarily, then looked back to his Chief of Staff. “Just as we sunk their capital ship with tiny little boats, they sunk Lenin with a helicopter.”

  They were speaking in Russian, and the ensign had no idea what they were saying or who they were. Then the older of the two turned back, pointed at him, and said something else before taking a seat in the bow of the boat. He thought perhaps they were sealing his fate, but what Admiral Kupinsky had said was, “See that they are well taken care of, Svedrov. They are both brave men, just as our small-boat captains were.”

  The midday BBC report in London was somber.

  Today, [the commentator began] has been a day of carnage in the Indian Ocean. Two powerful task forces, both with greater firepower than the world has ever seen, confronted each other head on. The reasons for this sea battle are as yet uncertain. Claims and counterclaims from Washington and Moscow have fallen on deaf ears at the U.N. Both countries have been implored by the Secretary General of the U.N. to impose a cease-fire. The earlier claims by the Party Secretary at the Kremlin yesterday concerning land-based American offensive weapons in the Indian Ocean have been denied in Washington. While the President has said little, the Secretary of State, Thomas Jasperson, has stated unequivocally that the island of Islas Piedras is a Trident supply base only, and that the missile system that has been established on the island is only for security of those countries in the Indian Ocean sphere who wish an umbrella of security to allow them to go about their ways peaceably. The Soviets still claim the island's missile system has not yet been completed and that their intentions are to halt aggression in the Third World, before the United States forces these poor countries into an untenable position. Lack of communications between the two countries, apparently as a result of satellite destruction by both sides, has brought all members of the U.N. to beg for a ceasefire. The Secretary General claims that only world pressure on the two superpowers will avoid many other countries being drawn into a world war as a result of treaty obligations. . . .