Arctic Wind

Chapter 13 Going on the Offensive

The early morning hours were disturbed by the sounds of turboprop engines and jets cruising overhead. Most people living in the farms along southern Georgia were having a difficult time just keeping warm. Few bothered to get out of the bed to see what was going on. Then one came very close to one of the farmhouses, frightening the family inside and causing them to get up and rush to the windows. In the dim moonlight they could see thousands of figures in the sky drifting downward. A second close flyby and a large aircraft zoomed past the cottage and dropped something very big out of its back end.

Within a minute, there was a knock at the door. The father pulled on some pants and made his way to the door, cautiously opening it. To his surprise, it was a soldier in a camouflage uniform. He was carrying a rifle. “Excuse me, sir,” the man said in Russian. “We don’t mean to frighten you, but we are making a landing here. If you would, please keep your family inside. Once we are ready, I will let you know when it is safe to come out,” he said.

The older man nodded. “I understand. Who are you?”

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Kendrick of the United States Eighty Second Airborne Division. There will be a lot of us dropping in tonight, so please stay safe,” he said as he turned and left.

The man didn’t know what to think. He knew that his homeland was being invaded, but the young man was very nice about it. He even was concerned for the safety of his family. He shrugged to himself. There was nothing he could do about the invasion, so he would do as the man asked and stay inside where it was safe.

“What is it Papa?” asked his wife from the bedroom.

“It appears we are being invaded, Mama. Go back to bed.” He then sat down beside the window and watched as the invaders floated down like angels. Several went to the large item dropped from the plane and within a few minutes he saw the outline of a tank drive off toward the south. Several more also went by, followed by some trucks. By now his whole family was at the windows watching. As some of the men walked by, they waved at his children. As the sun rose, the valley the farmer lived in had been turned into an armed camp. He saw someone coming toward the cottage with a box. The man knocked at the door. Once again the old farmer answered it.

The smiling face was back. “Good morning. I hope we are not disturbing you too much. We had an extra box of food we would like to share with your family. It appears we will be leaving soon, but we hope we have not inconvenienced you in any way,” Kendrick said.

The older farmer was still having trouble understanding all that was happening. “You have invaded our country and you bring us this? I do not understand,” he stammered out.

“Well, sir, you didn’t start the war, your government did. If you are like my father, all you want to do is take care of your family. We don’t want to make war on someone doing the right thing. Once this is over, I hope we will all be friends again,” Kendrick said.

The farmer extended his hand. “Thank you for helping my family,” he said.

Lieutenant Kendrick smiled and bid the man farewell, then walked a few feet away where some other soldiers were standing. They all looked so young, the farmer thought. His little girl came and stood beside him. Several of the soldiers waved at her. One even walked over and said hello to both of them. He spoke English, so the farmer didn’t understand. The young man took off his helmet and reached into his pocket. He handed the little girl a Hershey bar. She took it and said “Spasiva.”

The young man smiled, gave her a wave and nodded thanks to her father before turning to rejoin the others. The farmer ushered his daughter inside and looked at his wife. “These are nice boys,” he said. “They told me they will be leaving soon. They’re not even taking our food and stock.”

The mother had already opened the large box. Inside were some canned meats and vegetables, rice, noodles and tea. Then there were several smaller boxes with words written in Cyrillic. “What is this Meals Ready to Eat?” she asked. Reading the instructions, she found boxes labeled beef stew, chicken teriyaki, Salisbury steak and beef Stroganoff. “Just add water,” she murmured in Russian. “Humph,” she grunted. “Some of this sounds Russian,” she said. At least today they would eat well.

Just before dawn the people along the shore were wakened by the sounds of hundreds of aircraft. The ground began to shake as they fighters and bombers began clearing the way for troops to come ashore. Some even looked out their windows to see a line of three battleships open fire on targets further inland. It seemed as if every second the ground would shake from a new impact. The residents scrambled for the shelters and basements fearing for their lives.

The army detachment assigned to this part of the coast scrambled to get to their trucks and meet the assault, although they weren’t sure where the assault was coming from. As they ran toward their trucks and tanks they saw them explode in front of them. A call went out to the nearest air base to get help.

One mile behind the battleships was a line of ten Farragut class destroyers. They were modifications of the Zumwalt class of destroyer designed to carry the newest of naval artillery — the electro-magnetic gun. Built with extreme capacity to produce electricity, each ship carried four of the guns. They didn’t rely on propellant or an explosive shell. These guns fired by use of electro-magnetic force. It sounded like a gun when it went off. There was even flame, but the projectile was a simple stainless steel dart. When fired, it left the barrel doing Mach 7. On each ship, the barrels elevated and fired.

The air base was forty miles inland. Within seconds, the darts struck still doing Mach 6. There was no need for explosive. The kinetic energy alone destroyed everything in its path. Runways became unusable, hangers collapsed and aircraft burst into flames. Pilots scrambled out of their barracks to get to their planes only to be shredded by the mounds of shrapnel generated by the darts whenever they struck something. Every twenty seconds a volley hit the base. Within just fifteen minutes, there was nothing left to fly and no runways left to take off from.

The next army unit was just ten miles away. After making sure the immediate area was clear, the battleships switched to secondary targets designated by the Link 16. The first rounds tore into the armory, leveling it. The motor pool was ravaged and finally the fuel tanks were ruptured and set afire. The few soldiers left, could do nothing but stand and watch it burn.

The LCACs began moving in. Because this was a relatively lightly populated area of shore, they came in unopposed. Moving up the beach, they deposited their troops and tanks, then turned around and went back for more. The Ospreys were next. Swooping in from the ships, the Ospreys landed further inland and disgorged their troops. Wave after wave came in. Within an hour, over 20,000 troops had been set down on the beach. Two hours later fifty thousand more were there and moving inland.

The skies became filled with Allied aircraft. They dashed across the battle lines and struck targets deep into occupied territory. Everything was hit. Tanks, trucks, aircraft, supply depots, tent cities, everything that was of military importance was laid to waste. Russian troops reported the aircraft overhead, but no radar systems saw a target. Russian fighters were scrambled and dashed to the front, only to be met by planes their radars could not see or lock onto. Because of the American Eyeball system, American controllers were able to vector aircraft in behind the advancing fighters and blow them out of the sky. Only twice did a Russian fighter get behind an American and loose a heat seeker. One of those times, the countermeasures worked. With the loss of that one aircraft, the Allied forces decimated over three hundred Russian planes in just the first hour.

Drone units were launched and went in ahead of tanks and infantry, making sure that opposition was quelled before they got to an area. In three cases, a specialized drone went in and sprayed the area around a company of tanks with a specialized liquid. Upon hitting the ground it expanded leaving a thick ooze on the ground. Tanks, trucks and other vehicles simply got mired in the stuff and anyone inside the tank had a hard time getting out without slipping and breaking their necks.

The American Abrams, Bradleys and Humvees poured across the line along with Leopards, Chieftans and Leclercs. Polish and German units that had been harassing the enemy rear were pulled back for a rest. The Russian lines began to disintegrate.

A lone sentry made his way along the cold, snowy beach on Sakhalin Island. He considered his duty hell. It was always cold there. There hadn’t been electricity. Only the administration building and the officers’ quarters had the use of a generator. The rest stayed cold and hungry. They had even run out of fuel to drive the men back and forth to their lonely outposts. The sentries rode bicycles back and forth. Only vodka seemed to take the chill off and even it was in short supply. Stationed in a small town of Nogliki on the eastern shore, everyone was suffering. There had already been three deaths from the cold. True, they had been old, but to freeze to death was not something the sentry looked forward to.

The wind had mercifully died an hour before and a mist had rolled in to cover everything. You couldn’t see past 100 meters. Something caught the sentry’s ear. It was a strange noise he hadn’t heard before. He pulled his rifle from his shoulder, not that he would be able to stop anyone trying to invade this god forsaken place. The noise got louder. Suddenly, out of the mist, a huge machine plowed ashore almost directly in front of him. It was followed by several others. The sentry watched in horror as the machine seemed to circle him and then stop. It looked like it sank into the ground before a large ramp dropped in from of it and men began running out. Several pointed their weapons at him. The sentry threw down the gun and raised his hands. One of the men motioned for him to come forward. As he approached, the man said in Russian, “Go aboard the craft and get some food. Don’t do anything stupid and you will be fine.”

The men then turned and walked away. Just then a tank came out of the craft. He decided to follow his instructions and walked aboard. Two other soldiers led him inside where it was warm. There were some pastries and some coffee in the small galley. Another man came up and began asking him questions. He barely realized he had become a prisoner of war.

The troops entered the town and made their way through the streets. There were no other soldiers around. A few explosions were heard in the distance. That had been the small barracks and army headquarters. In a few minutes the soldiers had made their way to the center of town and assembled on the square. On the beach more troops and equipment were landing unopposed. Once ashore, they would turn south and take the island before turning north and moving on to the mainland. While there, they would turn off the entire oil and gas supply to the rest of Russia.

General Richardson stepped down from her Osprey and surveyed the situation. Already there were thousands ashore and more coming in. So far, because of the bombardment, there had been no air strikes and the local forces were, as predicted, stationed along the border with Turkey. It turned out that Jeffers had been right. The Russians considered the Black Sea their lake and had never dreamed that an attacking force would come from that direction. She turned to one of her deputies. “Kelly, have the Turks moved yet?”

The Brigadier nodded. “Just came in. They crossed the border not thirty minutes ago. The paratroops slammed into the Russian lines about the same time. No word yet on casualties, but the Turks are about three hundred yards in right now. The Russians are fighting hard,” he said.

“As I would. They have no place to go so they will fight down to the last man,” she said. “Is everything ready to move inland?”

“All set. We have enough to wheel and deal with another few battalions more on the way. The supply people have got everything set up from what I see, so I recommend we push off,” the Brigadier said. A Bradley fighting vehicle pulled up and the back opened. Richardson motioned for the Brigadier to follow as she climbed inside.

