Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  Three out of the first four SMs hit, the second salvo is four out of four. Third salvo hits three out of four. “Long Beach, Knight 916, splash ten missiles. We have to circle back to reacquire. They’re getting a little close.”

  Tenzar, “Understood, Knight 916. Thank you very much. We have it from here.” A moment later the incoming missiles finally rise above the horizon, and Tenzar, “Direct fire! Horne and Jarret, engage.”

  LCDR Roy Smithson pushes the fire permissive and four more missiles streak off the rails. In seconds, three enemy missiles are gone. Then Horne and Jarret begin firing. Salvo after salvo from the three ships hit, Jarret keeping up with the two bigger ships. They hit four, then two, then seven, then FT1 Gilbert ,”Captain, failure to fire on mount 1, starboard rail!”

  Tenzar, “Eject it and keep shooting. Tell the guys to calm down.”

  More and more Harpoons wink out on the threat board, but they’re still coming. Tenzar, Damn it. It’s math, simple math. Tell the damage control parties to be ready. We’re going to take hits.”

  The Japanese fired 84 missiles at the battle group. Nine failed to ignite or failed to track, falling into the ocean, leaving 75 Harpoons inbound. Knight 916 took out 10 more. The Long Beach, Horne, and Jarret shoot down 48 missiles, leaving 17 missiles Harpoons tracking inbound with 650 pound of high explosive death.

  The Fife has one 8 celled RIM-7 launcher, the Carl Vinson has three Rim launchers, a rapid fire point defense system. The incoming missiles are at 10 miles when they begin firing at any unmasked missiles, and four more go down. Then the Close In Weapons Systems on Long Beach fire. The CIWS two radars target the missiles, then correct it’s 20mm Gatling gun, until its rounds hit the target, destroying two more missiles. Last, the chaff launchers on Long Beach fire off, and the SLQ 32 jammer attempts to spoof the inbound missiles. Jarret’s and Fife’s CWIS and chaff launchers fire as well, but the CIWS on the Horne cannot, because it is masked by the destroyer Fanning.

  LONG BEACH BRIDGE

  The XO, CDR Arron Grey watched the missile battle unfold from the bridge. The bow is covered in smoke from the missiles launchers, and facing the port bridge wing can see the missiles coming in as the CWIS starts firing. A missile explodes, then another, then he sees one slowly drift downward, growing bigger and bigger. Tenzar on the 1MC, “Brace for shock!”

  Grey shouts, “Brace! Brace!” holding onto the bridge structure with both hands, his knees bent and his mouth open. The first Harpoon hits the base of the box five decks below him. The whole bridge jumps, and his legs piston upward, his knees bending to take the shock. A pair of binoculars lying on a shelf launch into the air, ricochet off an angle iron and hit him in the back of the head, and he falls into darkness.

  LONG BEACH, NUMBER 2 MISSILE LAUNCHER

  GMM1 George knows the missiles are when he hears the CWIS fire. He grabs onto the missile rail support in the brace position. The Harpoon hits on the 03 level, just aft of his launcher. His feet leave the deck, but he manages to hold on. GMM3 sails through the air next to him, then the movement stops, and he finds himself on the deck looking at GMM2 Wetten. The bulkhead he was braced against failed and hurled him twenty feet forward against the lift console. There is a jagged piece of metal protruding from his chest, and his legs are splayed at an impossible angle. George looks for the others: Franks I lying crumpled against the port bulkhead; Luke, furthest forward is struggling to stand; Kruger and Mont Blanc can’t be seen. Blood is everywhere. Numb, George looks back toward Wetten.

  Wetten blinks. Startled, George recoils, still looking at him. Wetten’s eyes fill with sadness, and George kneels next to him, taking his hand, “You did good, friend.” Wetten smiles briefly, and his eyes go blank.

  LONG BEACH, MESS DECKS

  MM1 James Walters, the investigator for Repair Locker 51, braces for shock. After the first hit, the crew start to relax, “Lt. JG Sherman Knots, the locker officer shouts, “Stay braced!” Then, the ship is hit again, one hundred feet aft of the repair locker. Walter’s feet and legs feel numb, but he manages to keep his balance. The mess deck is a shamble of broken tables, broken picture glass, and fallen bodies. The starboard side fire main springs a leak and sprays water halfway across the deck. Finally, Tenzar, “Relax brace.”

