First Salvo (29 page)

Cobb looked up, caught by surprise. He understood what that meant. “I take it that we’re pretty close?”

“Too close. Satellite recon picked up a new launch yesterday from their Tyuratum Rocket Center. As far as we can determine, they put up antisatellite systems and something is flying around up there that has a nuclear instrument of some kind aboard. And,” he sighed, “we have a flight of their Backfire bombers approaching their initial launch point now. We know they won’t fire right away, not at that range, because they couldn’t get a hit on us. But…” His voice drifted off.

The description was accurate, Cobb realized, as accurate as could be. Knock out our early-warning satellite system with ASATs, send in a flight of Backfires with anti-radiation missiles to knock out the Hawkeyes, then launch cruise missiles once their own satellites had a guidance solution for them. Those would be targeted for
Saratoga
’s battle group. But a nuclear weapon in space? That didn’t figure. The Russian scenario didn’t call for a first launch of anything nuclear unless the U.S. gave an indication they would.

“Have we sent in—or has NATO sent in—any requests to use nuclear weapons?”

“Nothing. That wouldn’t come anyway until we had an idea how long we could hold them on the ground in Germany.”

“How much hardened gear do you carry?” Cobb was referring to electronic equipment designed to withstand a high-level atomic detonation. Such a burst could knock out all communications, radar, and launching systems.

“I think you understand why I want you off to
Kennedy
.”
Turner’s face was grim. “The Air Force has already launched F15s. They’re going to try to take out whatever it is up there. But who knows if they’ll be on time. We could end up being sitting ducks in a matter of hours.” Again his voice drifted off. Then he got to his feet. “So when I come into the wind, you folks are on your way. It may be the last chance I’ll have to get you off, and your Russian friend seems to be a key.”

“He’s very important, Admiral.”

“That’s what Pratt told me. So my first responsibility is to get you off of here in one piece. Be ready in half an hour. An escort will pick up you and the girl in sick bay. General Keradin will already be aboard the aircraft.”

Cobb stood. “I wish you luck, sir.”

“I sincerely hope that luck holds.” Turner grinned wryly. “If it doesn’t, it won’t take long for them to go after their next target.” They both knew that would be the second carrier battle group—
Kennedy
’s.

T
he fireball was not brilliant, not what military people had been trained to expect. But even in the early morning sunlight, it caught the eye like the flash of a camera. Cobb was in the copilot’s seat at the time, talking with the pilot while they awaited clearance for takeoff. He noticed it immediately, but said nothing. It was, after all, a blast at 150 or more miles in the sky, and could easily be mistaken for any number of natural occurrences.

The pilot looked at Cobb out of the corner of his eye. “Notice that?”

Cobb nodded, saying nothing. He put on the extra set of headphones to listen to the air-control net. There was dead silence for a moment. Then he heard the voices, normal at first, then more anxious, calling on the net. First they asked for radio checks, then requested those who answered to call the long-range planes on other frequencies.

But Cobb knew what the response would already be. Nothing. It was not a large burst as megatons went—probably no more than one or two, but at that height—two hundred kilometers, the computers projected—the damage would already be taking effect. The Air Force F-15s hadn’t gotten to it in time.

There would be no burst effect, nothing that would bring the launching of ICBMs in retaliation. There would be no loss of equipment or lives, nor even wounded or radiation victims. Instead, the victims would be the heart of the American offensive and defensive machine—electronics. The atmospheric ionization caused by the detonation of an atomic weapon at that height, well above the atmosphere, would halt all medium- and long-range communications for ranges of possibly 1,500 miles for up to two hours. Line-of-sight radio communications would not be affected, but satellites were out of the question, as were all air-defense and airborne communications. The electromagnetic pulse (EMP) could also damage solid-state electronics. Virtually all susceptible computers and sensors would be inoperative and even radar and microwave transmissions might be mute for as long as an hour.