Inside the vehicle, the “star wars” displays told her everything going on for a four hundred mile radius. “I can’t believe they have so few troops down here,” Richardson said. “But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Give the orders to start moving west. We go as fast as we can. Station troops and equipment to keep what we take, but don’t give them a minute’s rest,” she ordered.

Almost immediately, the Second Marine Division began moving across the plains toward the Caspian Sea. The First Marine Division would follow. For the first time in decades, the Marines had made an amphibious landing on hostile shores. It was their specialty and they were going to prove that in a war, you don’t mess with the Marines.

Watching from flag plot, Hustvedt was amazed. He had expected some heavy casualties by this point, but the Russians had been caught totally off guard. The 82nd and 101st had slammed the door on the Russians at the Turkish border and the Turks were blasting through the lines to meet up. Russian air defenses had been stopped by long range bombardment and so far no other sorties had appeared from other areas. Of course, that would change.

He looked at Jeffers watching the displays intently. Everything he had thought about was actually coming true before his eyes. Hustvedt could not imagine what he as feeling at this point. He noticed that Jeffers was switching back and forth between the eastern and western Black Sea. He leaned over and spoke. “Don’t worry, they will come out. They almost have to. My worry is the air strikes that will come from some of the northern bases out of our range. You saw how I positioned the carriers? They will be ready for anything that comes at them. All it will take is one call and we switch from ground attack to air defense in a matter of minutes. Since they can’t see us with their radar, we hold the upper hand,” he mentioned.

“Yes, sir,” said Jeffers. “But if they launch a few hundred missiles, it may not make much difference. The probabilities go way up,” he said.

Hustvedt grunted. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks, to take those kinds of risks. Right now, I like the odds, so unless somebody does something stupid, we should come out of this with a fair chance.”

Jeffers let out a long breath. “I wish I had your confidence,” he said. Something caught his eye and he pointed toward the screen. “Looks like they are coming out,” he said.

On the monitor the two men saw a formation of ships leaving Sevastopol and turning toward the eastern Black Sea.

“See there, I told you,” said Hustvedt. “And that’s why we put these ships right here,” he said pointing to three contacts. One was labeled USS Iowa.

Rhodes saw the ships leaving as well. Sitting in Strike, he saw the formation form up and move east. Already he had told his chief engineer to light off all eight boilers. Iowa was going to be ready for anything that might come up. His orders were to wait in the Western Black Sea until orders came. But what he anticipated made him excited. In the Russian formation was what the Russians had boasted as their own dreadnought. Known as a Kirov class, she weighed 28,000 tons and carried 20, SS-N-19 Shipwreck missiles, 14, SS-N-14 Silex cruise missiles, 96 anti-air missiles, 168 point defense air missiles, along with anti-submarine weapons. She had some armor plating and was powered by nuclear reactors. Her top speed was around 32 knots. Because of her size and firepower, she was very similar to the battlecruiser concept employed in World War One. The Pyotr Velikiy had been the last one build and had all the bells and whistles.

Rhodes knew the small Russian force was going to take on the landing fleet. More than likely, the ships would stand off and fire their weapons from a long distance. The SS-N-19 along could hit targets nearly 400 miles away and flew above Mach one. He was ordered to let them go by. Rhodes only hoped Hustvedt knew what he was taking on. Of course, it would be hard to target them since these new Maxwell plates made even the Iowa invisible. The crew had started calling them their “cloaking device” of old Star Trek shows. Then again, anyone could get lucky. He turned to his operations officer. “Signal the others a turn to the northeast. Keep us at the same speed for now.”

Up on the signal bridge the message was bent on the halyards and the colorful signal flags relayed the orders. When executed, all ships made a turn toward the northeast.

“What do you mean we have been invaded!” screamed Borodin. “Our forces are still deep within Poland. Our supply lines are secure. Where are they hitting us?” The news had arrived just an hour before and Borodin had a hard time getting in because of the protests outside the Kremlin gates.

“An amphibious force entered the Black Sea last night and they began landing forces in Georgia this morning. We also received word that paratroopers landed along the line here,” the general said pointing along the border of Turkey. The Turks then advanced across our borders as well. It is a major force,” the general said.

“But we have troops there to defend our borders. Why have they not engaged?” asked Borodin in a panic.

“They have. But we estimate at least four American divisions and five Turkish divisions have attacked our force of only two. We didn’t see them coming, we never planned on any major fleet in the Black Sea,” the general almost pleaded. He knew his job was on the line. “But that is not the only place. We received word that the Americans also landed on Sakhalin Island. There are practically no troops there at all,” he said.

“And why not?” Borodin demanded.

“Because we have had to pull many of our outlying troops to the western front for the Polish operation that was supposed to be over weeks ago. This plan we adopted didn’t take into account the kinds of weapons we have encountered so far. They have drones that attack us day and night, they have crippled our communications, they kill our senior officers at the front and they are now attacking us with aircraft and ships we cannot see,” the general said becoming indignant.

“Come now, what do you mean we cannot see? Our radar systems are some of the best in the world!” Borodin argued.

“And just this morning the front was attacked by a flight of B-52 bombers. We didn’t even see them coming on radar and they usually paint a picture like a 12 story building! I know they were B-52s because my most senior fighter pilot happened to get a photo of them. Even his radar couldn’t see them! They have somehow found a way to make their planes and ships invisible,” Air Force General Leanov said.

“My front line commanders are being attacked from every point on the compass by Allied aircraft. We have lost almost 500 tanks just in the two hours since daybreak! Down south it is not much better. Our supply lines have been decimated. The Slovaks and Czechs are now almost completely across Slovakia. I have called up the reserves to bolster the lines. Our troops currently resting must go back immediately,” General Pusko said.

“I ordered our air forces into the air. My orders are to close and shoot the planes down with gunfire if necessary. This assault has to stop,” said Leanov.

“I have ordered a sortie of our naval fleet in the Black Sea. Our most powerful ship is going in with them. A hail of missiles should finish the amphibious forces in short order,” said Admiral Dosvetski.

“But what of the forces already on the ground?” demanded Borodin.

“I am pulling forces from other areas to deal with it,” said Pusko.

“And in the Arctic?”

Pusko grinned. “Don’t forget it is the Russian winter. The Arctic is even colder. They may have landed, but it will be another thing to operate. We can send the fleet in Vladivostok to challenge them. Anyone on the ground will have to be a polar bear to survive.”

“Mayor Severov, we didn’t come here to demand a surrender,” said Colonel Greg Tillman. “Yes, the United States has occupied the island, but I am here to ask if we can help you and the people here by providing electricity and food. I know that you have been without either for a while and we do not wish you to suffer,” he said.

Severov was taken aback. He had always imagined the Americans would simply come and either shoot everyone or put everyone in a gulag. Asking if they could help was outside his understanding. “What do you wish in return?” he asked.

The colonel smiled. “Nothing, actually. My people will remain outside your town and you are free to continue with your lives. We hope to make our presence a negligible influence on your people,” he said.

“Am I to be a hostage?”

“No, sir. You are still the mayor and you may govern as you wish,” the colonel said.

“May I ask why you have come here?”

“Well, your government declared war on the Allies, including the US, France, Britain and Poland. We are here because of the strategic plan to persuade your government to end the war. We don’t really want to be here, but since we are, I hope we can treat each other fairly.”

“You are invading my country. I am not sure we can allow this,” Severov said.

The colonel shrugged. “I understand, but we are here and I am offering to help. My people will otherwise stay out of your way.”

Severov thought a moment. The government in Moscow rarely came to the island. All they wanted was the oil anyway. In the meantime, his people were suffering from the cold and lack of supplies. The government hadn’t done anything about that for three months. Perhaps he could just let it happen. After all, he had no weapons to challenge these soldiers. “Colonel, we would appreciate any help you can provide my people, however, we cannot give the impression we are aiding you. This may be held against us later on,” he said quietly.

Tillman nodded. “I fully understand. I will keep my people out of your city. We will provide food and services as a part of our, occupation,” he said with a wink. “If there are problems, please come to see me. I will try to make everything as pleasant as possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” the mayor said.

Things were going too well. There had been no attacks on the ships or the ground forces. Already General Richardson was a good twenty miles from the beach and the offloading of the supplies was continuing smoothly.

“Why haven’t they come at us?” asked Commander Still. He and the rest of the staff were huddled in flag plot keeping an eye on things. The link showed no incoming aircraft or ships except for the fleet just making its way from Sevastopol. They were traveling at a speed that would have them in ideal position by dawn the next morning.

“I would guess they are massing their attack. Don’t be surprised if they have planes in the air coming from inside Russia itself,” said Jeffers. He had anticipated such an attack, but was surprised at its tardiness.

“That’s why we sent some of the heavies up the coast to hit targets of opportunity. We spread out what we have. They won’t be able to see us on radar, which means they will have to eyeball it,” said Hustvedt.

Jeffers reached up and extended the range of the Link 16 image. In a few minutes they began to see aircraft gathering nearly 500 miles to the north. “That’s them,” said Hustvedt. “Send a message on the link to prepare for hostile air attack. All cloaks are to remain on,” he said.

In seconds the message was received. Supply operations were suspended and the boats went in to shore. Aboard the carriers of the fleet, the planes were fueled and made ready. In ten minutes, the first of the defenders launched from the deck of the Abraham Lincoln. These pilots had a bone to pick with the Russians and this was their time to do it. In all, four carriers launched over 160 aircraft. The LHAs launched forty more. The planes began heading north to intercept. Unfortunately the staff could see that there were over 500 aircraft coming down from Russia.

***

Commander Jim Hartsell brought his squadrons to the east and up to 20,000 feet. The link showed the incoming aircraft around 15,000 feet in three levels. The only thing the link didn’t show them was what type aircraft they were, but Hartsell could tell that a section just above the others was jinking from side to side slightly. That would mean the heavier bombers and attack aircraft were in the bottom two layers. Using his touchpad, he selected “auto assign.” This would allow the link to assign the missiles for each aircraft. That way none would be double targeted.