  From the 1MC, “Propulsion plant casualty, propulsion plant casualty. Scram number 1 reactor.”

  Lt. Knots, “Investigators out, fix that leak.”

  MM3 Small, “Lieutenant, we just scrammed out. We’re needed in the plant.”

  Knot, “The SCRAM was caused by a missile hit. I don’t want any of you running into a fire. They’ll have to fend for themselves until we can get to them. Investigators out!”

  FANNING, DD 385, BRIDGE

  CDR James Calvin Bentley watches the Horne fire missiles from her bow mounted launcher. To his XO, “They’re supposed to be fast, but let’s take a whack at them anyway. I want to give the guns a go.”

  The XO, John Patterson, walks aft to shout the orders to the gun control station by voice tube. As the missiles close, he sees the Horne slow. Bentley, “Looks like the Horne is using us as a blanket.”

  “The new ships need to survive, I don’t blame him,” and their 5 inch guns begin hammering away.

  Bentley, “Tell that to the Long Beach,” and see the first missile hit the big cruiser. He looks over the Long Beach with binoculars then turns to look down range. He sees a small dot growing larger, the missile almost invisible except for its exhaust plume. The dot grow, but appears motionless. Even an amateur seaman know what constant bearing and decreasing range means. “Well, John, it looks like this one has our name on it.”

  “Yes, sir, we’ve done what we can.”

  Bentley lowers his binoculars, “Yes, seems a shame, though,” and the missile strikes below the ship’s funnel aft of the bridge. The 650 pounds of high explosives detonate a split second after hitting, directly above number 1 fire room. The blast shreds the funnel, the two boilers, steam piping, and watch standers. The concussive force breaks the keel of the small vessel and sends shards of steel shrapnel all over the ship. The next thing CDR Bentley knows is that his XO is gone. They were standing side by side, and now he’s smashed up against the bridge fairing and all that can be seen of his XO are his boots with stubs of leg sticking out of both.

  JARRET, COMBAT

  As the incoming missiles fly into the fleet, Jarret fires on last missile. CDR Hilton is watching the track of the outgoing missile and is shocked when the CWIS above them starts firing. He grabs the 1MC and shouts, “Brace! Brace!” A deafening boom hits the ship and rocks it to port. As Jarret rights herself, the XO calls on the 1MC, “Damage control parties out.”

  Hilton rings the bridge, “Where were we hit?”

  His XO, John Dallas, “No, sir. The Phalanx hit the missile, but it was close enough, we have damage from debris.”

  CHAPTER 47

  SALT LAKE CITY, CA 25, 1407, 14 JANUARY, 1942

  Captain Ellis M. Zacharias stands looking out at the ongoing battle, his hands behind his back, standing solid. “Lieutenant Jared, please give me ahead full.” The conning officer orders the bell. “Lieutenant Dougherty, please remind our gunners we have friendlies about,” then to Jared, “Ahead standard, please.”

  His XO, CDR Art Olmen approaches his captain, “Sir, could I interest you in a helmet?”

  Captain Zacharias accepts the offered helmet, with ‘CO’ on its front, “Art, what do you make of all these new contraptions?”

  “Well, sir, if it kills a lot of Japs, I’m all for it. “It seems our enemy has his own share. I’m afraid it makes warfare terribly impersonal. We can’t even see the fellows who dropped these contraptions flying our way.”

  Then the Long Beach is hit, and Captain Zacharias, “My God, will you look at that!” Beyond the Long Beach they can see more missiles inbound, Please open fire with the 5’s and 40’s, gentlemen.” A destroyer aft of their port beam explodes, then they can see missiles coming at them. Th
e 5 inch and 40mm guns fire in vain, and “Well, Art, it looks as if we’ll not be spared.” The first missile strikes aft and below the bridge, under the number 1 stack. The explosion slams them both against the bridge cowling. Then the second one hits, just below mount 81, the forward 8 inch gun. The ship is still shaking when the third missile hits the aircraft hangar and rocks her to starboard. Zacharias recovers quickly, “Damage control parties out!” and looks around. He finds Olmen tangled in the CO’s chair on the deck, “Are you alright, Art?”

  Olmen disentangles himself, “Just some bumps, sir. I’m quite alright.”

