USS Towers Box Set

by Jeff Edwards

  But the probability of detection readout was still climbing. As Silva watched, it changed to 91.6 / 22.9. In another few minutes, the chance of getting caught would reach 30%. Definitely too high for comfort.

  Silva looked around and met Bowie’s gaze.

  He raised one eyebrow slightly. “This must be what it feels like to be a submarine commander,” he said.

  He turned back to the master tactical display. “Trying to sneak into your enemy’s sensor envelope without being detected. Knowing that the only things keeping you alive are silence, and luck.”

  Commander Silva nodded, but didn’t say anything. Her eyes drifted back and forth between the estimated range to target, and the probability of detection. Two sets of numbers—one decreasing, and the other increasing. Silence and luck. Silence… and luck. Silence…

  A burst of encrypted UHF came in on the downlink from Fleet SATCOM, carrying the latest targeting fixes from the NightEagle III. On the Aegis display screen, the areas of uncertainty for the Chinese ships shrank instantly to distinct points.

  Captain Bowie looked over the target geometry, judging angles and distances against whatever image of the battle plan he carried in his head. He nodded, cleared his throat, and spoke loudly. “Let’s do it.”

  And suddenly, it was time.

  CHAPTER 51

  USS TOWERS (DDG-103)

  BAY OF BENGAL

  WEDNESDAY; 03 DECEMBER

  0013 hours (12:13 AM)

  TIME ZONE +6 ‘FOXTROT’

  The Tactical Action Officer keyed the net. “Weapons Control—TAO. You have batteries released. Kill Surface Contact Zero One and Surface Contact Zero Two with Harpoons.”

  The acknowledgement came immediately. “Weapons Control, aye.”

  A handful of seconds later, the steel deck vibrated with the syncopated rumble of anti-ship cruise missiles blasting free of their launch tubes.

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Four birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two-each on the hostile surface contacts.”

  Commander Silva watched four friendly weapons symbols blink into existence on the tactical display, and race toward a set of programmed navigational waypoints on the far side of the targets. “How long until the second salvo?”

  “About three minutes,” Captain Bowie said.

  The plan was to launch the attack in two stages. The first salvo of missiles would fly past the enemy warships, remaining below the radar horizon for the Chinese sensors. When the Harpoons had covered half the distance to their respective waypoints, the second salvo of missiles would be launched toward their own waypoints, on the near side of the targets.

  The timing of the launches was calculated to bring all of the Harpoons to their final navigational waypoints at the exact same instant. Then, the missiles would simultaneously turn toward the targets and shift into terminal attack phase, their radar seekers going active as they homed in for the kill.

  On the western side of the battle group, the USS Donald Gerrard would be carrying out a mirror image of the attack against the two frigates on her edge of the enemy formation.

  The tactic was called simultaneous time-on-target. If it was executed properly, each Chinese escort ship would suddenly find itself with four incoming Harpoon missiles, all converging from different points of the compass.

  The Jiangkai II multi-role frigates and the Luzhou air-defense destroyers were known to carry strong anti-ship cruise missile defenses. Faced with one (or even several) Harpoons coming in from the same general direction, there was an excellent chance that the Chinese ships could intercept most or all of them. But the odds that they could simultaneously engage four hostile missiles from widely-separated bearings were much lower.

  If the latest tactical assessments were accurate, a simultaneous time-on-target attack should yield one or two successful hits on each of the enemy destroyers and frigates.

  For Silva, time had somehow shifted into overdrive. The three minutes between missile salvos seemed to flash by in a few seconds, and then the deck was vibrating with the launch of the second set of Harpoons. Four new friendly weapons symbols popped up on the Aegis display screen, and instantly began vectoring toward their assigned waypoints.

  The missiles had been in flight less than a minute when a report from the Electronic Warfare module broke over the net. “TAO—EW. I have two X-band emitters, bearing two-eight-zero. Signal characteristics and pulse repetition frequencies are consistent with fire control radars for Chengdu J-15 fighter aircraft.”