No radios were used and Hartsell prayed that those panels that were supposed to make them invisible did their job. He looked off to his left and could see the Enterprise squadrons joining up. They would take the lower force. The squadrons from the Gerald Ford would go for the fighters. That left Hartsell and the aircraft from the Abraham Lincoln. Every aviator on the ship wanted in on this. He only hoped that the Lightnings from the LHAs would be able to protect the ships while they did the dirty work.

Hartsell watched the screen. The Russians were maintaining their course and speed. It appeared that those cloaks really did work. Signaling his squadrons, Hartsell made his turn to the west to intercept. By coming in from the east, they were coming at the Russians from the sun. From that angle, the AIM-132 Advanced Short Range Air to Air Missile (ASRAAM) would have no problem finding a target. Minutes dragged on, but eventually he began to see the Russian aircraft in the distance. They were still in formation and still on the same course and speed. When they were nearly in range, Hartsell increased his speed to near supersonic. He heard a warble in his headset and the link indicated it was time to fire. Hartsell squeezed the trigger.

The weapons bay opened and an ASRAAM screamed out toward its prey. Almost immediately a second warble was heard as the system automatically switched to a second target. The trigger was squeezed again. It happened six more times. Hartsell watched the last missile leave the aircraft. In the distance, he could see missiles and aircraft exploding all over the sky. It was almost depressing. There would be a bright ball of flame that would then angle downward trailing a string of black smoke. Each trail was a dead aircraft and pilot. It almost didn’t seem fair. The new missiles were a fire and forget missile. It had a longer range than the old Sidewinder and much more sensitive. That meant that the Russian pilots never saw them coming.

As their fellow pilots began exploding in front of them, many of the Russian pilots pickled off their missiles in the direction of the American task force and tried to scurry back home. Those on the far side of the formation had a better chance of escaping, and many did.

Hartsell followed the missiles in to pick off any misses. He saw several of the Russian aircraft launch their anti-ship missiles. They were already supersonic. There would be no way to catch them.

***

In the task force, the ships saw the missiles coming via the link. Although it appeared none were actually headed toward the heart of the force, no chances would be taken. The AEGIS cruisers and destroyers were ready. Equipped with the Standard Missile 6 and 7, they no longer needed illumination of an enemy with a shipboard radar. With a range of over 200 miles, the ship simply pointed the missile in the right direction and fired. The onboard seekers, which came from the tried and tested AIM-120 AMRAAM, swept a broad area, then locked in on a target. The missile had already been told what direction and altitude the incoming missiles were coming from. Once acquired, they sped for their targets.

One by one, the Russian anti-ship missiles were knocked out of the sky. Only three of the American missiles failed to hit their targets. Of the nearly 100 missiles launched, twenty two continued on. They flew into a second wave of Standards. Coming close to the first layer of ships, three missiles remained.

Aboard the USS Roosevelt and USS Winston Churchill, the surface weapons coordinators designated the missiles for the latest weapons. On the fantail, a cover was pulled back to reveal a large tube with many cables. Tied in with the link, it swayed toward the targets. In the ship’s combat information center the operator saw one of the missiles on his television screen. The order was given and the operator pressed the firing switch.

On the closest missile, metal began melting off the side. When the metal was gone, the fuel tank was exposed and exploded. The same happened to a second missile. Within five seconds, it began again on the third which exploded in an immense fireball.

Aboard the Churchill, the operator reported the target had been destroyed. It was the first time the laser system had been used in actual combat. It was an outstanding success.

***

Hustvedt sat back in his seat and let out a long whistle. “That’s the end of round one,” he said.

The Chief of Staff chuckled. “Yea, but round two is right over here,” he said as he pointed toward the Russian task force. They were already well into the Black Sea making their way toward the Americans. “Wonder when they’ll launch? Those Shipwrecks can go over 350 miles and if they decided to send a nuke, we might still be in a bad way whether they could see us or not.”

“Looking at the speed they’re going, I would bet they launch right about here,” said Jeffers pointing to a position just 200 miles away. “They would be launching just before daybreak and could run back home without getting close to us. We could still get them with air power, but they are probably counting on us not seeing them. Without the system we have, that might be exactly the case,” he said.

Hustvedt nodded. “Yes, I think Rod is right. It’s the old way of thinking, which is one reason we have been as successful as we have. Remember the briefing? Rod here said it. They don’t like to change. I would have already started to question why we have been so successful. I bet it hasn’t dawned on them that we can see them, but they can’t see us.” He rubbed his eyes and sat back. “No matter what, we need to be ready. How long before our ships have fully unloaded?”

“At least four hours for the transports. Give it two days for the rest of the supplies. The second set of supply ships just cleared the Bosporus. They will arrive tomorrow,” the Chief of Staff said.

“That’s a long time to be sitting here like ducks in a pond,” said Hustvedt. “At least all our ships are dispersed for a layered defense. I’m not too happy about the Iowa and her group out there all by their lonesome. What if we sent the Queen Elizabeth over that way to give her a little air protection?” he asked.

“That would leave a section of the landing unattended. Maybe after we see how things shape up we might send her a little later on,” said the Chief of Staff.

“Play it safe, huh?” said Hustvedt. “Well, it’s a pretty tough little group, I guess we can risk it. It looks like most of the air strike came from almost due north. That should keep them focused on us anyway,” he said. “I want some air strikes on the airfields these guys are coming from. Knock them out and we might not have to worry as much. Do we know where these are?” Hustvedt asked.

“Yes sir,” said Jeffers. “We were able to follow them home and we know where the bases are. We could get off strikes today and tonight.”

Hustvedt turned to his Chief of Staff. “Make it so. With our cloaks, we should be able to get in and out without much of a problem at all.”

“I’ll set it up. We’ll send a satellite burst to the fleet. We will be breaking silence for about half a second, but they know we’re here anyway,” the Chief of Staff said.

“But we sent out over 500 planes!” shouted Pusko. “You can’t tell me only sixty eight got back home!”

“I am afraid it is so,” said General Gasemirov. “Every pilot said that suddenly aircraft began exploding all around them. They didn’t see anything on their radars and nothing visually. At least they had the foresight to launch what weapons they had. We don’t know if they got hits, but they were aimed directly toward the area of the landings.”

“This is unacceptable. Your people cannot just launch their missiles and run home. We must know of the Americans have been hit. Send another strike immediately,” Pusko ordered.

“It will have to be tomorrow morning. I must get more aircraft into the area to replace the others. I’ll also detail half the aircraft to carry bombs. That way they will be forced to get in close,” said Gasemirov.

“Do it,” said Pusko. “We have been losing our shirts ever since this thing started. We need to hit them with sheer numbers. That is what we are about to do in Poland. Make it a 1,000 plane raid and make sure there are plenty of fighters going in with them. They are to find the Americans and show them who owns the Black Sea,” said Pusko.

“Yes, sir,” said Gasemirov. He left the room to get things going. There was a nagging worry. If his previous force couldn’t see them coming, how would this new force. More to the point, how did the Americans know they were coming in the first place?

***

The fliers began showing up all over Moscow and many of the rest of the cities across Russia. “Russians Unite,” was the headline on the crudely printed sheets. “The voice of God is not being heard by those leading our nation. We must unite to make that voice be heard. People of faith, lift up your voices! Resist those who would condemn your children and families to death and agony. Our leaders have even condemned the Holy Church by trying to kidnap our Patriarch. It is time to rise up. Unite for the protection of our children, our homes and our country! Our Patriarch has escaped their clutches. He urges all those of the Church to let your voice be heard. Do what you can to end this aggression and to bring our children home. Rise up!” it said.

The fliers began showing up at train stations and underground systems. They were posted on the streets and placed in mail boxes. No one saw them being distributed. With the bitter cold, everyone was bundled up with thick clothing which could hide anything. One stack of the fliers was even placed at the foot of Lenin’s sarcophagus. Police became frustrated. Every time they stopped someone for possibly distributing the materials, none of the fliers could be found on them, yet they were seemingly everywhere. The police tried to arrest people picking them up and reading them, but there were too many people and too many fliers. The word was getting out.

***

In a small restaurant overlooking the city ten men met in secret. This was a place reserved for only the very rich. They always had the best food and wines. Even now they had good food, although the men noticed that it was somewhat below their usual standards. After shooing away the staff, the men got down to business.

“This isn’t working,” said a man in an impeccable suit with a red carnation in the lapel. “We were supposed to have been to the English Channel by now. All my plans were predicated on us having completed our mission. Now my factories are being bombed, I have to generate my own electricity and my workers are too cold to work! I am afraid we have been misled by our military abilities,” he said.

“Ever since the Americans got involved, our lines have simply moved back and forth. We gain little ground. What’s worse, they seem to be draining us of everything. Did you hear that the casualties have now passed one million people?” cried out another man. “That’s not counting thousands of tanks, aircraft, and other vehicles. My factories cannot keep up because we now can’t get the materials we need,” he lamented.

“Borodin has led us down this path. He told us there was no way for this to fail. That is why we supported him. That is why we started this venture. Now we are going down a road to disaster. How do we stop it?” asked another.

“We must be careful. You saw what happened to Rosenko. No one has seen him for a month!” said a man standing by a window keeping a lookout on the street outside.

The others nodded. It had been a rude awakening of what could happen to each of them. “We must find a way to get him out of office. If we could, maybe we could stop this,” said the first man.

“Wait. You must be sure of what you want to do, first. It must be things he cannot see or find out. Let us plan these things carefully and still maintain our supportive relations with the man. Then, when the time is right, we can move together,” said the man in a ruffled suit sitting in the corner. The rest nodded in agreement.

