Unfortunately for
Frunze,
water conditions improved for sonar ranging. The noise of the sinking
Belknap
protected the submarine for only so long. Both
Forrest Sherman
and
Ramsey
located the evading submarine and tracked her long enough to provide solutions for their ASROC torpedoes. Both weapons were fired at approximately the same time, and both torpedoes, though traveling independently, found
Frunze
changing course frantically at her best possible speed. It made no difference to her crew that the explosion of one torpedo as it pierced her hull probably caused the other to go off also. The combined detonation of both torpedoes was sufficient to shatter the brave little submarine.
The element of surprise had worked. Old-fashioned wolfpack tactics had been successful beyond expectations. Both forces had suffered heavy losses again, yet they steamed directly toward each other. Neither knew exactly what was expected of them, nor did they know if they would ever regain secure communications. They both knew that high-altitude intelligence planes or spy satellites had likely photographed the actions of the last forty-eight hours, but they had no way of learning whether they were strengthening the bargaining powers of their leaders. Eventually, one side would have to establish voice contact, knowing the other would be hanging on every word.
For some unknown reason, the air strikes- that had been launched as the submarine attacks commenced did not come in contact with each other. The American planes had gone to the south, planning a sweep north at the last minute. The Russians had planned exactly the opposite. But this time they came in at surface level, hoping their Rigas wouldn't be picked up on radar until they were on top of Task Force 58.
David Charles was seated at his general quarters station, watching the status boards, waiting for the attack they knew was imminent.
Texas
was the first ship to give the warning.
“Local control,” David ordered, releasing computer control to the Aegis-equipped ships at each point. The cruisers
Texas, South Carolina, California,
and
Arkansas
each had three guided-missile destroyers under their control. “Designate Sectors Red and Green to
South Carolina
and
Arkansas.
I want
California
to serve as backup.” He called to one of Bill Dailey's assistants, “You.'re sure there are no other aircraft outside those sectors?”
“Correct, sir. They're coming in low, trying to avoid radar contact. We got them at about sixty miles.”
“Thank you. Have
Texas
tie into
California
with her ships for anything coming through toward
Nimitz.”
He casually referred to the giant carrier as if he were on another ship. His flag controlled all ships, yet had to function as if it rode none. The captain of
Nimitz
was ultimately responsible for his carrier, not the Admiral, who was merely hitching a ride.
The Rigas kept their low altitude, confusing fire-control radars as long as they could. Antimissile solutions were difficult with the radar screens cluttered with surface return, unable to pinpoint the attackers. “They're not going after the perimeter ships,” said Bill Dailey.
“They're going to try to get through to the cripples and the carrier,” answered David Charles. “Bill, have the inner screen put their guns on local control. They don't need solutions to fee.”
“Yes, sir. You don't think there's any danger of hitting some of our own ships with gunfire?”
“No more than with missile fire. The Rigas have to slow down to pick out the cripples and climb a bit to fire their own missiles. Our guns aren't going to be any more dangerous than the Rigas are to our own ships.”
Truxton
was the first to be hit. They picked her out easily, her bridge gone, no guns to fire in her own defense, fires still burning forward. There was little opportunity for her to bring her stern launchers to bear. Two missile hits left her burning fiercely and dead in the water. It was even worse for
O'Bannon,
her men working desperately to regain electrical power. Her remaining turbines gave her enough forward motion, and she was being steered by hand, but there was no power available to her mount or launchers. She, too, was helpless against the aircraft that got through.
O'Bannon
disappeared in less than five minutes, leaving no trace of an eight-thousand-ton destroyer, and few survivors.
While the open formations allowed the ships enough room, in case one received a nuclear attack, they also invited single-ship attack by the aircraft. The Rigas were excellent planes, highly maneuverable and reasonably able to avoid missiles in a crowd. But coming in low they were able to pick out only one target, fire, and get away as quickly as possible. They had learned in only one day not to cluster together, inviting the Americans to a turkey shoot. This caution limited their firepower. Longer range and speed forced the designers of this VTOL jet to limit the weapon load. So they were able to make only their one run and then head for the barn.
The only other ship to be hit was the frigate
Robert E. Peary.
The smaller ship exploded moments after taking a missile near the after magazine. The explosion and fires left few survivors, and only those in the forward section escaped serious burns. Four Rigas were brought down, but only one of them got near the sector guarded by
Texas
as a backup. The new strategy saved Rigas for a later attack, but caused little damage.
Nimitz
was still unscathed.
The American planes also found a better organized defense when they came upon the Russian force. Sensing that the attack would come from the south, Alex Kupinsky had weighted his air defense ships in that direction, reserving enough defense for his carrier as David Charles had done. The Americans coordinated a two-pronged attack, similar to their first one, holding back some of their power to confuse the defenders.
The cruiser
Grozny
was still burning furiously in the rear of the formation when the two Intruders dropped out of the sky to finish the job the submarines had started. The attack on the cripple brought a hail of missiles as the two planes then turned toward
Lenin.
Neither was able to release the remainder of their pay load before they were brought down.
Svedrov coolly assigned sectors as his American counterparts had done, and then ensured that each AA ship received local control only after it was given a target. The American pilots found they were under attack on an individual basis, and they had no choice but to evade missiles rather than finish their initial attacks. Only one Intruder was successful in completing its first run, placing one of its missiles in the hull of a
Kashin-class
destroyer,
Slavny,
and leaving it sinking. The second flight fared better, deciding to come in low to take advantage of slow Soviet rearming and the confusion caused by confirmed tracking of some of the escaping first flight. When their cockpit alarms remained silent, indicating to the pilots that no fire-control radar had yet locked onto them, they became bolder, closing the ships for ease of attack.