It was long enough, Cobb knew, long enough to get in that first launch against
Saratoga
’s
battle group. The computers could only assume so much, but to his knowledge, no programs had ever been developed coordinating EMP with the Soviet Backfires launching their cruise missiles. Would they launch just before or just after the blast? How might the missiles be affected. Was it all timed so that Soviet submarines would pop to the surface and take control of the missiles, guiding them the last short distance to target?

Cobb didn’t know. Neither did Turner, nor Pratt. No one really did. And the computers were inoperative.

“What happened?” the pilot asked Cobb.

“Perhaps you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren that you saw the first atomic blast of the war—and survived it.”

The man blanched.

“Doesn’t affect you or me or anyone in the whole group. Not directly, anyway. But you can’t believe how screwed up the nervous system of this whole damn battle group is now.” He thought of what would follow. “Come on. Call up control and let’s get out of here. Pretty soon there
will
be something that’ll hurt you pretty bad.” It didn’t require a genius to do the simple mathematics necessary. Air-launched cruise missiles would be arriving in half an hour or so, give or take a few minutes. The Hawkeyes would do what they could, but they were a long distance from the carrier, they couldn’t communicate, and they couldn’t use the satellites in the way they were intended to, and the group’s own early-warning system was useless at this stage.

The pilot requested permission to take off. It was Admiral Turner’s voice that granted it. And then he added, “We’ll do what we can to hold ’em off, Cobb. Give Pratt my regards.”

Cobb learned much later how well they did.

The effects of the atomic blast had not been as severe as expected.
Saratoga
’s Hawkeyes had done their job. They intercepted the Backfires before launching. An acceptable number of Soviet aircraft had gone down.

But there were fighters joining up with the Russian bombers, and the Hawkeyes took a beating after that. The assumption the Soviet submarines might take over control of the cruise missiles on their final run was correct. When they surfaced to do so, Turner’s helos and antisubmarine ships went after them. That accounted for the accuracy of another batch of missiles. But a number continued toward their target.

The ships undertook countermeasures, using everything they could to decoy the incoming missiles. That accounted for another batch. Sea Sparrow missiles accurately brought down more. But there were more than a dozen that survived all phases of the battle group’s defense.

Saratoga
was actually the first ship to be hit. A missile impacted aft of the island on the starboard side, just below the elevator. Fires ignited on the hangar deck. A second missile hit just below the angled flight deck on the port side. A large section of deck ruptured. More fires erupted. The third missile penetrated the hull plating, detonating in the after engine room. The watch there died almost instantly, either from the blast or from escaping high-pressure steam. Saratoga was now operating on three shafts.

As the carrier was fighting her own battle, other ships in the group also came under fire. The frigate
Gallery
disappeared in a belch of flame as a missile exploded in her torpedo storage. A surviving captain of one of the nearby ships reported that within sixty seconds almost nothing remained of the little ship.

The stern of
Deyo
disappeared to the waterline.

The bridge of
Macdonough
was cleared by a direct hit. When her executive officer took command, he was told that the blast took out the bridge, the combat information center, and three decks below, and that the fires were out of control. Three minutes later the torpedoes in the ASROC launcher blew, and he watched the forward third of the ship drift away.

According to the computers, the first Soviet launch had been more effective than projected—perhaps even by them. It had never been considered that they would take advantage of the effect of a high-altitude nuclear blast. The computers also said that an aircraft carrier should be able to survive at least four cruise missile hits.
Saratoga
was trying to survive three. Fires in her hangar threatened fuel and ammunition. The angled deck was useless, as was the elevator that had been hit. There was no chance of getting the after engine room back on line. She could likely float after more than three direct hits, but was it worthwhile?

On the bridge, Admiral Turner explained to
Saratoga
’s
commanding officer that Soviet doctrine called for a second, equally devastating launch.