Pavel Velinkov finished taking down what he overheard through the vent leading from a small storeroom to the private dining room the other men were in. He had overheard everything, and it disgusted him. All of this was started just to line to pockets of these men. Placing the notebook inside the lining of his jacket, he grabbed a box of supplies and left the room, unnoticed by anyone. Returning to the kitchen, he went back to cleaning off the stainless steel work spaces so they could be ready for the dinner meal. His mood was sour. Yet, he knew he would be able to do something about it.

Recruited by the Americans years before, he had been able to pass along information concerning business and industry he picked up from the patrons. It had meant having a stash of money he could use to make an occasional purchase or to be ready to leave when the time came. He was single. His parents were dead. There was no one to worry about. As a gay man he was not welcome in Russian society anyway. Tonight he would make the drop and ask to be removed. He could now make a better life somewhere else, away from the corruption in his native land.

Hammond watched the giant table intently. Everything had gone well over the first twelve hours. The southern force in Poland was almost entirely cut off. His plan was to let them wither around Krakow. The central Polish campaign was moving rapidly back toward the Ukrainian and Russian borders. The Black Sea and Sakhalin Island landings had met little resistance and were moving inland. The first air attacks in the Black Sea had been stopped with no casualties.

The German Chancellor was sitting next to him. “This is almost beyond belief,” the Chancellor said. “I had my doubts such things might work, but I can see now what our technology can really do,” he said. “It appears your country has become very efficient in the art of war.”

“Efficient? If you mean we try to find ways to prevent our troops from being killed, that is certainly true. We are the least of the nations wanting to get into conflict, but it seems we are always the one being forced into one. We are constantly being asked to take care of some problem or another. So we must be ready for anything, and we developed an arsenal that has a lot of tools. Since the war started I made sure we used what tools we had to keep the Russians at bay. Our technology was really the only thing we could do to counter the great numbers of men and machines they had. We are in a war of attrition, and that attrition must be on their part,” Hammond said. He pointed to the three dimensional table in front of them. “This is one of the biggest tools. With this, we can see where the enemy is, where they are going and what they are doing all the time. We can stop them before they are able to make their plans work, move out of their way and then hit them where they are the weakest. With our drones, we can hit them night or day with a weapon they have not been able to counter. I am told they are scared to death of the things. Our Predators and other drones harass them day and night, bombing their facilities and strongholds without jeopardizing the life of a pilot. Our stealth technology allows us to now attack with impunity with the greatest chance of getting pilot and plane home, not to mention ships and tanks. Plus there are other weapons we are but just now employing to keep the pressure up. Because of all this our casualties are very light, but the casualties for our enemy are staggering. We estimate he has lost over a million people under arms. They have lost over half their aircraft and most of their fleet. Their armored vehicles and artillery are similarly reduced. With Arctic Wind, we hope to force the Russians to spread their resources too thinly, making it easier and less costly to win this war,” he said.

“I also appreciate your insisting all these assets be made available to all forces. I know our German troops have benefitted greatly from them,” said the Chancellor.

“I don’t want any of the troops under my command to bear more than their share of the burden. The German forces have stepped up magnificently. The close work with the Poles has been an inspiration. All our Allied forces are feeling how close a team we have all formed. I dare say it will make changes in the post war Europe,” said Hammond.

The Chancellor smiled. “We can only hope. I will be talking with President O’Bannon tomorrow on what that post war Europe may look like, especially for the Russians. I’m not sure we need to do any kind of occupation. After the First World War, that occupation made us feel like outcasts. Luckily the second time around we found out what friends the Americans could be. I think we need to be there to help, but keep a hands-off approach. If things keep going as they are, the Russian people may overthrow the government anyway. If we let them do their jobs, kind of like MacArthur did in Japan after the war, things might just turn out all right. Just keep them from doing what happened to us between the wars,” the Chancellor said with a wink. “Russia could become one of our greatest allies.”

“Maybe,” said Hammond, “but after this, things will change. This technology is making the fighting of a war impractical. People die needlessly by remote control. The technology itself will become the ultimate deterrent. In the future, diplomacy will become the most desired way to accomplish a nation’s goals. I may have put people like myself out of a job,” he said.

The Chancellor nodded. “You may be right, but it will take people like you to remind us of how bad it can get and how much we can lose. If we are lucky, maybe people will decide to never fight a war again.”

“One can only hope,” said Hammond. He pointed toward the Black Sea. “The air strikes have begun.”

Once again the carrier decks emptied as aircraft made their way to a number of air facilities within Ukraine and southern Russia. The goal was to make them unusable in the coming days and weeks. The aircraft rose into the night sky and made their way unhindered by Russian aircraft. Although the Russian radars were operating, no alerts were issued. Most of the coastal airfields had already been hit by the battleships and Farragut destroyers. This left the airfields deep in the frontier. There were a lot of them. Even the abandoned ones from the cold war were hit just to make sure they could not be used as a backup.

It took only six hours. The aircraft swooped in and hit their targets while the people on the ground slept. They awoke feeling the earth tremble and hearing the sounds of bombs exploding in their ears. The men dashed to their stations only to find fuel depots burning, planes shredded and the runways marked with great holes. Missile defense batteries had been strafed by the fighters. The only thing they could do was try and put out the flames.

At the main Black Sea air base near Gvardeyskoye a number of aircraft were making their approach. They were replacements for the aircraft lost the previous day. The American aviators were surprised to see the base lit up and the runway lights on. It made it easier to do their jobs. Using their infrared optics and the link to avoid the incoming aircraft, they simply lined up ahead of the others and dropped their weapons. The Russian pilots panicked as they saw the base disintegrate before their eyes. Several banked away only to strike other planes in their formation. After dropping their weapons, the Americans turned and circled in behind the Russians, still trying to figure out what to do. Heat seeking missiles filled the air, downing thirty aircraft. By the time the Russian air controllers got in control, the Americans were already long gone.

***

The battleship Wisconsin turned her guns to starboard. She was within five miles of the coastal city of Vinogradar with its large airport. Using only the link and the few navigation points it could see, the navigator had plotted the ship’s exact position. The airport was conveniently identified on the chart they had. Down below, the gun crews had already loaded the general purpose rounds and backed them with the six 110 pound bags of powder. When all was ready, the captain ordered batteries released.

The night sky was lit from the flames of nine 16-inch guns disgorging their lethal cargoes. The shells took only a few seconds to reach their target.

The men and women in the airport control tower saw the flash of the guns and started to call out an alert when the shells began exploding along the tarmac in front of them. Three airliners began to burn as the shrapnel tore through the light aluminum skin and punctured their fuel tanks. The second volley came just over 30 seconds later as more shells struck the runways. In the moonlight between the salvoes the controllers could see gaping holes appearing in four different places down the runway and also along the snow covered taxiways. The dust and smoke began to fill the still night air as more shells rained down. The bombardment lasted twenty minutes. By the time the ship moved away, there was little left of the once fine airport except burning planes and cratered fields.

The destroyers concentrated their fire on the military airfield in Krymsk. Although only 22 miles away, and within range of the battleship’s guns, the Farraguts would handle this one. In the gun house, a gunner loaded the dart and its case into the electromagnetic rail gun. It was a dart about three inches in diameter made of stainless steel. Once fired, the case would fall away leaving the dart to make the journey to the target. There were no propellants to fire the round. The immense electromagnetic surge would propel the dart out of the gun at above Mach 7. There were four such guns on each ship and there were four ships in a line. On each ship, the guns elevated and fired. It was interesting to the gunners that there was actually a flame as the dart left the gun. The intense plasma generated did that. Only a few seconds later the guns fired again. Like in Vinogradar, the night crews were inside their hangars trying to repair damaged aircraft for a sortie that morning. No alarm was sounded. Suddenly one of the hangars nearly disintegrated as four of the darts struck the roof, went through, then hit the concrete floor. The kinetic energy of being hit by something going Mach 7 shattered the concrete and caused the roof to collapse on top of the men and equipment inside. The second volley struck the hangar next to the first. Controllers sounded the alarm just before one of the darts struck the base of the tower, knocking the entire tower to the ground. Like the battleship, the darts hitting the runway dug gigantic holes leaving the airport unusable. One of the darts struck one of the large cargo planes on the ramp. It went through the aircraft causing it to split apart, vaporizing the fuel in a tank and setting it alight before the ground under it appeared to lift the aircraft up and drop it like a toy.

After five minutes, the Farraguts ceased fire and moved on to other targets. There were several more airports and army facilities to hit before the night was over.

Captain Anton Suvorov was not happy. He and the Black Sea Fleet had been ordered to attack the Americans on the coast of Georgia. They had been given no exact coordinates just a general area. They were to attack the enemy fleet with their cruise missiles then return home. Then he learned that the fleet included several aircraft carriers. There wouldn’t be enough missiles in the fleet to stop all of them. Admiral Vladimir Kosygin had proclaimed to the crew they were going to lead the glorious attack on the Americans who dared to enter the Black Sea. He promised a great victory. Suvorov knew it was all bluster, as did most of the crew, but they had to do their duty. He was surprised they had made it this far across the Black Sea. Still, the Pyotr Velikiy was a good ship. Nuclear powered and armored more heavily than any other ship in the Russian navy there was a chance of getting back home alive. He held onto that chance.

Admiral Kosygin stepped onto the bridge. Even in the dim moonlight Suvorov could see he was in his dress uniform. He wondered who he was trying to impress.

“How long until we reach our launch position, Captain?” Kosygin asked.

Suvorov looked at his watch. “Another two hours, Admiral,” he said. “We will still be too far away for radar detection, but based on our intelligence, the bulk of the invading fleet is still off of Poti. A wide pattern should allow our missiles to locate the ships with their radars and

successfully make their attack. Between all of our force, we should have over fifty missiles to do the job.”

The admiral nodded. “That is very good. Also do not forget our small missile boats. They will continue until they too are in range. Between the two forces, things should work out nicely,” he said.

