The loud automatic rapid fire of the CIWS echoed through the ship.
“CIWS is hitting the missile!” the lookout shouted through her sound-powered phone.
“It ain’t working!”
“I have another video separation. Second missile launched. Time to impact estimated at three minutes forty-five seconds. Threat has increased speed to twenty-five knots!”
The loud roar of a rocket engine penetrated the darkened compartment. The impact knocked everyone to the deck as the missile tore into the USS Gearing.
“Combat, Bridge; missile hit starboard side aft at the waterline. Directly under the five-inch sixty-two gun mount.
Heavy smoke coming from … from where it hit.”
A flashing red light on the naval gunfire system console confirmed the report from the bridge. The aft five inch gun was out of action.
“Aft gun out!”
“Combat, ASW; torpedo impact in thirty seconds! Decoys in the water.”
“LAMPs, this is Combat. Are you ready to launch?”
Cafferty shouted into the intercom.
No answer came.
“Combat, this is ASW. First torpedo decoyed. Prop noise fading. Decoy two in the water, NIXIE streamed.” NIXIE was a small noise-making device, towed behind the destroyer, that emitted sounds into the water designed to confuse and decoy a torpedo.
“Captain!” Lieutenant Howard shouted.
“Two torpedoes away. We’re reloading torps for another shot!”
“Give me another firing solution on that ship.”
“Captain, two Harriers heading our way! Goddamn, get your asses down here. Marines!” shouted the air search operator.
A flurry of activity followed, with the operator flipping switches and turning knobs. The air search operator leaned back, looked at the radar console, and shook his head as he pulled himself forward before shouting, “Captain, something’s not right about those Harriers! They’re at Mach one point two according to the computer! Harriers can’t go that fast!”
The ship shook as the port engine went full astern. The USS Gearing twisted to port. The sea behind the ship churned like boiling water, creating a hard knuckle to decoy the torpedoes. Cafferty mentally congratulated the XO-smart thinking. He felt the port engine switching back to all ahead flank. Without engines number one and three from main engine room number one, the USS Gearing had only its port turbines to provide the power to fight the ship.
“Passing course zero two zero!” announced the bridge.
Cafferty glanced at the surface radar. They were twenty five miles north of the Libyan coast and still headed north.
“I show High Lark radar bearing three three zero!”
shouted the EW operator.
“High Lark?”
“Mig-23 Hoggers, sir.”
“Can’t be!” Cafferty yelled in disbelief.
“They’re Harriers!”
“Combat, Bridge; coming to course zero double zero.”
“System may be lying. Captain, but it’s been right so far!” the EW operator shouted, her voice sounding almost apologetic.
“Combat, this is Damage Control. Fire from the torpedo hit contained. Flooding continues. Missile penetrated frames two three zero at the waterline.” A momentary pause occurred.
“Captain, the missile hit women’s berthing. There are casualties.”
Every berthing area had a damage control watch assigned during General Quarters, plus there would always be one or two who were slower than the rest to respond to General Quarters. He looked at the clock: three minutes since GQ was sounded.
“Combat, Bridge; Captain, recommend base course zero zero zero!”
“Lieutenant, I want firing solution on those inbound aircraft.
Automate CIWS.” Cafferty hit the button on the speaker.
“XO, Captain; base course zero zero zero.”
“Steadying course zero zero zero. Commencing evasive maneuvers.”
“CIWS is automated, sir. Been automated since we turned on track.”
“EW, are you sure they’re Migs?”
“Captain, I’m as positive as the tits on my chest!”
“You’re flat-chested. Murphy!” someone shouted from the shadows.
“Shut up!” the CICWO yelled.
“They are definitely not ours,” Murphy said. She reached up and patted the AN/SLQ-32 console.
“We are definitely right!”
“XO, commence zigzag maneuvers. Make those fucking pilots earn their flight pay!”
“Commencing zigzag; base course zero zero zero.” The USS Gearing lurched to port, causing the surface plotter to lose his balance and fall, as the ship zigzagged at nineteen knots.
“Radio, Combat! Have you got the Navy Blue out yet?”
“No, sir. Captain. We still don’t have comms He flipped off Radio.
“Aircraft inbound three minutes. Captain.”
“Missile impact in one minute!”
“Bridge, Combat; we have another inbound missile starboard side. I want max speed. Bring her up to twenty-nine knots and hold her there.”
“Bridge, Chief Engineer; Captain, we have lost main engines one and three to torpedo damage! I only have two and four. I can’t give you more than the twenty knots you’ve got without damaging the shaft or seizing the engines.”
“Chief Engineer, if we don’t get out of this, your engines will be the least of our worries! Now give me all you got. Put her in the red if you have to, but give me speed until she seizes or blows up, and if she does, get your crew out there with paddles. But give me speed!”
“Bridge, this is the aft lookout; I have two aircraft approaching relative two niner zero. Large contrails. Looks like afterburners on. They’re leaving a gray trail behind them! Look like Mig-23s.”
The ship shuddered as it heeled full left to uncover the CIWS and bring both it and the forward five-inch sixty two gun to bear against the attacking aircraft.
“Lieutenant, fire the five-inch. I want proximity rounds, seeding the flight path at hundred-feet intervals. Cloud that area with shrapnel!”
The Styx missile penetrated the one-inch-thin aluminum frame before exploding inside women’s berthing.
The unused liquid fuel splattered, flooding the compartment. Two milliseconds later, the exhaust ignited the remainder of the liquid fuel, turning it into a napalm like inferno, sticking to the skin, baking two sailors scrambling from the compartment for their General Quarters stations and who were a minute slower than their shipmates. The explosion, ten milliseconds later, killed them before nerves could register the pain of their skin burning away. Oxygen was sucked from both compartments to feed the furnace.
The ocean rushed in, right behind the missile; then, blown back by the explosion, it pored in with a vengeance through a larger hole, pushing burning fuel against the bulkhead and deeper into the ship.
Women’s berthing was divided into port and starboard compartments. The two slow ones died in the starboard compartment from the impact and explosion. Three seconds later, burning fuel rolled on top of the water through the connecting hatch into the port compartment, catching the GQ berthing watch as she ran, turning her dungarees into a funeral pyre, her sound-powered phones ripped from her ears. Her screams were cut short as burning fuel filled her lungs, evaporating them. She fell, eyes wide with terror and still alive, unable to scream, as the sea rushed over her, extinguishing the fire. Two seconds later she mercifully died.
Twenty seconds later, diminished oxygen and rushing waters smothered the fire. The flames sputtered out, leaving hot black smoke rolling within the compartment like an angry Tennessee storm, blinding two survivors who were in the head when the missile struck. The blast slammed the door shut, sealing the bathroom from the inferno outside and saving their lives.