But not all. Six missiles continued inbound, targeting Roosevelt. It was time for the self-defense phase. Gonzalez turned to her Tactical Action Officer.
“Shift SSDS to auto.”
The TAO acknowledged, then shifted Roosevelt’s SSDS — Ship Self Defense System — to automatic.
He called out, “Missiles inbound. All hands brace for shock!”
Gonzalez reached up and grabbed on to an I-beam, watching as the SSDS targeted the inbound bogies. Sea Sparrow and Rolling Airframe missiles were launched in succession, taking out three inbound missiles, and the CIWS engaged next, taking out another.
Two missiles made it through and Gonzalez felt the deck shudder as the missiles detonated. On the aircraft carrier’s damage control status board, red symbols illuminated the Hangar Deck and the carrier’s Island superstructure, where the Bridge was located. Roosevelt’s deck trembled again, more violently, and a loud explosion rumbled through CDC. On the damage control status board, red symbols radiated outward from the middle hangar bay. Some of the ordnance staged in the bay had detonated.
Assessing the damage, Gonzalez surveyed the Video Wall. The destruction was more severe than expected. The Island superstructure was a mangled mess of twisted metal, while orange flames leapt skyward from a massive hole in the Flight Deck, the edges peeled upward from the explosion in the hangar bay below. Gonzalez studied the red symbols on the status board, her eyes shifting uneasily toward amidships, where the nearest ammunition magazine was located. If the fires reached the magazine, it’d be all over.
Damage reports flooded into CDC, and it wasn’t long before Gonzalez realized Roosevelt was incapable of continuing flight operations.
Turning to her Tactical Action Officer, Gonzalez ordered, “Bingo all airborne aircraft to Reagan.”
The two missiles had inflicted significant damage, but Roosevelt had survived. As damage control parties fought the fires, focused on preventing them from spreading toward the ship’s ammunition magazines, Gonzalez’s thoughts shifted to whatever had launched the missiles. There were no air or surface contacts to the east, which meant the missiles were submarine launched.
It was time to deal with that.
Minutes earlier, Captain First Rank Dmitri Pavlov had ordered the missile hatches shut and his submarine down from periscope depth. The Americans would identify the launch point and it wouldn’t be long before Vilyuchinsk had company, and not the friendly kind. However, when the Americans arrived at the launch datum, Pavlov intended to be long gone. Once clear of the area and their safety assured, he would return to periscope depth and download the latest tactical information, plus satellite photographs for a visual assessment of their mission.
In the meantime, he would order his submarine deeper and faster. “Watch Officer. Increase depth to two hundred meters. Ahead full. Set Ultra-Quiet mode.”
Captain Lieutenant Dolinski acknowledged and gave the requisite orders. Vilyuchinsk tilted downward, increasing speed. It was time to decide on a course. With American strike groups to the west and south, that left east or north. Heading farther east offered the possibility that any pursuing American submarine would reach the edge of its operating area. The area could be adjusted, of course, but that would take time and a trip to periscope depth to send the request and receive the authorization.
To the east it was.
“Watch Officer. Come to course zero-nine-zero.”
Dolinski acknowledged and relayed the order to the Steersman.
As his submarine turned east and settled out at two hundred meters, Pavlov reviewed what his crew had done. A plan had been put in motion, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long before he understood its goal and the part Vilyuchinsk would play in the future. Assuming, of course, Vilyuchinsk slipped away from the Americans.
Pavlov listened as the Watch Officer ordered, “Hydroacoustic, Command Post. Report all contacts.”
Captain Dolores Gonzalez monitored the damage reports streaming into Damage Control Central. The fires amidships, initially spreading out from the Hangar Deck, had been contained, but casualties in the Island superstructure were high, with the ship’s Captain wounded. To what extent Dolores didn’t know, until Captain Rich Tilghman arrived in CDC, his arm in a sling and his face covered in soot. Dolores saw the rage on his face, even though it was covered in grime and tinted blue from the CDC displays. Tilghman’s first order had been to hunt down whatever had launched the missiles.
Gonzalez had vectored two Super Hornets to the east for a visual, just in case there was a surface contact they weren’t detecting for some reason, but the report was negative. The TAO was conferring with the SUBOPAUTH — the Submarine Operating Authority — aboard Roosevelt. There were two fast attack submarines assigned to the Roosevelt strike group, USS California to the west and USS Mississippi to the east. The missile launch datum placed the location of the enemy submarine inside Mississippi’s assigned waterspace, which meant the carrier strike group was Weapons Tight; they could not attack a submerged contact in that operating area for fear of sinking their own submarine. Hunting down the enemy submarine would instead be Mississippi’s responsibility.
The TAO announced, “Request a bell-ringer for Mississippi. I have a flash outgoing message.”
2
USS MISSISSIPPI
Twenty miles from the Roosevelt strike group, USS Mississippi was already headed east at ahead full. Moments earlier, they had detected missile launch transients bearing zero-eight-two, and were proceeding to investigate. The submarine’s Commanding Officer, Commander Brad Waller, was seated in the Captain’s chair in front of the navigation table, assessing the tactical situation while his crew manned Battle Stations. The launch transient was faint, which meant it was distant, but exactly how far was unknown. The only datum they had was the bearing. They needed more information, which meant they would proceed to periscope depth when Battle Stations were manned.
The submarine’s Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant George Skeens, sat at the tactical workstation near the front of the Control Room, shifting his attention between the left monitor, selected to the narrowband sonar display, and the right screen, showing the geographic display. The Navy’s Common Operational Picture reported the positions of the Roosevelt strike group to the west, although their locations were several hours old. There were no contacts to the east, in the direction of the launch transient. But there was definitely something there. Perhaps a contact would appear when their Common Operational Picture was updated during their next trip to periscope depth.
Seated in front of Lieutenant Skeens, the Co-Pilot reported, “Officer of the Deck, Battle Stations are manned.”
Skeens acknowledged and passed the report to Commander Waller, who announced, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Skeens retains the Deck,” which meant Waller would manage the tactical situation and control the submarine’s movements, while Lieutenant Skeens would monitor the navigation picture and handle routine ship evolutions.
“Pilot. Ahead two-thirds,” Waller ordered. “Make your depth two hundred feet. All stations, make preparations to proceed to periscope depth.”