“I am still concerned about the aircraft carriers that were reported. I am surprised they have not attacked as yet,” said Suvorov.

“Be at peace, Captain. I have received word they are currently attacking some of our air bases. It is possible they do not even know we are at sea. Besides, this is the largest ship in our surface fleet. It is more heavily armed than any other ship, including the Americans. We do not have to worry.”

“But what of their battleships? If they came as well…”

“Our missiles would blow them out of the water. They do not call this ship a battlecruiser for nothing. Let us hear no more about it,” the Admiral said. “I will be in my cabin if you need me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Suvorov. He didn’t believe that blustering fool at all. Missiles like his had struck one three times during their Korean conflict and didn’t much more than scratch the paint. He prayed that those ships were nowhere near the Black Sea.

Captain Rhodes sat back in his chair. The waiting game the Admiral was playing was testing his nerves. Already all eight of the ship’s boilers were on line and ready for anything that might come. All he needed now was to receive an order to strike. He glanced at his watch. It was 0500. Something would be happening very soon.

“Admiral, you wanted to be up by five,” said the watch officer.

A groggy Admiral Chris Hustvedt grunted out a ‘thank you,” before rubbing his eyes and putting his shirt back on. He had slept in his pants so that he could be up and ready in case anything had happened. Rubbing his chin he decided to go over his face with a razor first. He walked to his private head and switched his electric razor on running it over his face and getting the worst off before splashing some water on his face to clean up. He grabbed his cover and exited the cabin, going only a few yards to the entrance to flag plot. He was surprised at how rested he felt after only four hours of sleep. “Have they launched yet?” he asked the watch officer.

“Not yet, Admiral. They came within range an hour ago, so I guess they are just making sure,” the commander said.

Hustvedt nodded. “That’s what I’d do. They probably don’t trust their systems that well. Are the helos in place?”

“Yes, sir. They are on station sixty miles south of the formation waiting for the word.”

“Good. Now I guess it’s just a waiting game,” said Hustvedt as he reached for a coffee mug to pour himself a cup.

Lieutenant Commander Jeffers entered the room. He had gotten only two hours in the sack before he got the call. The bags under his eyes told the tale. Hustvedt looked over at him and handed over the mug of coffee. “You look like you could use this more than I could,” he said with a slight smile.

Jeffers took the mug. “I usually don’t drink much coffee, but today I feel like I could handle a gallon,” he said as he added some sugar and creamer. “I take it we’re still waiting.”

The watch officer nodded and everyone took a seat in front of the large screen display showing everything on the link. The night before had been busy. Over twenty airfields and other installations had been hit virtually ending any air attacks on the invasion forces. Richardson was already seventy miles inland and the Turks and paratroopers had begun advancing north to meet her. Once they joined up, all supplies would come through Turkey.

Hustvedt had been surprised at how swiftly things had gone. Intelligence had thought there were more troops in the south, but that had been wrong. After today, there might be nothing left around the Black Sea. But today would make the difference. They knew there would be a missile attack. Everyone was ready for it. He might get some criticism for letting it happen and not attacking with carrier aircraft, but he needed to take out the air bases first. Besides, he had plans for the Kirov and her battle group.

“Commence firing,” ordered Captain Suvorov. One by one, the missile hatches opened on the foredeck of the ship and with a surge of flame, the missiles climbed into the sky and tilted toward the American Fleet.

After all but two of the missiles had left their tubes the admiral turned to Suvorov. “Excellent, Captain. Have the other ships launched as well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take us home. I am sure we will be welcomed as heroes,” the admiral said. “Send to the patrol boats to continue ahead and launch when ready,” he ordered.

“Signal our escorts to come port to a course of 300. Order twenty five knots. Let’s go home,” he said to his crew with a smile.

Immediately the orders were relayed to a relieved crew and the ships turned together to head home. Only several small missile boats continued ahead.

Captain Rhodes was sitting in his chair on the bridge when the communications officer rushed in. “Captain, you need to read this,” he said.

A sheet of paper was thrust into Rhodes’ hands. The message was from Hustvedt. It had only three words, “Sink the Kirov.”

“My God,” he almost whispered as he re-read the message. He punched the bitch box. “Captain to Strike, where is the Kirov?” he nearly shouted.

“Captain, the Kirov bears 120 at a range of about seventy miles,” came the reply.

He hit a different button. “Sigs, Bridge, signal our escorts, immediate execute, turn starboard 120,” he ordered. “Let me know when they acknowledge.”

He hit a different button again. “Main Control, Bridge. Let me speak to the Chief Engineer.”

“Cheng here Captain.”

“Dan, I am going to ring up flank speed. I want everything the ship’s got. Take it to the limit and then add some. You got that?”

Down in Main Control, Captain Dan Kimberlain blinked. “All of it, Captain?”

“Yea, Dan. We’re going to take on the battlecruiser.”

A smile came to Kimberlain’s face. “Then you’ll have it all, Captain.”

“Thanks, Dan,” said Rhodes.

“Sir, the signal’s acknowledged,” came a report from one of the signalmen.

“Very well. Execute the signal. OOD, come right to 120. Order up flank speed with 999 for maneuvering combinations,” ordered Rhodes from his seat.

The men on the bridge began issuing orders as Rhodes called the signal bridge again. “Sigs, signal the others we are going to flank speed and to keep up as best they can.”

Down in Main Control, Captain Kimberlain picked up the announcing system mike. “Okay guys we are to put it all on the line. I want everything the old lady has. Take her to thirty three to start with,” he said calmly. He turned to the throttleman. “Open her up,” he said.

The men began turning the large throttle wheel and watched as the pressure gages showed an increase in pressure as the throttle allowed more steam to pass into the high pressure turbine and on to the low pressure turbine. The shafts immediately began to spin more rapidly as the 212,000 horsepower engines thrust the great ship forward.

On the fantail, the after lookout felt the deck begin to tremble as the four huge screws bit into the water and threw it back. The ship’s wake became a bright white, boiling foam as the ship picked up speed. Down in the messdecks, the noise almost drown out shouted conversations. People could feel the screws racing beneath them.

On the bridge, Rhodes picked up the microphone for the 1MC. “This is the Captain. We have our orders. Iowa is to sink the Kirov battlecruiser. We will be going to general quarters in fifteen minutes. From this point on, everyone should keep within the skin of the ship if at all possible. Keep safe but get the job done. Remember, this is what Iowa was built to do. Let’s show them what a real battleship is capable of. Good luck,” he said before placing the microphone back in its holder.

Almost as a natural reaction to the news, the crew went to their battle stations even before the alarm was sounded. Everyone checked their gear and laid out what was necessary to fight a pitched battle at sea. Ten decks above main deck, Master Chief Skelly opened the hatch into spot one to find his fire control crew already in position. He climbed into his seat and began lining up the circuits linking the director to the Ford Rangekeeper far below. “No radar this time, guys,” he said. “We’re gonna have to find the bad guys with our eyes.”

In Main Battery Plot the fire control team readied the Ford Rangekeeper for its job. Circuits were activated and a team of people began twisting the brass butterfly switches to accept a signal from the director and to send the computer generated signal to the three turrets. Spot One would be the first to see them. The enemy was nowhere near in range, but it didn’t matter. When they came in sight, everything would be ready.

In the magazines, the crews began unloading the metal canisters holding the 110 lb. bags of powder and placing the bags in a line along a brass trough where they could be slid down to the end for loading through the passing scuttles into the annular space and then again into the turret.

Inside the turrets on the projectile decks, the crews used the parbuckling gear to move the giant projectiles into the three hoists so that they were ready to be loaded into the breeches of the guns. They already knew that the first rounds would be general purpose rounds. The green painted rounds only weighed 1,900 pounds. But off to the side were black ones. They were the 2,700 pound armor piercing rounds. Although they doubted anything they might come up against would need them, they were always available.

When general quarters finally sounded, the ready reports came almost instantly. Rhodes grinned. His ship and crew were ready.

The after lookout had to move to a position just above turret three. The stern of the ship had dipped so low that water was now cascading across the teak deck enough to possibly cause someone to fall and go over the side. Down in Main Control the engineers were watching the torque gauges. The thrust bearing end was already one and a half revolutions ahead of the screws, yet the old girl had more to give. Kimberlain ordered another revolution of the throttle. Once again, the pressure gauges went up and the shafts turned faster. According to the pit log they were doing 35 knots.

Hammond sat on the edge of his seat. Someone had said the Iowa was turning. He zoomed in the large display to see only the two battle groups. Now Iowa and the Kirov were headed straight for each other. He saw the speed display inch upward. “He’s going to do it,” Hammond said to no one in particular.

The German Chancellor looked over at him. “Do what?”

Hammond was almost beside himself. He had a look of complete satisfaction on his face. “The Iowa is going to take on the Russian battle group. I wish I was there with them.”

“But there are only three ships in the Iowa group. There are seven in the other,” the Chancellor exclaimed.

“I know. But they can do it,” Hammond said confidently. He turned to the watch officer. “Send to the Iowa via the link, good hunting, Hammond.”

Sir Richard burst into the room and rushed over to the two men. “I just heard. Wouldn’t miss this for the world. How soon will they meet,” he asked.

“About an hour. They are closing right now at about sixty knots,” said Hammond.

“Sixty? The Kirov can’t do much more than twenty five!”

Hammond chuckled. “I would venture Dan Kimberlain is down in his hole right now turning those shafts through force of will,” he said.

The incoming cruise missiles turned on their radars about one hundred miles from where they expected their target. At first, they saw nothing at all. The first one, then another target showed up on their radars about twenty degrees from where they had been aimed. The missiles turned toward their targets.

Hustvedt watched as the missiles tracked in. All of his ships were ready but had kept their cloaks on. He saw the missiles make a turn towards their targets. The missiles began dropping down to just 100 feet above the sea to skim in at a lower level. Their speed was supersonic. He turned to his watch officer. “Tell them to resume cloak and get the hell out of there,” he said.