ABOARD U.S.S.
YORKTOWN

T
he initial assault on
Saratoga
and her battle group was taking place even as the commanding officers of Pratt’s battle group were meeting aboard
Yorktown
about four hundred miles to the west to make final plans for their defense. The radical nature of the attack—the creation of an electromagnetic pulse—had not been expected by most of those men. Only Carleton and Nelson were unsurprised; one of Pratt’s original projections had been based on the Soviet fleet attacking before ground forces moved into Germany. It was based on the persisting Russian concept that NATO forces in the North Atlantic and Mediterranean would have to be neutralized. If they were not, then NATO ground forces in Europe could be reinforced, control of the air could not be guaranteed, and a prolonged ground war would likely mean acceleration to the nuclear level.

The Russian hierarchy would accept nuclear war only if it was to combat a last-ditch NATO nuclear effort. Once the Russians thought the flow of battle in Europe was to their advantage, they would call for peace talks as their divisions swept across Central Europe to the Atlantic coast. By the time a cease-fire would actually be effected, NATO would no longer be a threat.

“They’re ahead of schedule,” Nelson whispered to Carleton. “Probably want their General Keradin—dead or alive. But I never expected they’d go for the nuclear stuff this early.”

One of the other COs stood up to ask Pratt’s staff man a question. “Just what does this EMP thing mean now from a strategic aspect? I mean we all know what it does technically, but they weren’t expected to go for anything like that this early. Does this mean they’ll set one off over us too?”

“They don’t have to set off another right away,” came the answer. “All of us use the same satellites, whether it’s
Saratoga
or
Kennedy
or NATO headquarters.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Washington anticipated something like this could happen, and they’ve got some more recon satellites perched at Vandenburg right now. For all we know, they may already have launched. On the other hand, the Russians also launched some maneuverable killer satellites yesterday. We send one up; they go after it. If they can’t catch up to ours, they launch another ASAT; we send up our F-15s to fire antisatellite missiles at their antisatellite satellites…” He shrugged again, to Nelson’s amusement. “What we do is we go back to doing the same thing we did at Okinawa forty years ago—radar pickets. This time it’s Hawkeye aircraft and guided-missile frigates, and they’re facing the same threat—a cruise missile is just like a kamikaze.”

Another staff officer appeared in the back of the briefing room, whirling a finger in the air to indicate “speed it up.” It would be hours before their own group was attacked, but Pratt’s plan was to disperse the formation even farther in case of nuclear attack. Pratt then intended to launch his own attack.

He had asked Wendell Nelson to impress the role of submarines on both Tactical Action Officers and captains. Military use of the waters beneath the surface had changed radically since World War Two, the last time subs had proved their worth under actual wartime conditions. In those days, a submarine was actually an air-breathing creature, able to submerge only for short periods of time. Now they were truly submersibles, capable of navigating the strange subsurface world for extended periods. A true silent service, they traded in stealth and surprise. Their preferred environment was the open ocean. Effectiveness within the straits and narrows of the Mediterranean depended completely on their individual performance. Because subs from both sides were forced to pass through straits to gain access to the Med, the initial element for achieving success was to sever contact with the inevitable shadows that tracked them. The submarines would present a challenge when the confusion of combat released them.

The reaction of the COs to Wendell Nelson was markedly different than the previous day. He was no longer an upstart—he was accepted as a full four-stripe captain in the forefront of radical antisubmarine tactics, and the traditional white attitude had become colorblind in the face of the Soviet threat. When they left, each commanding officer had access to antisubmarine tactics never before used. They felt they now had an even chance against Soviet numbers.

As they waited on the stern of
Yorktown
to be heloed back to their ships, the action reports from
Saratoga
filtered in. The second Soviet strike had been as bad as the first. Three more tiny frigates sunk, two Halsey-class destroyers badly damaged, one sinking, a guided-missile cruiser gone,
Yorktown
’s sister ship,
Essex
,
in danger of sinking, and
Saratoga
had been hit four more times. Large deck carriers were supposed to be able to survive four cruise missiles—she had taken seven and was still afloat. Her flight deck was buckled and in shambles. She was dead in the water, engine rooms flooded, fires ravaging much of the inner hull.