But there wouldn’t be, would there? After all, that’s the reason they trained the way they fought, so that when the shit really hit the fan, it would be just another day in Uncle Sam’s finest service. And under the circumstances, with one missile already launched and a cluster of naval ships milling about smartly off China’s coast, it wasn’t exactly routine, was it?
The AWACS had been on station for three hours when all hell started to break loose. It began with the most unobtrusive of the intelligence assets. A satellite relaying real time imagery to Space Command sent down a data packet that shattered the quiet static buzzing across an Air Force major’s console, jolting the officer out of his quiet reflections on his possibilities of getting promoted.
The Air Force major bolted upright in his seat, staring aghast at his screen. The heat bloom on his screen was unmistakable. All around him, the information was being echoed on the other consoles, and the duty officer, an Army general, turned pale. There was no doubt that this was real — the question was, where it was headed.
“Space Command, this is USNS Observation Island. Be advised that we hold inbound antiship missiles along with probable missiles on long-range ballistic profile. Estimate TOT in approximately one hundred and sixty seconds.” The voice from the ship was calm, if a bit tight.
The Army general grabbed his microphone. “USNS Observation Island, this is Space Command. Expect fighter support overhead immediately.”
With that, the major began praying. Onboard Observation Island, they would be counting down the moments they had left to live.
Waterson held two contacts, both of them definitely not artifacts or mistakes. It looked like a scenario straight out of training, with one missile headed for the AWACS overhead, the other one bound for yours truly.
Waterson glanced across at Vail, and wondered if the youngster knew just how serious the situation was. He had to — they had all talked about this possible scenario too many times for him not to get it. Yet the younger man sat quietly at his console, staring at the data, staring but apparently not seeing it.
“Bill — you okay?”
Vail nodded. “How long you think we have?”
Waterson shrugged. “Not long. Is there anything — I mean, do you…?” He fell silent, knowing there was really nothing you could say at a time like this.
Vail shook his head. “They’ll call away general quarters any time now. Those damage control teams — they’ll handle it. I know they will.”
Denial — it’s one way to cope. Waterson couldn’t bring himself to tell Vail just how unlikely it was that the ship could do anything at all to save itself.
So they sat, each lost in his own thoughts, each talking to his own God, as they waited for the end of their world.
Lab Rat was just signing off a watch schedule when the red light on the side of his phone flashed and a buzzer went off. He grabbed for the handset and simultaneously, he punched the button to speak to TAO, and snapped out a quick, “Standby — urgent.” Whatever was coming in was higher than flash precedence, and that meant only one thing — missiles inbound.
The voice coming to him from Cheyenne Mountain was cold and professional, not from lack of concern but because emotion was something they did not have time for. “Launch confirmation, Gungzho Facility. Number two, time on top six minutes. Request you launch fighter support and SAR assets in support of USNS Observation Island.”
As the voice spelled out the launch details, Lab Rat was echoing them to the TAO. As soon as the first words were out of his mouth, he heard general quarters sounding. “United States, out,” he snapped, as he started to replace the classified phone. As he was hanging it up, he heard, “Good luck, United States. Give ’em hell.”
Coyote stared at the screen as the missile symbols popped into being. In the background, he could hear the tense voice of the AWACS operator reeling off the details. “Home plate, picture. Missiles inbound, origin Gungzho station, number two.” The information was immediately relayed to every station listening, including all the fighters.
“Orders, Admiral?” the TFCC TAO asked.
“Execute OPORD Ten,” Coyote said, fighting for calm in his voice. “And get every spare SAR asset we can get headed for Observation Island.”
Everything was in place now, the cruiser alerted, the fighters already forewarned. It was just a matter of everyone doing his job the way he’d trained, the way they’d planned.
Over the last three days, Norfolk had been alternating time in combat with his XO, each catching a few hours of sleep at a time. The watch section crews rotated more regularly, each of the three sections standing their normal four-hour watch, but general quarters had more than once interrupted their sleep as well. As a consequence, they were all starting to wear down, tempers growing short, and the effects of the pressure starting to show.
Oh, each one did his best not to show it, but there was the ever-present thought that every detail was critical, that anything they missed could kill them. When the call came from the carrier, arriving just as Space Command reached him via Navy Red, it was almost a relief to see the missile symbols pop into being. A relief, yet coupled with gut-wrenching terror. This was no drill, this was no simulation — it was the real thing, and if anyone screwed up, the crew of the cruiser as well as the aircraft carrier was done for.
The Aegis system was operating in semi-auto, and quickly identified the missile symbols as hostile targets. It assigned missile launch cells to each one, and paused on the verge of hurtling its weapons into the air. Both firing keys were already turned, to save those precious few seconds that might spell the difference between life and death.
The TAO’s computer beeped incessantly, demanding action. With a quick glance at Norfolk, and a nod from him, the TAO acknowledged and authorized the firing. Seconds, only seconds — but was that fast enough? The ballistic missiles would launch, gain altitude, and cruise just outside the atmosphere before starting their final plunge back to their targets. The angle as they approached the cruiser would be particularly difficult, nose down, with no chance for a broader radar profile or larger target.
The Aegis radar system was capable of identifying a sparrow in flight. No, detection wouldn’t be the problem — it was almost down to the vagaries of the wind, any slight stuttering in the solid fuel propellant driving the missile, or a glitch in programming or mechanical error.
The deck under his feet rumbled slightly, and he kept his gaze fixed on the camera focused on the forward deck. Missile hatches popped open, and a solid white antiair missile rose up from out of its cell, spouting fire from its tail. It seemed to go slowly at first, almost hanging in the air, and made an awkward turn as it picked up speed. But within a few seconds of being airborne, the sheer raw power of its rocket motor overcame the forces of drag and gravity, and the missile steadied in flight and shot off to its target. It was visible for perhaps ten seconds, then lost in the clear blue sky.