Sixty miles to the south, eight Seahawk helicopters switched their cloaks back on and began moving quickly back to their ships with the rest of the invasion force. Within two minutes the cruise missiles screamed past their position and headed into southern Georgia. One by one they ran out of fuel and crashed in a large explosion in the mountains near Zoti.

“We have a contact,” Skelly almost screamed into the sound powered phones. After an hour of searching along the bearing through his optics he finally saw what looked like a Top Pair radar antenna in the viewfinder. Within a second they had determined the range. “Target bears 122 at 60,000 yards.”

“It’s still too far for the machine,” said one of the fire control technicians.

“That’s okay,” said the Weapons Officer. “Now that we have him, he can’t get away.”

The range closed rapidly. Within ten minutes the data was entered into the Ford Rangekeeper and the computer began generating a solution for the guns. On deck, warning bells began sounding as the giant turrets began rotating along their roller paths to point toward their target.

In the turrets, the men heard the order, “All turrets, nine gun salvo, load.”

Immediately the projectiles rose from the projectile decks and were in position inside the gun house. The powders rose from the bottom of the turret in their elevators. The breeches opened and the ramps were lowered into place. First, the projectile was shoved by the rammers into the open breech to mesh with the rifling in the gun barrel. The rammer was retracted and the door for the powders opened. The first three and then a second set of three bags of powder rolled down into the tray and were more slowly rammed into the breech behind the projectile. Behind the gun, a primerman inserted a primer into the breech block and stood back. When the powders were in position, the rammer retracted, the ramps were pulled back, and the breech was closed and sealed. The guns elevated almost to a full 45 degrees.

“One one two, forty thousand yards,” reported Skelly.

“Set!” shouted an officer in Main Battery Plot. The computer was generating an accurate solution, keeping up with the pace of both the target and own ship.

The Weapons Officer pressed the button on the bitch box. “Bridge, main plot. Weapons are on target, plot is set. Request batteries released.”

Rhodes leaned over and pressed the button. “Weaps this is the Captain. You have batteries released at 38,000 yards.” He then ordered a slight left turn to unmask all the guns.

Everyone below watched as the dials spun down on the Rangekeeper. When they passed 38,000 yards, the Weapons Officer personally squeezed the trigger.

The guns roared to life sending a flame high into the air. The projectiles took a minute to get to their target. During that time a second salve was fired.

There was a sound of tearing linen just before nine rounds struck the sea on the starboard side of the ship some fifty yards away. The sound of the rounds going off shook the ship as water rose a good 100 feet above the waves.

“What was that?” screamed Admiral Kosygin.

Suvorov stared out the bridge windows in amazement. His worst fears had just come true. He turned in a rage to the admiral. “They are the shells of an American battleship, you idiot,” he yelled. “Where are they coming from?” he asked his deck officer.

“We don’t know, Captain. There is nothing on the radar.”

“Order the others to escape as best they can,” ordered the admiral.

Skelly saw the rounds fall fifty yards to the right of the target. He called down to the plot. “Right five, no change in range. Fire for effect,” he called out.

In Main Battery Plot the corrections were entered into the Rangekeeper just before the third salve fired.

Rhodes ordered Spot two to shift to the Slava class cruiser Moskva. Turret three shifted to that target and opened fire.

The second salvo was also on the right side of the ship. “I need to know where these rounds are coming from,” he yelled to his radar operators.

“There isn’t anything there, Captain!” came the reply.

A lookout called into the pilot house. “Sir, I have something on the horizon dead ahead!”

Suvorov grabbed his binoculars and stared ahead. Just on the horizon was a smudge of something. It suddenly lit up.

“Fire the remaining two missiles on a bearing of 202,” Suvorov shouted.

The last two remaining antiship missiles belched out of their vertical launch cells. Once in the air, they turned to the prescribed bearing and dove to just one hundred feet above the water. Both headed toward Iowa.

Suvarov watched the missiles leave the ship and hoped he could get away from the bombardment. He began giving orders to turn the ship. Almost immediately a sixteen inch round struck the bridge of the ship, traveling twenty feet into the structure before exploding. It ripped off the bridge and she ship’s radar control room as well as starting a fire in two anti-air missile magazines. A second shell struck the now empty SS-N-19 missile launchers, tearing through the empty cells and exploding just over the keel. The ship buckled and appeared to bend just forward of the bridge.

“Incoming missiles!” shouted the phone talker.

Rhodes looked down at the cloaking system and saw the green light. There wasn’t much more he could do but hold on. Coming at over Mach one, the missiles seemed to be headed straight for the ship. Rhodes grabbed the 1MC mike and shouted, “Missiles inbound. All hands brace for impact.”

The first missile streaked in and flew just over the after stack, still seeking a target. The second missile flew a little lower and looked like it would hit the bridge. Instead, it flew above them, a fin clipping one of the radio antennas, sending the missile spinning down into the sea. The explosion on impact shook the whole ship. The radio antenna snapped off just five feet above its base and fell over onto turret two.

The men stood up from their slightly protected positions and looked out. Almost to a man they let out a “Whew!”

The guns fired again without missing a beat.

Misha Slovatin had been assigned duties in the emergency steering compartment of the ship. He and the four others in the space were sweating from the hot hydraulic pumps and rams turning the giant rudders on the ship. The first round had caused the ship to shudder, but the lights were still on and the ship was still moving. The second hit picked them up and flung them down. The lights still burned, but they could feel the ship slowing.

A third hit put the lights out for good. The pumps stopped and everything got quiet. Even the ventilation quit working. The emergency lights came on and the senior petty officer looked at the others. “Grab the survival gear and let’s get out. There’s nothing we can do now,” he said slowly.

The men began making their way up the ladders to the stern of the ship.

The third round had struck the ship amidships and hit the reactor containment vessel. It was armored, but not enough. The vessel tore from its mountings and was forced partially through the bottom of the ship. The reactor split open releasing radioactive steam from its primary loop.

It was a lucky shot. The Moskva was struck on the first salvo. The sixteen inch round penetrated down into the engine room amidships before going off. Flames and debris rose high into the air and the ship lifted up in the middle and settled back down. A second round struck an anti-air missile magazine. The ship erupted as the magazine detonated all at once. When the smoke settled, there was nothing left of her to be seen.

Slovatin and his mates made it through the ship to a hatch on the stern. The ship was beginning to list to port. Great geysers of water were being flung into the air around the ship as more rounds came in. Fire was pouring from somewhere forward and smaller explosions were felt and heard. Crewmen were running all over trying to escape the carnage. They saw huge clouds of steam rising from a gaping hole amidships and being blown forward, so they ran to a life raft canister just forward of the stern. It took all four of them to shove it over the side. They were gratified to see the capsule pop open and the raft inflate in the water. They were getting ready to go in when the fourth sixteen- inch round hit the gun mount one deck up from where they were standing. Misha felt himself being flung through the air before he lost consciousness.

The Iowa slowed and watched as the huge ship began to sink. The cruiser and the Freedom had launched missiles toward the other ships. Several were reported sinking. Rhodes looked out over the water and gave a sad look at the doomed ship. He could see men scrambling all over the ship trying to push life rafts into the water. Unfortunately, most of the rafts were amidships and not reachable because of the steam and flames. He turned to the OOD. “Cease fire. Get hold of the deck department. I want some utility boats in the water to help pick these men up. This just turned into a rescue mission,” he said. Turning around he saw Father Danner standing behind him. “Father, I need you to get to the fantail and coordinate the efforts to get all those men aboard,” he said pointing toward the stricken ship. “Can you do that for me?”

Danner’s face broke into a grin. “No problem, Captain. Can we set up the messdecks as a holding station?”

Rhodes nodded. “Whatever you need. Just make it quick. We might have company.”

“On the way,” Danner said as he left the bridge and began making his way back aft.

Upon reaching the fantail Danner found Boats Patnaude already working with a crew to launch one of the 40 foot utility boats. Looking to starboard the Pyotr Velikiy was still two miles distant, but he could hear the moaning of the hull, the crackling flames and distant yells as the ship began breaking apart. Danner watched as it slowly turned over to port until the radar antennas touched the water and kept going. The forward part of the ship seemed to break off from the rest and sank rapidly. The after part of the ship clung to the surface for a while. There was a large piece of rounded steel sticking partly out of the bottom. It was glowing red hot.

The forward part of the remaining hulk rapidly dipped below the surface and began carrying the rest with it. The last thing the men on deck saw was two large screws and rudders glistening in the sunlight before they too descended under the surface in a wash of foam and bubbles. The sea surrounding the ship was littered with men trying to get aboard the life rafts which were now popping to the surface after coming loose from their cradles on the ship.

The Iowa got closer and a boat was launched. Danner told the men to try and help pick up as many survivors as they could. The water temperature was only about 40 degrees. People would freeze to death in minutes.

The boat shoved off and eased into the mass of bobbing sailors. The crewmen started helping them onboard. A second boat was launched and moved further into the floating mass. When one boat filled, it latched onto some already filled life rafts and towed them back to the Iowa.

Misha Slovatin regained consciousness to see the side of a ship just beside the raft. A set of hands grabbed him and he felt himself being hoisted out of the raft and onto a big ship. Something was funny. The uniforms were different. One of the men spoke to him in English — something he learned in school. Then it dawned on him that this was an American ship. A smiling officer with a cross on his collar looked him over and told some sailors to get him below. He went down some steel stairs and found himself in a brightly lit space that was warm. He was given a towel to dry off with and he was ushered to a corner just to stay out of the way. In a few minutes, a man came by and gave him a mug of soup. After a few sips he began to shake as the cold let go of him and he began to warm up. A young man came over and looked at a bump on his head. After a moment the young man looked at him and said, “You’ll be okay. Just rest here for a while until we can find a place to let you lie down.”

Remembering his English, Misha stammered out, “Thank you.” The guy gave him a wink and went to the next man. Looking around Misha saw that the large room was now filled with Russian sailors.

