While the American aircraft were being readied to go after the Chinese fleet and naval aircraft, a series of Tomahawk cruise missiles, which had been fired by two of the Ticonderoga guided-missile cruisers, hit the five Chinese merchant raiders, just as they were beginning to launch a series of missiles aimed at the US Air Force base on Guam. The five converted cargo ships quickly sank, preventing them from being able to further hit the critical air base or launch any other missiles at the fleet.
Vice Admiral Shen was beside himself when he learned his merchant raiders had been sunk. They had managed to successfully fire off several volleys of anti-ship missiles, which had proved his theory that merchant raiders could still play a pivotal role in modern naval warfare. Unfortunately, they had only been able to launch sixteen cruise missiles at the American air base on Guam before they were sunk.
“I should have known the Americans would have had a submarine or some other ship in the area that would be able to sink them,” he thought in regret. He wished that he had had them launch all their missiles at the Americans at once instead.
Turning to one of his officers, he asked the question on all of their minds. “How were the Americans able to shoot down so many of our missiles?” he barked. “A significantly larger percentage of them should have gotten through, and we should have caused far more damage to the fleet than we did.”
“Sir, while the Americans did intercept a larger percentage of missiles than we’d predicted, we still scored a great victory. We sank one more of the American carriers, and two more suffered heavy damage. One of the Japanese carriers was sunk, and the other two sustained heavy damage. We also damaged or sunk another thirty-eight American warships,” the officer responded, not accepting this as a defeat on any level.
“I want our aircraft to attack now. Order the carriers and land-based aircraft to launch their attack immediately. We need to finish off their fleet!” Shen ordered. He hoped his remaining naval assets would be more than enough to finish the Americans off. Somehow, he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the Americans were about to hit back, hard.
“Fast Eagle Six. This is November Six. Engage hostile ships. Get some payback for us, will you?” ordered Captain Grisham, the captain of the USS John C. Stennis.
“November Six, that’s a good copy. We’re moving to engage now,” Commander Greg Carlson replied, to the excitement of his fellow pilots. “You heard the captain. It’s time to go get some payback. Stay alert, guys, and let’s go sink some enemy ships.”
The Super Hornets in Commander Carlson’s squadron were armed with two long-range anti-ship missiles, or LRASM, which DARPA had helped to pioneer several years ago. The Navy only had a limited quantity of these missiles, so they were being used sparingly. The LRASM was a stealthy anti-ship cruise missile that had a range of 560 kilometers and packed a 450-kilogram warhead. Lockheed Martin had been running round-the-clock production of the missiles to get them in service for this specific battle, and if things worked out, it might just prove to be the decisive weapon needed to destroy the Chinese fleet.
Breathing heavily, Commander Carlson looked around to make sure his pilots were all where they were supposed to be while his backseater, Lieutenant Molly Balmer, made sure they had the proper target punched into the computer. His aircraft had been given the honor of targeting his two missiles at one of the three PLA Navy carriers.
Lieutenant Balmer cleared her throat. “Boss, we’re coming up on 320 kilometers from the enemy fleet. Weapons free in sixty seconds. You ready?” she asked.
“Copy that,” he responded. He switched over to the squadron net. “Sixty seconds to weapons free. Let’s get ready, folks.”
The minute went by in the blink of an eye. Carlson lifted the arming button for his missiles. “Weapons ready,” he called.
“Targets locked, ready to fire,” Balmer replied.
Commander Carlson hit the fire button once and felt the weight of the first anti-ship missile fall from underneath his wings. Then he depressed the button again. In seconds, the aircraft was 5,000 pounds lighter. The small wings of the cruise missiles opened up and the engines started. Commander Carlson watched the missiles for the briefest of seconds to make sure they had ignition and then turned his attention back to making sure they weren’t being tracked by any of the numerous enemy aircraft heading toward them.
“I show both weapons have acquired their targets and are moving to engage,” Balmer informed him.
“Good copy. Time to go home,” he replied. He turned the aircraft to head for the Stennis. They would land, refuel and, if need be, rearm with more Harpoon missiles and finish off whatever enemy ships remained.
Commodore Zhou Dongyou sweated profusely as he listened to the radar operators frantically call out the nearly one hundred American cruise missiles heading toward their fleet.
“Commander, when you identify a missile headed toward our ship, you make sure you target it first before we target any of the missiles headed to the Mao, is that understood?” barked Zhou, not at all happy that their illustrious strike group commander had demanded that all the fleet’s defenses focus on protecting the Mao at the expense of themselves and the other carriers.
“What about our orders?” the commander asked in an irritated tone. The conversation suddenly drew in the gaze of several men around them.
Zhou knew he could be in a lot of trouble for countermanding the admiral’s order, but he also knew the chances of any of them surviving if they focused all their weapons on protecting the Mao were slim to none.
“I have a duty to protect my crew, and my ship,” he thought.
Commodore Zhou squared back his shoulders and stood a little taller before replying. “I am responsible for the safety of this ship and its crew. I cannot fulfill that duty if I am not allowed to defend my ship. You will target the enemy missiles headed toward us first, and then assist the Mao when feasible. Is that understood, Commander?” he directed, a bit of heat in his voice.
“The missiles are closing to within twenty kilometers!” shouted one of the radar operators.
At this distance, the carrier’s close-in point defense systems readied themselves to engage the incoming threats. While the bulk of the American missiles were nearing the carrier’s defenses, the Liaoning was suddenly struck on the port side by four missiles. The explosions sent shockwaves throughout the ship, throwing crew members to the ground and temporarily knocking out power to the ship.
“What just hit us?” shouted Commodore Zhou as he looked for answers.
“Point defenses are engaging enemy missiles now!” yelled one of the young officers as the carrier’s HQ-10 antimissile system and the Type 1130 CIWS did their best to shoot down the remaining American missiles.
In seconds, another eight missiles impacted against the side of the ship. The fires that had been burning aboard now quickly spread as damage to key structures caused secondary explosions. Before Commodore Zhou could say anything further, the bridge section he was standing on took direct hit from a third wave of cruise missiles to hit his ship, killing him instantly.
In less than twenty minutes, the American fleet had successfully sunk the three Chinese carriers and the majority of their defending ships. With the enemy fleet essentially destroyed, the Americans began to pursue the remnants of the PLA Navy to officially finish off any naval threat to the landing force that would soon move to liberate the Philippines.