  Before anyone had time to react to this message, it was followed by a report from the Air Warfare Supervisor. “TAO—Air. The data stream from NightEagle III just chopped off in mid-transmission.”

  The TAO keyed his mike. “Air—TAO. Clarify your report. Have you lost the satellite downlink?”

  “TAO—Air. That’s a negative, sir. We’ve still got a good latch on SATCOM 7, but the satellite has lost comms with the drone.”

  Silva made eye contact with Bowie. “Captain, unless I miss my guess, a Chinese air patrol just blasted our UAV out of the sky.”

  Her assessment was confirmed by the Officer of the Deck about two seconds later. “TAO—Bridge. Lookouts are reporting a fireball bearing two-seven-five. Position angle fifty-one.”

  Bowie turned toward the TAO. “Stand by to go active on SPY. Our Chinese friends have just figured out that we’re in the neighborhood. I want to be ready to shift to full Aegis combat mode on a second’s notice.”

  He raised his voice so that the entire CIC crew could hear him. “Listen up, people. It’s about to get hot around here. Let’s stay sharp, and be ready for anything.”

  On the Aegis display, the Harpoon missile symbols were reaching their final waypoints and turning toward the enemy warships. The missiles were sea skimmers, hugging the wave tops to remain below the radar coverage of the target vessels until the last possible instant. In another ninety seconds or so, they would become visible to the Chinese radar operators.

  Bowie had no intention of giving the enemy ships time to react properly to the incoming missiles. He nodded to the TAO. “Nail ‘em with the gun.”

  The Tactical Action Officer relayed the order to Weapons Control, and the ship jerked as the 5-inch deck gun loosed its first round. The muzzle report reverberated through CIC like a clap of thunder, only partially muffled by the steel bulkheads and insulated lagging that separated the compartment from the gun deck.

  The gun cycled into its auto-load sequence, pumping out another projectile every three seconds, with bone-jarring booms. When the first five rounds were in the air, the gun swung its aim toward the second Chinese destroyer, and pumped out another five shells. Then the gun shifted its attention back to the first destroyer, and fired another five-round salvo.

  * * *

  Vulcano Round:

  Moving at a half mile per second, the first round took just under 74 seconds to close the distance to the target. As the projectile neared the end of its trajectory, the canard control module near the nose took a fix from GPS and compared the result to the position estimate from its own inertial measurement unit. The control module adjusted the angle of the stubby canard fins, and the Vulcano round pitched over into its terminal descent phase.

  The infrared sensor locked onto the largest heat source within its field of view. The canard control module made a final angular correction, and the self-guided artillery shell streaked down toward the target like a meteor.

  The Luzhou class destroyer was powered by two steam turbines of indigenous Chinese design. When the first round of the artillery barrage began falling from the sky, the strongest thermal signature was a plume of superheated gas rising from the forward exhaust stack.

  The first Vulcano round punched through the hottest part of the exhaust trail about six feet above the stack, missing the destroyer cleanly, striking the water about fifteen yards off the ship’s port quarter. It exploded on impact, sending out a shower of shrapnel that either fell into the sea or pinged ha
rmlessly off the metal flanks of the warship.

  Three seconds later, the next Vulcano round missed the Chinese vessel by an even wider margin. Then, the third shell arrived.

  * * *

  PLA Navy Ship Shijiazhuang (Luzhou class destroyer #116):

  Junior Lieutenant Dong Jie swung his binoculars to the right, and frantically scanned the sky to the starboard side of the ship. The Watch Officer and Tactical Lookout were gathered at the port side bridge windows, trying to get a look at the points of impact for the two explosions that had occurred so suddenly off the port side of the ship.

  But they were looking the wrong way. The rockets, or artillery shells, or whatever they were, had come from the east. Dong had heard them distinctly, a strange whistling noise so high-pitched that his ears could barely detect it. What was that sound? What was causing the explosions?

  And then he was hearing the whistling noise again, coming from the east, just like the last two times. He turned toward the Watch Officer, and said, “ting!” (Listen!) But the Watch Officer wasn’t listening.