The old air base hadn’t been used in over thirty years. But when all the other bases had been hit, Major Vasilev had landed his flight of ten Sukhoi SU-25 bombers on the old runway and taxied over to the dilapidated hangars. His orders had been to rush down and attack American ships making the landings in Georgia, but the bases he was supposed to go to were nothing but rubble now. The hangars on the abandoned base weren’t usable, so the aircraft had to sit on the grass choked concrete pads just outside.

There were no telephones at the facility and he had to walk half a mile to an old house where the phones worked. Despite the urgency, it had taken hours for the trucks to arrive to refuel and restart the aircraft, but now they were ready. The word had come from the Naval Headquarters that American ships were attacking the Black Sea Fleet. It gave a latitude and longitude.

Vasilev climbed into his plane and watched as the others did the same. They probably wouldn’t come back from this, but it was their duty. Going against the Americans with just bombs was simply not a good idea. The SU-25 was more suited for a ground attack role, although these had been modified to land on a carrier. His flight carried only general purpose 250 pound bombs.

The ground crews hooked up the power units and the aircraft were spooled up. Vasilev signaled for the others to follow and he began to taxi to the end of the old airfield. He hoped it was even enough for them to take off. He pressed his throttles to the maximum and his aircraft bound down the runway, bumping over potholes and other obstacles until it clawed into the air. In just two minutes he was gratified to see all of his flight take formation around him. They turned toward the reported fighting.

Despite the sinking there were hundreds in the water. Some had made it into rafts while others desperately tried making their way to the boats in the near freezing water. Onboard the Iowa, the crew worked desperately to get as many of the sailors onboard and comfortable as they could. Danner’s instructions were to get the most seriously injured below to the after messdecks for triage and let the others go to the forward messdecks and Chief’s mess. The officers were sent to the wardroom where they could rest. No one was questioned about anything, but the crewmen were surprised that so many of the sailors seemed relieved to be “captured” and out of the war.

The ship’s cooks had already left their stations to prepare hot soup and sandwiches for the Russians. Blankets were stripped off the engineering racks below to help them stay warm and dry off. The Russian uniforms were made of wool, which did not lend them to being put in a drier. The sailors were told to get out of their uniforms and keep warm in the blankets while the laundry tried to “cool dry” the uniforms.

Doc Dickerson and his team took the worst of the injured to sick bay. Burns were given first priority. Other injuries, such as deep lacerations were next. Soon sick bay was full and the wardroom was switched to a battle dressing station for the less seriously injured. Everyone pitched in.

Vasilev watched his radar to see any ships below. There was nothing. Flying at 10,000 feet, the gray daylight made the sea look dark and cold. With nothing on his screens, he wondered at the directions he had been given. Calls to his controllers repeated the same instructions and the same position. If he didn’t find them soon, he might have to return to base. He was definitely not going to ditch in that sea.

The Link showed the slower moving aircraft coming close. With the ship stopped, Rhodes hoped they would not be seen. The cloak could do wonders, but it didn’t make them invisible to someone looking at them. Luckily, from the air, it was usually a wake that caught a pilot’s attention. Right now, Iowa was sitting still. Only the utility boats were moving. “How’s it going back aft?” Rhodes asked one of the watch standers.

In a minute the word came back. “Only about half so far, Captain.”

Rhodes nodded. “Tell them there are some aircraft in the area. Hurry it up,” he said.

“Aye, sir.”

On the fantail, Father Danner had his hands full. There were more than he had expected. Urging his team on, they continued helping the injured down the ladders into the messdecks area.

It was a fluke. A shaft of the sun shone down on the water through the grey clouds and Vasilev saw something. Picking up his binoculars, he stared at the area of the sea. There appeared to be a large ship stopped. What’s more, there were boats in the water around yellow life rafts. There was no doubt the ship was an American and that they were picking up survivors of another ship. He keyed his radio.

“This is vulture flight. I have a large American ship that looks to be picking up Russian survivors in the water. I see yellow life rafts that match the ones we use. They appear to be rescuing them, over,” he reported.

“Vulture flight, attack that ship and sink it, over,” came the reply.

“This is vulture leader, I say again, they are helping rescue Russian sailors. If we attack, we will be killing our own people, over,”

A different voice came on the line. “This is Admiral Kratich. Vulture leader, you have your orders. I do not care what they are doing. That ship must be sunk! Now carry out your orders,” he said.

“I understand, Admiral, but you realize we are only carrying small bombs. They will not be able to sink this size ship, over.”

“Quit wasting time! If you cannot sink it, then damage it so we may finish the job later. Do your job!”

“Vulture leader, roger,” Vasiley said in disgust. He shook his head. How could the man order them to kill their own people? There was no reasoning. He motioned for his people to follow him as he turned toward the giant ship.

Rhodes saw the turn towards them. He punched the bitch box. “Bridge, Strike. All ahead flank! Get us underway fast. Those planes just turned toward us.” Then he grabbed the 1MC mike. “Incoming aircraft, clear the decks!” he called out as the ship began to move.

Down below, the directors turned toward the aircraft and turned on their radars. Using their optics, the five inch mounts began unloading shells at an alarming rate to attempt to stop the Russian pilots. The radars could not be used with the cloak, but their signal might trigger the ‘VT’ fuses on the projectiles when they got near an aircraft. In secondary plot, the old computers could not generate a solution for these aircraft. They were much faster than what the Rangefinder was designed for. It made no difference. The mounts were shooting under local control.

On the fantail, Danner heard the announcement. He leaned over the side and got the attention of the boatswain’s mate in the utility boat. “Get away from the ship and save as many as you can! We’ll come back once this is over,” he yelled over the guns.

The Boatswain waved up to him and turned his utility boat away from the ship. Looking back, he saw Danner raise his hand in the sign of the cross and looked like he said a short prayer before turning back to the others.

Danner turned toward Boats Patnaude. “Boats we got to get these people to safety if we can.”

“Too many. Let’s get as many as we can between the aft superstructure and turret three. At least there we can give them some protection. We can put some in the after passageways,” Patnaude shouted.

The Iowa crew helped the sailors get off the fantail. With the sudden vibration of the screws, the Russian sailors didn’t need coaxing. Someone closed the hatch leading below as the ship turned sharply.

“The deck is full of our people,” cried one of the pilots. Vasiley felt awful. Nothing prepared him for this. “I know. First section, follow me down,” he ordered.

Vasiley pushed over into a shallow dive. The great ship was moving, trying to maneuver away. He intentionally dipped slightly so that his bomb would strike the water on the side of the ship away from the rafts and boats. When he pulled up and away, he saw the explosion a good twenty yards from the ship. He could always blame his miss on the ship’s maneuvering. The second aircraft did the same. Not so the third.

The first two bombs went off with a deafening roar, sending showers of seawater cascading over the deck and causing the men to dive for what cover they could. The third hit the deckhouse just aft of turret three, blasting the small metal structure to pieces and sending bits of metal and teak flying.

Danner had thrown himself over two of the sailors still on the fantail. He felt something burn into his buttocks. Damn, he thought. Leave it to the priest to get shot in the ass. After another explosion in the water, he got to his feet and got the sailors moving again. Unfortunately, there were a number of people not moving. Despite his wound, Danner tried to get to the men on deck.

The after hatch sprung open again and people climbed out to help. Danner made his way, one by one, calling attention to those still alive. He came upon one young man propped up against the turret three barbette. He waved at Danner as he approached.

Danner looked down at the young man. He was still in his battle gear, but there was a pool of blood under him. The name ‘Flannigan’ was on his uniform. “We need to get you inside, Flannigan,” he said cheerfully as he reached for him.

The boy stopped him. “Father, don’t touch me. I can’t feel my legs. I think my back is broken,” he said.

Danner smiled at him. “Then we need to save the rest of you,” he said. “I’ll help get you down below,” he said as he removed the boy’s helmet.

Someone yelled to Danner, “There’s more incoming! Father Danner, you need to get below!”

“I’ll be okay,” Danner yelled back. He turned to the boy again and reached down to pick him up.

Once again, the boy stopped him. “Father Danner, please, it hurts so bad when I try to move. Besides, you need to get the rest of these people out of here,” he said. Flannigan looked up at Danner. A trickle of blood came from his lips. “Father, I haven’t been to Mass in a long time. Matter of fact, I guess you’d say I’ve not been such a saintly guy lately. Is it too late for me?” he asked with sincerity. There were almost tears in his eyes.

Danner smiled down at the boy. “Nah, it’s never too late.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small kit. Opening it, he pulled out a stole, kissed it, and placed the purple side up over his neck. Taking out a small bottle of Holy Oil, he clumsily wet his thumb with it before making a thick sign of the cross on the young man’s forehead. There were more tears in the boy’s eyes now as Danner patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let us pray.”

The second flight of planes began their run. By now, the ship was doing nearly twenty knots and maneuvering radically. Once again, two of the bombs missed. The third struck the side of turret three doing nothing to the turret but showering the area with shrapnel.

The final flight was making its run when they exploded in midair. The bridge crew looked out to see Royal Navy Lightnings zoom overhead. Calling a cease fire, the bridge crew saw the lead fighter wag its wings at them as it circled by. Rhodes appeared on the bridge to see the spectacle.

“They are from the HMS Queen Elizabeth,” Rhodes said. “Thank God for the British. Now let’s get back to pick up the rest of our people,” he ordered.

They stopped as they heard an explosion through the hull of the ship. It wasn’t close, but a far-away sounding noise. One of the lookouts shouted, “Explosion in the water bearing 297 degrees!”

Everyone on the bridge peered at the area with their binoculars. Several saw a froth in the water where something had just happened. It appeared to be around five miles away.

“Sir, there’s a submarine surfacing on our port side!” shouted another lookout.

