of handling an entire air engagement on full automatic, doing everything from
identifying threat targets to assigning weapons based on priorities and firing
the air-to-air missiles. When it was on automatic. Under the current threat
condition, though, it still required operator intervention.
The TAO acknowledged the contact on his screen, his fingers flashing over
the keys. He was aware of the CO standing behind him, asking questions and
demanding answers. Reflex and training paid off–within seconds, the SM-2MR
streaked off the rails, another missile sliding into firing position
immediately behind it.
The TAO, his eyes fixed on the radar screen, said, “One away, Captain.”
Now that the actual missile was launched, he had a few seconds to wait before
he would decide whether to launch a second salvo. There was still time.
It looked good. The attack geometry was perfect, and they’d had enough
warning and data to get a good fix on the incoming missile. There were too
many friendly ships and aircraft in the area to indiscriminately launch a
spate of long-range missiles, especially when the geometry for a single-shot
kill looked good.
Even if the missile missed, the cruiser had one last-ditch chance against
it, as did the carrier. Both ships, as well as all the other ones in the
battle group, were equipped with CIWS. The TAO prayed it wouldn’t be
necessary. While CIWS could fire like a gatling-gun and nail a missile up to
two miles away, even a destroyed missile would probably shower the ship with
burning fragments of fuel and flak. The debris could knock out either the
SPS-49 air radar or the super-sensitive SPY-1 that made the Aegis such a
formidable platform.
Ten miles from the carrier, the SM2-MR caught up with the intruder. On
the radar, the two blips merged, then disappeared. From the bridge it would
have been a spectacular sight, the fireball of missile-on-missile lighting up
the sky and reflecting off the water. Here in combat, in the bowels of the
Aegis cruiser, only a faint dull thud provided outside confirmation of what
their radars told them.
“I guess next time you’ll listen up,” the CO snarled. A look of unholy
jubilation lit the older man’s face. “I knew those bastards would try
something! If I hadn’t had those birds on the rails, we would all be toast!
Think about that next time, before you start running off at the mouth.”
“Yes, sir.” The TAO leaned forward over his screen, staring at it as
though it held some secret. Whatever doubts he’d had about the CO before
seemed grossly unprofessional. No matter that Captain Killington had been
prepared for air-launched missiles and a submarine had actually taken the
shot. The launch platform was irrelevant because the captain’s instincts had
been right. The TAO’s best judgment might have gotten the ship sunk.
He glanced over at his coffee cup. He’d drained down the last bitter
dregs just before the missile shot. With the ship at General Quarters, he was
unlikely to get a refill anytime soon. Not until they stood down to Condition
Two, at any rate. It didn’t matter right now, while the adrenaline from the
missile shot still pounded in his veins. Four hours from now, however, he
knew he’d be aching for a caffeine fix.
Just as well that he couldn’t get a refill on the coffee right now. The
other thing that was secured during General Quarters was the head.
He wondered whether caffeine deprivation and full bladders played much
part in the course of war at sea. Probably so, he concluded, as he remembered
that the Captain of the USS Stark had been in the head when his ship had taken
a near-fatal missile shot in the Persian Gulf. That hadn’t been a declared
war, either, although a lot of sailors had died.
From down here in the sandbox, he concluded, it didn’t matter that there
was no declared war or prior warning. They could be just as dead, and just as
short on head calls and coffee, as any force had been in a declared war.
At least with Captain Killington in command, it looked like Vincennes
would never take a hit. And that was of more comfort to the TAO than caffeine