  Offering him a hand, Zacharias, “Then quit lying about and see to damage assessment. I’ll keep us at station and render any aid we ca…” An explosion rocks the Salt Lake City. The bow rises half out of the water, a huge column of debris and smoke rising up. Zacharias finds himself lying near the aft ladder. Deafened, he struggles to his feet, looking for Olmen. He’s lying right where he had been, shocked, but he scrambles to his feet and looks forward. He shouts silently at his captain, motioning forward. But Zacharias is looking for his missing helmet, finding it with a large dent in its side. He tosses it aside and puts a hand to his head. It comes back wet with blood. Olmen grabs Zacharias, pointing to the bow, and Zacharias finally looks forward. The Salt Lake City is missing from just forward of mount 82.

  DUNLAP, DD 384

  LCDR Leonard Sherman assumed command of the Mahan class destroyer just four months ago in Pearl. He’s proud of his plucky little ship. As the missiles rise over the horizon, he orders the 5 inch guns to open fire, but the rounds are landing behind the missiles, and he says on the voice tube, “Aim short,” then shouts to gun control, “Tell Donny to get the 40 going.”

  “Aye, sir,” and the twin 40mm AA guns aft start shooting as well, adding its rapid staccato to the rhythmic booms of the 5 inch guns. He’s diverted for just a moment as he sees the Long Beach take a hit, then turns back to the threat. At nearly 600 miles an hour, the Harpoon slams into the hull below the 40mm mount, passing well into the ship before it detonates. The force of the blast staggers him, but he remains standing, and calmly, “Damage control parties out.”

  He puts his binoculars back to his eyes, looking for more missiles. Seeing none, he looks briefly over the fleet. There’s a column of black smoke from the bow of the Salt Lake City and the cruiser, Long Beach, is on fire.

  His XO runs up to him, saluting, “Captain, I think we’re a gonner, sir.”

  Sherman looks at Lt. Ulrich, “Stop that kind of talk, Lieutenant. What’s the damage?”

  “Sir, number 2 engine room is flooding, the hull is ben at the impact point and both shafts are seized. Fires are out in the aft boilers with steam ruptures, and the 40mm is over the side. It’s rough, sir.”

  Sherman looks over the damage from the bridge, and sees the stern moving separate from the bow in the waves. “Yes, XO, I see your point. We’re broken. Lieutenant, prepare to abandon ship. I need to call the Admiral.”

  USS SAN FRANCISCO, BRIDGE

  Captain Cassin Young stands on the port bridge wing wearing his helmet and studying the sky to port, his cigarette nearly forgotten in his mouth. His XO, CDR Jenkins, “Sir, you should retire to the conning tower, you’ll be safer.”

  Young lowers his binoculars and looks at Jenkins, “Safer than my men? I do not think so. I need to see in order to fight my ship. You go in there, if anything happens to me, then you must survive. Lieutenant Smith, get the AA guns firing.”

  “Sir, you’re the Captain, you were hero enough on the Vestal in Pearl. Please, take cover.”

  Young, still studying the horizon, “You won’t give up, will you? The missiles are nearly here. See the Long Beach? Your point is now irrelevant.” None of the 5 inch or 40mm rounds they fire hit an inbound missile. One hits the San Francisco right below the number 2 turret, and she shakes as a ball of flame erupts. Jenkins in thrown off his feet and Young is staggered. He picks up the 1MC, “Damage control parties out. One hit port side below mount 82.”

  FIFE, DD 991, CENTRAL CONTROL STATION

  On a Spruance class destroyer, the central control station is the heart of damage control and propulsion control systems. Located two decks below the combat information center and three decks below the bridge, the chief engineer is the lord of this domain. LCDR Peter Gregory would like a window. He has a repeater for course and speed near his station, and he can feel the ship shudder as the aft RIM-7 launcher starts firing. The ten mile range of the sea sparrow missile means that the Harpoons are close. A few seconds later, the CIWS starts firing, and the CO, CDR Lamoure, shouts on the 1MC, “Brace! Brace!”

  Just as in training, he and his crew hold on to something solid, waiting. Then the missile hits two decks above with a massive thump. He comes to in darkness. Somehow, he’s lying on the deck with no memory of falling. He tries to move and pain shoots from his abdomen to his neck. There’s something on top of him, and he can feel pain in his legs and left, and it hurts to breath. Somehow he looks around as the smoke clears a bit. Alarms are flashing and the propulsion and auxiliary control console has smoke pouring out of it. He can feel a fire somewhere behind and smell its acrid smoke.