The cruiser
Admiral Nakhimov,
on one of the points, had been designated by Kupinsky to fire chaff rockets with minimum charges. This created a variety of targets, making it difficult for missiles to lock on the ships. The outer perimeter of Kupinsky's ships then fired both guns and missiles at this second flight, under the coordination of Svedrov's individual assignment plan. He gave the targets one by one to his ships, and they, in turn, were able to fire missiles that locked immediately on their targets. Again, the attacking planes were forced to evade, only one getting through to hit another destroyer. This time four of the Corsairs were brought down.
To Kupinsky's delight, his ships had survived what could have been a devastating air attack, after the heavy damage inflicted by the submarines. “You were correct in your assumptions, Captain Svedrov. We have only one sunk and one badly damaged ship as a result of the American airplanes.” And, as an afterthought, he said, “I doubt
Grozny
would have made it anyway.”
“Thank you, sir.” Svedrov changed the subject quickly. “But we have already lost a great deal today. Do you plan to maintain this course to intercept the Americans?”
“We have little choice. Our orders are to keep them from completing the installations on that island, and David Charles has placed his Task Force 58 between us and Islas Piedras.”
The younger man leaned forward, his elbows on the table in front of him, massaging his closed eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “We will be there in a few hours.” He stood up, looking very tired. “Let me go to the bridge and check with the navigator. We will want to reposition some of the ships forward.”
“Just a minute, Svedrov.” Alex gestured him toward the chair he had just left. “Sit down, please. You are still bothered by something, I am sure.” The room was almost cleared out, leaving them to talk privately. Svedrov sat. “This is the time I need you most. I trust your judgment a great deal, and I cannot do all this myself. Tell me what is troubling you.”
“Futility, Admiral.” He spread his hands, his bushy eyebrows rising. “We are ordered out here to be an extension of national policy, but we have no idea whether we are doing right or wrong.” He shook his head. “We have lost many ships, planes . . . many men. For that matter, the Americans have, too. And this is all over a little island in the middle of the ocean. What is so important about that island that so many people must die?”
“Svedrov, I know you well. And I know you will do your job as long as you are still able to draw breath. That doesn't concern me. What you must understand,” and he pointed his ringer at the other man, “is that Admiral Gorenko knows what is on that island and that what we are doing is important. You are a much younger man than I am. You remember nothing of the Germans sweeping across the Motherland ... to Leningrad ... to Moscow ... to Volgograd. I don't remember a great deal, but I grew up in Gorenko's house, and he taught me from the day I arrived there that no one must ever be able to bring Russia to that point again. So many wars have been fought on Russian soil, and so many innocent Russians have died, peasants, not soldiers,” he emphasized, “that he will never allow it again while he is alive.”
The other said nothing, and Alex continued. “If he is asking us to die out here, near an island we shall both probably never see, then we are in some way protecting the Motherland.” He paused, drawing a deep breath. “If you had been there when the Germans came, then you would see there is a meaning.”
“Will you attempt to contact Admiral Gorenko?”
“No. If he feels it is important to chance the Americans intercepting our messages, then he will contact us. I have no doubt they have all the photographs necessary of our engagements from the spy planes.”
Svedrov forced a weak smile. “I am sure I have understood all along. Sometimes it is necessary to hear it spoken.” He had grown to love his Admiral. He stood again. “Let me go to the bridge to determine our latest position. There is a great deal to do in the next few hours, and we have so little time to plan it all.”
“Yes, and we must plan how we will deliver
Nimitz
to Admiral Gorenko.”
Admiral David Charles was on the wing of the open bridge, his binoculars to his eyes. “Can we save her, Bill?”
“I doubt it, Admiral.” Bill Dailey was also peering through his binoculars at the smoke from
Turner Joy.
He noted the Admiral was especially disturbed.
Oldendorf and Cochrane
were standing off, upwind of the stricken ship, their hoses playing on her twisted decks as volunteers gingerly searched the smoldering wreckage for other wounded. Dailey finally had to report to the Admiral there was no sign of his friend, Lieutenant Bivins. There as little that could be done for the old ship.
“Have them get everyone off. Sink her.” The Admiral had touted it out at the open ocean to no one in particular.
In less than ten minutes, the boats had returned the searchers to the protecting ships.
Cochrane
left to resume her station.
Oldendorf
turned her stern to the battered destroyer and stood off a thousand yards. They didn't have to wait long for the first torpedo from
Oldendorf to
leap from its tube, entering the water with a splash. They followed the shallow path, then saw, before they heard, the explosion that cast a great wave of water above the midships section of
Turner Joy.
A second torpedo followed closely behind the first, going off in what was left of the bow. She listed more heavily to port. A third torpedo was fired, hitting just to the rear of where the first had hit her.
“She doesn't want to go down,” David murmured.
“Pardon me, Admiral?” answered a lookout nearby, thinking the man had spoken to him.
“She doesn't want to go down, son. She's an old bucket, but she had a grand story to tell.” He dropped his glasses to his chest and turned fully to the sailor. “I was her gunnery officer at one time. She was a Hell of a ship.” His eyes misted over from old Memories. “I left her before that night off Vietnam.”
“What night was that, sir?” the boy queried.
“I guess it doesn't matter now, but that was a night that got us to a war we sure shouldn't have got ourselves into.” He smiled at the lookout, nodding toward
Turner Joy.
“Every ship has a story to tell, son. Perhaps her passing will end that Vietnam night for good.”
They all watched as the fourth torpedo finally did the job, opening up the bow. She began a long, graceful dive toward the bottom, her screws arched toward the sun for a brief moment. David moved back to his bridge chair, avoiding the eyes of the young sailor.
So much death, he thought. I hope the spy planes have been taking lots of pictures to show the politicians back in Washing-Ion. I just hope to hell this means a lot to them.