RIM-161B did exactly what it was designed for that day. The missiles rose with alarming speed, tracking unfailingly as they sipped data from the network of sensors playing on those two Russian speed demons. But the SM-3 was the crown jewel in the US Aegis defense system, with a Mark 104 rocket boost sustainer that was capable of throwing that missile out at the dizzying speed of 5750 knots. The Block 1 version could make Mach 10. Block 2 and later versions could go even faster at Mach 15. It was a hypersonic killer the likes of which the world had never seen, and now the two sets of missiles closed on one another like bolts of lightning jousting in the sky. The SM-3 would have the hot minute to its credit that day. Both missiles ran true. The semi-active radar homing suite found the Zircons, tracked them accurately, and the SM-3s blew them to hell.
Harada breathed a sigh of relief. He was even surprised that Karpov had bothered to throw those missiles at him, but he had just showed his adversary that Takami could still fight, slapping aside the very best missile his enemy had. Now all he had to do was get close enough to let his own SSMs fly. The ordnance delivered by Kaga and Akagi was already in the air. Karpov had taken out all the JSOW missiles on those planes before they could deploy, but all the smart bombs were still inbound, and yes, Hideo Honjo had called the tune. He could see the GBU/53s strung out like a string of pearls in the sky.
A sleek bomb when it launched, the weapon deployed a pair of long thin wings to begin its glide into the target. They were not rocket assisted in any way, moving with the sheer momentum imparted by the plane delivering the ordnance. That momentum, the wings, and gravity were doing all the work, and it amounted to a deadly saturation attack on a single target like this. By now, all of Kita’s surviving planes off the Kaga had turned for home, but that first salvo of six Growlers fired by Samsonov went out after them, and he had followed up by adding two more at the end.
Of the four F-35’s in the eastern group, he would get two, the others evading and living to return to Kaga. Nothing had been fired at the planes in the northern group, and they would all escape to return home, for now Karpov had more to worry about than the planes. In less than ten minutes, those smart bombs would converge on his ship with a lethal attack from two directions. His decks were bristling with missiles, though he had very few of his longer range SAMs remaining. His second line of defense was the Klinok system, an upgraded version of the original missile, only with much extended range.
“Samsonov. Cease fire on the S-400s. Switch to the Klinok system and fire at will. Target the same eastern group. Now!”
In they came, and now Kirov’s defensive response was coming down to brief minutes of potential life remaining as the first salvo of missiles went out to challenge those glide bombs. The bombs had been delivered from a very high altitude to get the range required to reach their intended target. So they were coming down at a range above the Klinok / Gauntlet system until they got inside 40 nautical miles. As soon as the missile could reach them, Kirov started to fire.
The tension in that moment was extreme, and nowhere more intense than in Karpov’s mind. He had gamed attacks like these a hundred times on the simulators, and they were never pretty. Throw enough metal at a target, and something was bound to get through. Yes, something always gets through, he thought.
Yet in most scenarios he ran, he had faced ordnance packages of no more than 32 Wolfhounds inbound at any one time. Even then, the odds were still not good for the ship. This was why it was always imperative that you find and attack the incoming enemy strike group before it could get to their weapon release point. The JSOW Shotai off Akagi had to get to a range of 40 nautical miles to release, which allowed Kirov to see and kill them before they could get close enough to do harm. Yet they had not even seen the other strike groups off the Kaga until they were already releasing their bombs. That was mute testimony to the effectiveness of the F-35B as a stealthy aircraft. Those planes had flown right through the overlapping radar circles of both the Russian KA-40s, completely undetected. It was only when those weapons bay doors opened, enlarging their radar return, that they were finally seen.
Stealth was a physical thing, built into the structure and design of the aircraft itself. It was achieved by design angles and exotic materials, and in this case, it worked exactly as planned. The Japanese did not have the better US standoff weapons, but the planes had gotten in close enough to deliver what they had in the magazines.
Seconds passed, and Karpov suddenly realized in one awful moment that his ship was dead. 64 Wolfhounds…. He had fought them in the simulators, battling the soft phosphor glow on the battle screens, but never once beat more than 30 incoming weapons. As good as the missiles were beneath that forward deck, the sheer mass of the attack would always see at least one or two bombs get through. This time those odds were doubled down, impossibly long, 64 wolfhounds!
In a split second his mind did the one thing it had always done when pressed into an impossible corner. His hand was moving to the missile key around his neck before he even reached a certain conclusion in his thoughts. At the same moment, he turned to Grilikov, pointing at him with two fingers extended on his right hand. It had been a pre-arranged signal between the two men, and as Karpov reached Samsonov’s station, Grilikov stood, a vast looming presence there, and pulled a second missile key from a chain around his neck.
“Samsonov—Moskit II, bank four, missile number sixteen. Program it for high altitude profile. Here is your target.” Karpov tapped the screen, indicating where he wanted the missile directed.
“Aye sir.”
Fedorov stood there, suddenly realizing what was happening. Karpov was already inserting his missile key into the CIC panel, the first authorization to fire the weapon in question, Grilikov’s big hand was right next to his, the devil and his deep dark shadow, side by side.
“On my mark…”
“What are you doing Karpov?”
“Not now Fedorov! Grilikov, turn!”
Both men rotated their keys, and the board lit up. It winked red three times, then went yellow as the missile accepted and acknowledged the attack profile that Samsonov had sent to it. A second later it went green, indicating it was ready to fire. Karpov did not hesitate one second more. He flipped up the protective plastic key mask, and pushed his thumb firmly down to fire the missile. The klaxon of doom sounded loudly, deep and jarring amid the whooshing hiss of the Klinok missiles that were still firing. Then one of the larger forward hatches opened on that long red deck, and the Sunburn was up in a roar of angry fire, climbing into the sky.
Fedorov was slack jawed. Karpov had given him the second missile key, and he instinctively reached to feel for it, finding it was still there on the chain around his neck. But Karpov had given Grilikov a third key, insurance that any fire order he would give would certainly be obeyed. Fedorov knew exactly what had happened here, chiding himself for thinking Karpov was a leopard that could ever change his spots. That number sixteen missile was carrying a nuclear warhead.