Senior Chief Edwards, Nathan’s Combat Systems Coordinator, punched a few keys on his console, updated his own checklist and then turned back toward his TAO. “It’s gotta mean something if they’re going to go to all the trouble of re-designating every one of the Zumwalts. DDM … Dreadnought Destroyer Miniature?”
Nathan shook his head. Edwards was too damn cheerful to get mad at, and he knew the Senior Chief’s off-topic question was a ploy to keep Nathan from considering any of the ethical ambiguities associated with launching strikes into North Korea. “We’re 600 feet long, Senior. That’s not so miniature. I think it stands for multi-mission destroyer, since we do so much more than just shoot guided missiles. Apparently DDG no longer suffices.”
“I think some admiral just wanted himself another star, so he makes a Navy-wide change that doesn’t actually change anything. It’s just another example of our grand traditions, sir. Dreaded Destructive Marsupial?”
Nathan grinned at that. “How about Devilish Dancehall Morons?”
Edwards’ own smile broadened and he nodded. “Daffy Duckish Militants?”
Nathan’s sudden, barking laugh caused everyone in CIC to look around. He and the Senior Chief instantly became engrossed in their checklists and displays, each turning a different shade of red. All eyes soon turned back to their own consoles in the darkened space, and the two top surface warriors in CIC devolved into a fit of restrained giggles.
Their reverie was broken by the Captain’s sobering voice on the net. “TAO, Captain. Batteries release.”
“TAO, aye. Combat, TAO. We have batteries release. Shifting forward and aft VLS to launch. Break, Strike.” Nathan reached up and turned the rarely-seen launcher keys from Standby to Launch. A fresh wave of butterflies hit his stomach. Some were no doubt due to the concern he had over what their missiles would do when they reached their targets in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
Would their missiles be effective? How many innocent lives, “collateral”, would be lost? How would China respond? Would the strikes give the newly aggressive North Korea pause and make them pull back out from the DMZ, or would they drive them to use any nukes that escaped destruction?
Aside from the larger, national concerns, most of his worry was about more mundane things. He worried about his men and women. Would all their training and preparation pay off? Would they become the tip of the sword they yearned to be? Would they be able to hold their heads high when they remembered the destruction they had wrought?
Ensign Blake sounded even younger than his short 23 years. “Strike, aye. Launchers show ready. StealthHawks one through thirty are green for primary package launch. StealthHawks thirty-one through forty-five are green for backup launch. Primary package launch in thirty seconds.”
“TAO, aye.” All was quiet throughout the ship, sailors from the Commanding Officer to the junior engineering security rover holding their breath without realizing it. Fifteen seconds later, the VLS sirens sounded, their high-pitched wail at a volume that would drive any foolhardy sailor either back inside the ship or over the side. Ten seconds after that, the first pair of Vertical Launch System hatches opened up, the forward-most cells on the port and starboard sides of the ship.
Five seconds later, at precisely 1900 local, twin blooms of fire boiled upward out of the VLS exhaust, casting the young night back into day. The sharp roar of the rocket motors could be heard throughout the ship, and Nathan could feel the white noise through the soles of his boots. Instants after, a pair of dark shapes slid up as one from the open hatches, leaping into the sky on columns of liquid flame. The missiles screamed higher and higher, twin stars whose radiance was quickly lost on the waters below. Their fiery trajectories tipped over, arcing toward the distant, unseen land. Seconds after going horizontal, the rockets burned out and broke apart, their thick cylindrical tails falling away while smaller, sleeker shapes jetted forward on much more modest tongues of fire.
Then the departing StealthHawks were lost from view as another pair of VLS hatches sprang open, disgorging another pair of missiles in nearly identical fashion. The gray on black contrail of this twosome angled slightly off from the first pair, seeking fresh air through which to climb, and new gaps in the armor that was the North Korean air defense net. In the distance, flares of light could be seen from other ships: destroyers, cruisers, and submerged submarines, the world’s last blue water navy projecting the power that had always proved so decisive in the past.
Aboard USS Rivero, the process was repeated thirteen more times in the next six and a half minutes, until there was nothing left but the final hush of closing VLS hatches, the lap of the waves, and the muted whine of her gas turbines. The dull haze gray sides of the ship were now blackened in spots from the toxic, acidic fires of the StealthHawks’ solid rocket boosters, but even that was lost in the smoky gloom of night on the open sea. The sudden fury had gone and peace settled over the water once again.
“TAO, Strike. All missiles have transitioned to cruise, datalink sat, crypto sat. StealthHawks one through thirty handed off to Strike East. No backup missions for ownship. Request permission to spin down StealthHawks thirty-one through forty-five and secure from Condition Two Strike.”
“Strike, TAO. Roger. Forward and aft VLS placed in Standby. Spin down all remaining birds and conduct post-fire checks. Secure from Condition Two Strike with exception of key watchstanders.” Nathan blew a slow whistle in relief and pulled his headphones down to the back of his neck. He turned in his seat and spoke loud enough for all in CIC to hear. “Good work, people. The world asks and you deliver. Now let’s clean up and turn this bitch over. The near-beer is on me, cigars you can scrounge up your own damn self.”
There were a couple of chuckles, and several grins, but no applause and never a cheer. You might cheer the defeat of an enemy in combat, but this was strike, not battle. The targets here were nameless, faceless, and too often innocent of any other crime than being strategically necessary. They felt pride in a job done well, professionally, but any man who found joy in this work was a man few would care to associate with.
Nathan put his headphones back on and began updating the interminable situation reports in chat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edwards’ hand sticking out. Nathan allowed himself a small smile and took the offered hand in a slow, strong shake. Edwards squinted slightly at him. “How you doin’, Weps?”
“I’m good, Senior Chief. It’s the first time I’ve done it for real is all.”
Edwards nodded. “I’ve shot missiles into Iraq, I’ve shot ‘em into Syria, and I’ve shot ‘em in Iran. Now I’ve done it in North Korea. I’m hoping to get a matched set of ‘Axis of Evil’ commemorative plates for the ‘I Love Me’ wall at home, but that would probably be in poor taste.”