  Dong moved swiftly to the watertight door at the starboard side of the bridge. He yanked up the dogging handle, pulled the door open, and stepped out onto the starboard catwalk under the stars. The cold night air hit him like a blow from a hammer, but he had to know where that sound was coming from.

  Whatever it was must be too small to see on radar, because the scopes on the bridge were clear of any incoming contacts, and the radar operators were not reporting anything out of the ordinary.

  He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the darkened sky. He saw nothing up there but stars. Who could be doing this? The Indians? The Americans? But they were all gone. Defeated, and chased from the field of battle...

  Through the open bridge wing door, Dong could hear the buzz of the telephone. That would be the captain, demanding a report on the source of the unidentified explosions.

  The whistling noise was increasing in volume. Dong thought he caught a glimpse of something for a fraction of an instant—a blurred flicker of motion as some small dark shape arced down from the black face of the heavens.

  And then he was blinded by an impossibly bright flash of light. His feet left the deck as the shockwave and shrapnel of the detonating shell tore into his body, hurling him back through the open doorway into the bridge.

  There were reports coming over the speakers now, the excited voice of the radar Officer jabbering about the sudden appearance of four incoming missiles, all closing from different bearings. Shouted orders to defensive weapons systems.

  But Dong Jie’s stunned ears were filled with the distant rhythm of his own pulse. Fast at first, but then slowing… Slowing…

  He closed his eyes, and then opened them again. The view didn’t change. Whether his eyelids were open or shut, he could see nothing but the searing white afterimage of the explosion.

  His brain didn’t register the chainsaw snarl of the Gatling guns spewing bursts of 30mm slugs into the night. He didn’t see the two fireballs erupt in the darkness as the twin streams of high-velocity bullets shredded two of the incoming missiles. He didn’t see the Gatling guns swing toward their next targets.

  And he didn’t see the last of the American Harpoons slip in past the fusillade of defensive fire, and dart in for the kill.

  * * *

  USS Towers:

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Harpoons on top, now!”

  Bowie didn’t hesitate. “Go active on SPY!”

  A few seconds later, the giant Aegis display screens began populating with hostile contact information: five hostile surface ship symbols, and four pairs of hostile aircraft symbols.

  For a brief instant, sixteen friendly missile symbols were superimposed—in groups of four—on top of the symbols for the Chinese frigates and destroyers. Then the blue missile icons vanished from the display, leaving behind the symbols representing the enemy warships.

  Commander Silva watched the Harpoon symbols wink out. How many of the missiles had gotten through, and how many had been destroyed before they could reach their targets? More importantly, how many of the Chinese carrier’s escort ships were still in the fight?

  With the UAV gone, there was no way to get real-time battle-damage assessment. It might take several minutes to sort out which ships were capable of maneuvering and firing, and which were not. But the out-numbered American destroyers couldn’t wait around to find out.

  “Keep hitting them with the gun,” Bowie said. ‘Five rounds, shift targets—five rounds, and shift back.”

  Every three seconds, the big deck gun barked again, and another Vulcano round began its long flight toward one of the Luzhou class destroyers.

  Somewhere on the far side of the Chinese aircraft carrier, the USS Donald Gerrard was dishing out similar punishment to the frigates on the western perimeter of the enemy formation.

  So far, the attack had gone according to plan. The surprise had worked perfectly, but the cat was most definitely out of the bag now. With their SPY radars pumping several million watts of microwave power into the atmosphere, the Towers and the Gerrard had lost all semblance of stealth.

  The enemy fighters knew where they were now. The time for skulking was over.

  This was proven about ten seconds later, as the Air Warfare Supervisor’s voice came over the net. “TAO—Air. Four Bogies inbound. Two flights of two. Looks like the other four are going after the Gerrard!”

  “TAO, aye. Stand by.”

  The Tactical Action Officer looked toward Bowie. “Captain, request batteries released on hostile air contacts.”