  The only person he sees is HT1 Gorki, lying lifeless a few feet away. Then he feels a breeze and looks up to see daylight. Odd, CIC and the bridge should be above him, not daylight. He sees movement and someone in firefighting equipment walks toward him with a light. The investigator shines his light over the damage and Gregory can see more bodies. Then the light settles on his face, “We have a live one!”

  CARL VINSON, CIC

  Halsey and Johnson watch the attack unfold on the screen. The surreal images of little dots moving across a screen representing death and destruction captivate Halsey. Watching the outbound missiles meet the inbound tracks, causing both to wink out, he asks, “Do you think we’ll get them all?”

  “I doubt it, sir, but we’ll get most of them,” and watch as inbound dots merge with the Long Beach, then other ships. “Long Beach reports two hits. She’s on fire, sir.”

  “Very well, inform Eightballer 1, there may be sailors in the water.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Looking back at the threat board, he picks up the 1MC, “All hands brace for shock. Brace. Brace,” then feels a sharp jolt. Still watching the threat board, he says, “Relax brace. Damage control parties out. Now muster the rescue and assistance detail in hangar bay 2.”

  “Captain, PRIFLY, we have wounded birds inbound. Can we land them?”

  “Did the missile FOD the deck?”

  The air boss, CDR Forrester, “Sir, I don’t think they can wait.”

  “Right, receive the, but walk down the deck as soon as possible.”

  ON APPROACH TO CARL VINSON

  Ensign Tim ‘Water Boy’ Beckett is sweating in his helmet, but he can’t wipe it out of his eyes as he struggles to control his bird. He has only one engine. If he fails to catch the wire on the first pass, there will not be a second. There is just not enough power. He lowers the landing gear and slows his aircraft, and the whole plane starts shaking. On the downwind leg, “Gold Eagle, Diamond 928, is my gear down?”

  “Roger, Diamond928, your gear is down.”

  “Understood, my gear indicator failed to light, making the break.”

  “Do you want the barricade, Diamond 928.”

  “Negative, there are wounded birds behind me. I’ll make it or I won’t.”

  “Roger, call the ball.”

  “Roger, ball, 41.”

  Tim’s bird slams onto the deck, catching a 2 wire. As he hits, an engine access hatch swings down, scraping and crumping against the deck, throwing sparks and igniting the fuel pouring from the damaged engine. As he rolls forward, a yellow shirt motions him to stop and fire crews rush toward him, laying down foam. The foam floods his running engine and it flames out. With Tim holding firmly on the brakes, they soon have the fire out. They hook him up to a tractor and pull him out of the landin
g area. When he finally opens his canopy, he can smell the acrid smoke from his own aircraft mingling with the smells from the missile hit forward.

  JAPANESE F-15 FIGHTER GROUP,

  80 MILES NORTH OF THE TASK FORCE AT 5000 FEET

  Colonel Ichiro Nagasawa slows his fighter to subsonic to conserve fuel, slowly climbing to altitude for the long flight home. “Tighten up the formation and keep your eyes outside the cockpit. We are going to face more fighters and these will be angry because we are destroying their home.”

  KNIGHT FLIGHT, 110 MILES NORTH OF TASK FORCE AT 35,000 FEET

  With most of their medium and long-range missiles expended, the Knights know they are going into a knife fight. Then, “All units, Ghost Rider 207, the Japanese are climbing out of angels 5, at 300 degrees. They are 30 miles in front of Knight Flight.”

  At twenty miles, Spike orders, “Invert and attack!” The fighters invert and pull down in a reverse Immelman. Like gyre hawks, they pounce on the Japanese, breaking the speed of sound. The enemies only option, go vertical to meet them.

  Calls of “Fox 1,” and “Fox 2,” can be heard as Knight and Felix flights use the last of their missiles. Several F-15s are hit, one losing a wing and spinning out of control, shedding parts as it falls.

  Puck, “Our squadron is all in a line right,” and they merge at Mach 1.8, the climbing F-15s at Mach 0.9, a combined speed of 1500 miles per hour.

  Speedy, “Guns. Guns,” firing at a ’15 as it flashes by. Gandhi, “Don’t waste ammo, Thud. You can’t hit anything at this speed.” Then the F-15 Thud fired upon catches on fire, staggers in the air, and falls.