CARRIER 5: MAELSTROM By Keith Douglass

force of forty-some MiGs and Sukhois to break through the American air

defenses.

In fact, Hangman, as the six MiGs were called, would almost certainly be

able to slip close to the American carrier undetected. The enemy would be

concentrating on Chelyag’s main group, and Terekhov had swung the flight far

around the American ships and was approaching them from the south. Only

meters above the water, under fierce ECM and jamming, they would be almost

impossible to spot.

“Hangman Leader, Fortress,” a voice said over his headset. “Range to

target forty-six kilometers. Normal air activity with some ECM. You are

clear for attack run.”

Terekhov acknowledged, then dropped the MiG toward the sea.

0903 hours Zulu (1003 hours Zone)

CBG-14

The Norwegian Sea

The enemy planes stooped like hawks on the american battle group as they

slid past Vaeroy on their way to the open sea. Kearny was in the lead, the

frigate Stephen Decatur close astern. South, screening for a submarine threat

from that direction, was the destroyer John A. Winslow, while Jefferson and

Shiloh brought up the rear.

The first air clash was short, intense, and violent. Phoenix missiles

launched at long range by the VF-97 War Eagles. CAP drew first blood, striking

MiGs and Sukhois in flaming bursts of smoke and debris, sending wrecked

tangles of debris plummeting from the sky at the ends of long, unfurling

streamers of white.

There was no room in these narrow seas for multiple layers of defenses or

for elaborate maneuver. Despite their losses, the Soviet planes bore in

straight from the north as the War Eagles, their AIM-54s expended, vaulted

forward to grapple with them plane-to-plane, closing to “knife-fighting range”

in seconds. Standard missiles and Sea Sparrows whooshed from the deck

launchers of Keav and Decatur almost in unison. For perhaps five minutes, a

dogfight raged in the clear summer sky, the vapor trails of clashing aircraft

interweaving and looping through the sky like a tangle of fishing line, a

classic “furball.” A MiG disintegrated as a Standard struck it dead center

and ignited its fuel tanks in a searing blast; a War Eagle Tomcat pilot called

“Fox one” as he loosed a radar-homing Sparrow at his target, guiding the SARH

missile across five miles of empty air and squarely into the fuselage of an

Su-27; seconds later, the Tomcat’s left engine exploded as an AA-8 Aphid

curved in on the heat of its exhaust, killing pilot and RIO and sending the

F-14 plunging toward the crystalline blue of the sea below.

There had been eight Tomcats in the CAP to begin with. The number was

now seven … now six as another Soviet missile struck home. There’d been

forty Soviet planes in the attack wave to begin with. Fifteen of those fell

to Phoenix strikes and surface-to-air missiles from the ships in the opening

minutes of the combat, then seven more to Sparrows and Sidewinders as the

opponents came to grips.

Aircraft fell from the skies in flames.

0906 hours Zulu (1006 hours Zone)

MiG 1010

Over the Norwegian Sea

Captain Terekhov glanced left and right. The five other MiGs of Hangman

Flight held formation, bellies still scant meters above the sea as they

flashed south toward the American carrier, so low that sea spray drenched his

canopy as though he were flying headlong through a rainstorm. They were close

enough now that their low altitude would soon be no protection to enemy radar.

Yes! The threat-warning light lit up on his console, and he heard the

shrill warble of a weapons lock in his headset. But it was too late now, too

late to save the Jefferson. He could see the American carrier now, a vast,

flat-topped gray cut-out on the northern horizon, ten miles away. The sky was

filled with twisting contrails, and the straighter, faster scratches of deadly

missiles. The radar pulses probing his aircraft now were probably from the

enemy’s Aegis cruiser, which was protecting its larger charge like a dog

protecting its master.

Too late! Terekhov gave his console a last check. Weapons armed, gyros

running, guidance locked. He brought the MiG up slightly off the deck, giving

himself clearance for launch.

Fire!

The AS-7 Kerry ship-killer dropped clear, ignited, and streaked toward

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