their deadly pods of 2.5-inch rockets.
He heard movement behind him, the high-pitched whine of automated
machinery. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the squat,
white-painted fire-hydrant shape of Jefferson’s aft Phalanx CIWS had
taken on a life of its own. The six-barreled snout of the 20-mm Gatling
gun swung to bear on the attackers, then shifted left, right, up, down
in tiny increments as its pulse-doppler radar locked on.
Realizing that he was perilously close to the weapon’s line of fire,
Kennedy dropped flat on the deck. The Phalanx cannon fired an instant
later with a buzzsaw shriek, spitting out fifty depleted uranium bullets
each second. The radar tracked both target and rounds, adjusting the
gun slightly to bring the two into perfect alignment.
Like a string of firecrackers, the incoming rockets began exploding
between the ship and the incoming Hueys.
Unfortunately, the range was too close, the rockets too fast for a one
hundred percent sweep. An instant later, the first 2.5 inch rockets
began slamming into the Jefferson.
2040 hours, 19 January
RTAF Helicopter 163, Sattahip
Lieutenant Thran saw the flash of blossoming explosions. A hit! Another
… but then another, much nearer flash caught his eye. Turning in his
seat, he saw Helicopter 179 burst into flame and hurtling debris, even
as missiles continued to arrow from its weapons pods.
Instinctively, Thran pulled in on the stick and applied foot pressure to
the tail rotor controls on the deck, swinging the Huey away from the
fiery eruption to starboard. He was not sure what had happened but
suspected that the American ship must have launched a missile of some
kind. The night sky around him was filled with falling sea spray, and
something heavy slammed into the Huey’s tail boom somewhere aft.
Dimly, he was aware that the Chinese beside him was screaming wildly.
2040 hours, 19 January
U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
Eight rockets from that first volley slammed into the Jefferson one
after another, tearing metal, hurling shrapnel and debris into the sky.
At Elevator Number Three, starboard side aft of the island, the massive
steel doors which had begun sliding shut moments after general quarters
had sounded were almost closed. One rocket struck the outer door close
beside the door frame, buckling steel plate and causing the door
mechanism to grind to a halt with the shriek of tortured metal. Had the
doors been all the way open when the rocket arrowed in out of the night,
the damage might well have been catastrophic.
One rocket made itself felt through sheer bad luck. Coming in blindly,
it struck a KA-6D tanker parked just aft of the island. The explosion
sent a sheet of flame searing across the deck as crewmen scattered,
trying to protect their heads and faces from the sudden heat. An EA-6B
Prowler parked within inches of the tanker caught fire and exploded with
a hammer-blow concussion, knocking sailors to the deck. Above the roar
of flames, alarms shrilled endlessly.
Fire erupted into the night above the U.S.S. Jefferson.
2014 hours, 19 January
RTAF Helicopter 163, Sattahip
His Chinese co-pilot was dead. A depleted uranium slug had passed
through the Huey’s deck, taken off the man’s leg, then passed through
the bulkhead aft, and Thran had not even felt the shock. Ahead, the
night was ablaze as aircraft on the carrier’s aft deck burned.
After breaking off his approach, he’d dropped until his landing skids
were within a meter of the water. Thran didn’t know whether it was his
wave-hopping or a lucky hit from one of the rockets, but the Americans
had stopped firing at him.
And he still had twenty rockets remaining in his pods. His first
thought was to break for shore, his mission accomplished … but Thran
was close enough to the American carrier now to see that the damage
looked worse than it probably was in fact.
If he could finish the job, the reward might be very rich indeed.
2041 hours, 19 January
Tomcat 201, on CAP over the Gulf of Thailand
Marinaro’s Tomcat roared low across the waters of Sattahip Bay. He’d
seen the flash of rockets firing, the strobing of explosions, and the
dazzling stab of high-speed gunfire from an aft Phalanx mount. One of