  Bowie nodded. “Granted.”

  The Tactical Action Officer turned back toward his console and keyed his mike. “Weapons Control—TAO, you have batteries released. Engage and destroy all Bogies within our engagement envelope!”

  On the Aegis display screen, two pairs of red hostile aircraft symbols were converging on the Towers.

  There was another clap of thunder as the 5-inch gun pounded out another Vulcano round toward one of the enemy surface ships. The sound was instantly followed by the roar of launching missiles.

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Four birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted one each on the inbound Bogies.”

  The TAO was reaching for his mike button when another report broke over the net. “TAO—Air. Bogies are launching. I count eight missiles inbound.”

  The Tactical Action Officer keyed into the circuit. “All Stations—TAO, we have in-bound Vipers! I say again, we have missiles in-bound! Weapons Control, shift to Aegis ready-auto. Set CIWS to auto-engage. Break. EW, stand by to launch chaff!”

  The Electronics Warfare Technician’s response came a split-second later. “TAO—EW, standing by on chaff. I’m tracking eight active H-band seekers, consistent with SSN-27 Sizzlers. Request permission to initiate jamming.”

  “EW—TAO. Permission granted. Jam at-will.”

  A prolonged series of rumbles announced the launch of multiple SM-3 missiles, followed by the voice of the Air Warfare Supervisor. “TAO—Air. Sixteen birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two-each on the inbound Vipers.”

  The Aegis computers were following a shoot-shoot-look-shoot-shoot doctrine: fire two interceptor missiles at each incoming cruise missile, evaluate with radar to see which ones had been destroyed, and then fire two more missiles at any Vipers that survived the first salvo. Unless overridden by human intervention, Aegis would continue to follow this pattern until Towers expended fifty percent of her available SM-3 missiles. Then the computers would automatically throttle back to a shoot-look-shoot-shoot doctrine.

  The Aegis display screen had become a bewildering swarm of cryptic red and blue icons. Silva’s eyes darted from symbol to symbol, trying to make sense of the rapidly-evolving tactical situation. The complexity of the battle picture had increased beyond the integration capacity of the human mind. The fight had shifted into the realm of man-machine symbiosis, where the human operators were completely depen
dent on the processing and correlation capabilities of the computers, and the computers were equally dependent on the humans for intuitive decisions and periodic flashes of tactical brilliance.

  The left third of the display screen, corresponding to the western side of the Chinese battle group, was every bit as complex. The Gerrard was neck-deep in her own fight, and the missiles—both incoming and outgoing—were flying fast and furious.

  Amidst the chaos of iconography, the red symbol for Surface Contact Zero Two flashed, and was replaced by a last-known-position marker. The warship had disappeared from radar. Either it had been sunk, or it had been blasted into pieces too small to present a radar return. Either way, it was gone.

  Silva tapped Bowie on the shoulder and pointed toward the screen. “Captain, we just got a hard kill on one of our surface targets.”

  Bowie shifted his attention from the air-battle to the surface symbols, just as the Surface Warfare Coordinator was reporting the destruction of the enemy ship.

  The captain gave Silva a nod. “You’ve got a quick eye.” He keyed his mike. “TAO—Captain. Shift all 5-inch gunfire to Surface Contact Zero One.”

  On the screen, hostile and friendly missile symbols began merging. “TAO—Air. Splash three Vipers. We have five remaining inbounds.”

  “TAO, aye. Break. EW—TAO. Launch chaff.”

  The Electronic Warfare operator acknowledged the order. “Launch chaff, aye.”

  His report was punctuated by a rapid series of muffled thumps. “Six away.”

  Out in the darkness, a half dozen blunt-nosed projectiles rocketed out of the forward Super-RBOC launchers. The Super Rapid-Blooming Overboard Chaff canisters flew through the air to explode at pre-determined points, scattering metallic confetti and clouds of aluminum dust to attract the radar seekers of incoming weapons.

  There was another rumble, as the Aegis computers fired another set of SM-3 interceptor missiles.