“Captain, he’s about thirty miles from us. Still constant bearing, decreasing range — CBDR. When we altered course slightly about an hour ago seems he did too.”
“Why would he do that, I wonder?” the captain asked aloud. This was the second time he’d had problems with the COMMO. He may have to relieve him.
“Don’t know, sir, but we have a solid ping on him.” The operator stopped.
“Damn!”
“What?” the captain asked. Lieutenant Howard moved to the console and leaned over the operator’s shoulder.
“What is it?” the CICWO asked.
“There must be two of them. I don’t know why … No!
It’s not two. I have video separation,” he said, his voice trembling. He shook his head.
“Captain, I don’t know if I’m right. I’ve only seen this during exercises, but it looks like a possible missile separation from the contact!”
Cafferty’s attention was contracting to Combat as he shoved the comms issue to the back burner.
“Inbound missile!” shouted the EW from her console.
“Styx, surface-to-surface missile class two Charlie!”
“Can’t be. Check your systems!” ordered Lieutenant Howard.
“Stay calm, everyone,” Cafferty said.
“Check your data again.”
The captain set his cup in the holder on the arm of the chair. A cold chill flew up Cafferty’s back and down his arms. He tried to swallow and found his mouth dry. He took a deep gulp of hot coffee, burning his lips as the scalding liquid brought tears to his eyes. He cleared his throat.
“Combat, this is the captain. I have command.” He surprised himself with how calm his voice sounded. Cafferty licked his lips, soothing the burn.
“Lieutenant, sound General Quarters! EW, activate automatic electronic countermeasures system. Surface search, time to impact?” A bogus call, most likely. God! He hoped so. No comms and him with a lax ship. Damn good thing he knew what he was doing! If it was bogus, at least today’s GQ drill would be done and out of the way. He reached up and stroked the back of his neck. But what if it wasn’t?
Unconsciously, Cafferty crossed his fingers.
“Sir, missile inbound thirteen miles separation from contact.
Two point seven minutes to Gearing, sir.” Bogus radar video was common at sea. Cafferty ran his hand through his shaggy red hair. The Gulf of Sidra was notorious for ducting and radar ghosts. That’s probably all this was. Cafferty leaned toward the surface search operator, waiting for him to report the video fading … disappearing.
Tears ran down the young man’s pale cheeks.
“Stop that.”
The hot, windless weather of the past two days, and the early morning changes daybreak brought, lent itself to electromagnetic phenomena.
“Lock-on! Captain! The missile has locked on us!” yelled the EW.
A fresh wave of chill bumps raced up his body.
“Radar!” Cafferty yelled.
“Video remains inbound. Captain. Speed four hundred knots.”
The radar return wasn’t fading. A deep sigh escaped Cafferty, like the last breath of a dying man, as he realized this was no drill and no bogus signal. The bongs sounding General Quarters brought home the solitude of command.
This was not a war game in Newport, Rhode Island.
It wasn’t the Reet Trainer at Dam Neck, Virginia. It was not even an exercise — the few the Navy could afford — off the Virginia Capes area near Norfolk. It was the real thing.
He wanted to disbelieve what the information in Combat showed. Years of training rose easily from the recesses of his mind, surprising Cafferty that he was able to recall it so easily, considering the fear that threatened to break out and disrupt his countenance. He took a couple of deep breaths and felt a strange calm descend over him. No second chances. Only a few hundred miles from where America had fought the Barbary wars. His decisions would determine whether the ship lived or died. He uncrossed his fingers. “Fire Control, I want a solution on the ship. Lieutenant Howard, man your weapons systems.”
Sailors piled into Combat, some half dressed, others carrying their shoes in their hands. All bitching about being roused from their beds for a drill.
“It’s not a drill!” Lieutenant Howard shouted.
Sailors momentarily stopped. Then, with a burst of adrenaline-fed energy, dove for their General Quarters stations.
Two minutes since GQ sounded and the USS Gearing was manned and bristling for war.
Cafferty pressed the intercom.
“Bridge, Captain; we have an inbound missile; I want flank speed, hard to port, steady on three one zero. Keep us heading north, away from the Libyan coast and further into international waters.”
“Captain, this is the XO, I have the conn. Hard to port, we are coming to flank speed, course three one zero,” the XO repeated.
“XO, get us out of here. We want to close the Harriers.”
“Aye, sir.”
The USS Gearing shook, vibrating as the noise of an explosion shook the ship. Cafferty grabbed the arm of the chair to keep from being thrown onto the deck. Others picked themselves up. Frightened glances were exchanged among those in Combat. The lack of comms meant they were no longer in the Network Centric Warfare grid. The DD-21 was designed to fight with multiple ships, not alone.
“I thought you said three minutes!” he shouted at the surface search operator.
“That’s one more minute!” But it could fight alone if it had to.
“Captain, it’s still inbound! That wasn’t the missile.”
“Combat, Damage Control; torpedo hit starboard side!”
A speaker overhead interrupted. “Combat, this is ASW, we have a second highspeed prop, probably torpedo, bearing one niner zero.”
“Combat, Damage Control; we have taken a torpedo hit aft, starboard side. Main engine room number one flooding.
Securing engines in MER number one! Fire in compartment two dash two six one dash two. Damage control teams responding.”
“Do we have a firing solution on that ship?” Cafferty felt the ship slowing as MER number one wound down.
“Yes, sir, coming through … now! Got it. Captain! I have two Harpoons targeted on the attacking vessel.”
“Fire, goddamn it, fire!”
The USS Gearing shook again as the antiship cruise missiles blasted upward from the vertical launch systems on the bow. The noise vibrated the forward half-inch aluminum bulkhead as the Harpoon missiles on the other side of it sped off toward the attacking surface vessel.
“Combat, this is ASW; we have another pair of fast props in the water, bearing one niner two degrees — probable torpedoes. Signal-to-noise ratio increasing in intensity.
Total torpedoes in the water three. I repeat, three torpedoes in the water!” The voice cracked slightly.
“Torpedo noise fading into our baffles, sir!”
“Launch decoys, ASW!” Cafferty ordered. Then, he turned quickly to the CICWO.
“Lieutenant, fire two over the-side torpedoes down the line of bearing of those inbound torpedoes!”
“Sir, I don’t have a target!”
“I don’t give a shit! Enable the torpedoes as they’re fired. Let them search in auto. I want two away ASAP! If they don’t do anything else but scare the shit out of that submarine, at least they’ll be doing something!”
The ship lurched to port as the two remaining turbine engines in MER number two fought to give the DD-21 electric drive the extra power needed to bring Gearing around in time to free the starboard CIWS — the last-ditch weapon to stop the inbound missile.
“This is the starboard bridge watch, I see it! I see it!
It’s coming over the horizon now! Gawldamn! Ain’t never seen a black contrail! That missile is coming right at us!”
The sound of Super RBOC, launching its canisters of chaff clouds, echoed through the ship as millions of pieces of small aluminum strips seeded the air to cloud the targeting electronics of the inbound missile.