Rhodes saw the black shape of a conning tower rise slowly above the surface of the water. It was only a few hundred yards away and Rhodes was about to have his secondary battery open up on it when he saw the flashing light from the small shape. He could hear signalmen rushing across the deck above and the clatter of the signal light shutters. In just a minute the signalman rushed down to Rhodes and handed him the hand written message.

Rhodes looked at the message and then at the submarine. There was a man waving from the conning station. Rhodes raised his hand in salute. He called the signalman over. Gathering a blank pad, he wrote:

The signalmen murmured “Cool,” then rushed to his signal lamp and snapped out the message. Rhodes then picked up the 1MC mike and pressed the button. “This is the Captain, speaking. For those who want to see our offspring, USS Iowa, SSN-797, is cruising off our port side. That explosion you heard was her taking out a Russian sub trying to get to us. Why don’t you come up and say hello.”

The doors and hatches on the port side of the ship opened and men began coming out to have a look. They waved at the small black shape as it moved along the side of the ship. The men on top waved back franticly.

In the middle of the celebration, one of the phone talkers called out. “Captain, the Damage Control Assistant says you need to get to the fantail. He says it’s urgent,” the young man reported.

“On my way,” said Rhodes as he turned to make his way aft.

Rhodes walked out of the after hatch on the port side and saw a small crowd beside the turret three barbette. The crowd was quiet and parted as he approached. Some appeared to be crying.

Lying at the base of turret three were the bodies of Father Danner and Seaman Flannigan. The bomb blast had gone off nearby and had slammed Danner over onto Flannigan. They lay just inches apart. The look on both faces was one of peaceful contentment. Danner’s right arm was flung over the boy. The purple stole had been blown partially off his shoulders and was draped over both men. The sign of the cross on Flannigan’s forehead was caked with dust, and the mirror image of the same sign was also on Danner’s forehead. The bomb had slammed their heads together in this one act of grace.

Rhodes looked down at his priest. He got down on his knee and said a prayer. The others joined him. After a moment, he stood and turned to the Damage Control Assistant. “Leave them be,” he said. “Take care of the others first. Let the good Father remain with the young man he saved.” That was when he noticed Flannigan’s hair through the dust. A slight smile crossed his face. “Thank God for the redheads,” he mumbled before turning and heading aft toward where Patnaude was waving him over.

The Iowa slowed as she neared the small flotilla of boats and rafts. As she came to a stop, Rhodes was amazed. The boats and rafts were filled with men. He waved to them and amazingly most of the men waved back.

As one of the utility boats neared the accommodation ladder, Rhodes called down, “Did you get them all?”

The Boatswain smiled and yelled back, “Every last one, Captain,”

Rhodes gave a thumbs up and then looked down at the upturned faces. He could see the relief and appreciation for being rescued. He called back, “How many bodies do you think we need to retrieve?”

The Boatswain gave him a puzzled look. “Haven’t seen any, Captain. We went all round the area and everyone we saw we picked up,” he said.

Doc Dickerson heard the exchange and came over. “That can’t be, Captain. This water is around forty degrees. A man can’t survive more than a couple of minutes without some sort of protection. These guys are in wool uniforms,” he said.

“Maybe they sank,” Patnaude offered.

“No, they would still float for hours,” said Rhodes. “Get these guys aboard and send the boat to check again,” he said.

It took another two hours, but in the end, no bodies were found floating on the sea. That is when Captain Rhodes realized he had just witnessed a miracle.

Major Vasiley led the remaining three aircraft back home. They hadn’t seen the other aircraft come in and there was not much they could do about it. Instead, he had pressed his throttles to the limit and headed home.

He had watched as the bombs appeared to kill many of the people on the deck. He cursed his superiors with each breath. This was not what he had joined the military service for. He still had some notion of right and wrong in how a war should be fought. This was definitely wrong. Something had to be done. The question was what it would be.

“The Iowa group is back underway. The Iowa sank the Kirov and the Moskva. The Port Royal and Freedom sank another destroyer and two frigates. Iowa was struck twice with little damage. She currently has over four hundred Russian crewmen aboard that they rescued. The Port Royal has another seventy and the Freedom fifty seven. Too bad they were a little too far away to help the Iowa, but it turned out alright,” said the briefer.

“So for all intents and purposes, the Black sea Fleet no longer exists,” said Hammond.

“Pretty much. They have some patrol boats and such, but nothing major,” the briefer said.

Hammond sat back and let out a long breath. “I was expecting far worse from them. Using the helicopters for decoys was brilliant. Where are the missile boats now,” he asked.

“They are loitering around about 150 miles away. They were headed toward the landings, but stopped about ten minutes ago.”

“We’ll need to take care of them too. They probably all carry missiles,” Hammond said.

“I’ll send a message to Admiral Hustvedt,” said the briefer.

Captain Kuroki Potemkin was getting seasick. His little missile boat, R-44, was not really designed for open ocean cruising. At only about 240 tons, she bobbed like a cork. She was also top heavy. Because of this, the delay because one of the other boats broke down was making it much more difficult to keep the ship in any trim. The Shtil, a Nanuchka class corvette had lost one of her engines and was wallowing in the choppy seas trying to fix the problem. The Captain in charge insisted they all go in together.

He felt it coming and couldn’t stop it. Rushing to the bridge wing, he leaned over the side and let go. After heaving for almost a minute, he opened his eyes only to see a trail of vomit running down the side of the ship to the main deck. He instantly felt better, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The embarrassment was worse. To lose one’s lunch in front of your crew was not something to instill respect.

He heard a whistle blow and saw the Shtil begin to move. At least they were underway again. Giving the order to return to base course and speed, the R-44 began to ride much better in the seas. He watched the Nanutchka corvette plowing along. Potemkin wondered why she came along at all. Of all the missile boats, hers had the least range. Even worse, they were the least reliable. It would take another thirty minutes before they reached launch range. He couldn’t wait to get there and get this job over with. Any moment now he expected the American navy to swoop in and blast them from the sea. At least his boat had the best chance of getting away. The R-44 was a hydrofoil and he could be up on the foils and out of any situation in a matter of seconds.

Potemkin breathed in great lungfulls of air. It helped clear his mind and possibly keep the seasickness away for a time. His crew was doing their jobs, making sure the ship was exactly where it was supposed to be. The radio suddenly crackled to life. Someone screamed “American aircraft!”

Coming in high, they had been given away by vapor trails. The aircraft were still at some distance away, but the Russian commander wasn’t taking chances. “Launch all missiles,” came the order.

One by one, each boat fired its anti-ship missiles. They were various types, some supersonic, others not. The last to fire was the old Shtil. By that time, Captain Potemkin had ordered the foils lowered and his diesels were running at full revolutions. Long before the aircraft began their bomb runs she was doing 42 knots back towards Sevastopol.

The Eyeball system immediately put the missiles through Link 16 and the landing forces went to full alert. Unfortunately, through dumb luck, the missiles were all tracking straight toward the landing forces. The cloaking systems were still on and Hustvedt was counting on it to keep the ships safe.

Captain Donner was in a sweat. He had almost been that way from the moment the ships had entered the Black Sea. He paced around the ship’s combat information center plying his people with questions, often interrupting the work they were doing trying to protect the ship. “How many now?” he asked.

“There are twelve missiles spread out over a distance. Most are within a ten degree arc. Only about three are coming anywhere near us. All have a bearing drift. We’re safe as long as they can’t see us on radar. So far that cloak has worked pretty good,” said the Ship’s Weapons Coordinator.

“How do you know we’re in the clear?” demanded Donner. “It looks like those three are coming right down our throat!”

“It’s not as it looks, Captain. We are seeing a right bearing drift on these two and a left one on this one.” the coordinator assured him.

“But how close will they come?”

“Closest will be around 1,000 yards.”

“That’s too close for me,” shouted Donner already in a lather. “I want you to bring the ship’s weapons systems online. Shoot those missiles down!”

“But Captain, they are going to miss us. If we turn the systems on, they will lock into us and we run a much greater risk of…”

“I ordered you to engage those missiles! Do it now!” Donner screamed as he reached over and turned off the cloak.

Almost immediately the three missiles and two others turned toward the America. Getting the weapons systems up and tracking took time — something they did not have with missiles traveling beyond the speed of sound. The missile launcher spun to starboard. One of the missiles flew out of the launcher and exploded an incoming missile just three miles from the ship. The Close-In Weapons System got another. The next was just too close.

“We’re going to get hit!” shouted the Coordinator. “What do you want me to do now, Captain?”

Donner stood and stared at the screen. His eyes were filled with terror. He let out a whimper.

“You bastard,” growled another officer.

The missile hit just over the Combat Information Center, tearing into the compartment and exploding, killing everyone there and starting fires over a wide area. A second missile came in striking the starboard side of the bridge overhang. A third struck just forward of the midships refueling station on the starboard side. With each hit, the ship shuddered violently. Flames engulfed the area of the hits and smoke began billowing out of the ship.

In Flag Plot, the lights and displays went out. The emergency lights came on and Hustvedt went over to the bitch box. “CIC, Flag plot.” There was no answer. “Bridge, Flag plot.” Again no answer. He happened to glance at the gyro repeater and noticed that the ship was turning. “Have you got coms with the bridge or CIC?” Hustvedt asked.

The talker shook his head. “No sir. The last thing I heard was that the Captain turned off the cloak.”

“He what?!” shouted Hustvedt. He turned to Jeffers. “Rod, get up to the bridge and see what’s going on. The space is getting hotter and my guess is we have fires, so watch your step,” he said.

“On the way, Admiral,” Jeffers said as he dashed for the door. As he opened it, some thin smoke came into the room from the passageway. Jeffers made his way to the starboard side and took the first ladder going up. It took time. The smoke was getting thicker. In the middle of his trek he heard the Damage Control Officer shout over the 1MC, “Fire, fire, fire, fire in CIC, and on the hangar deck. Away damage control parties. Activate hangar deck sprinklers.”

By the time Jeffers got to the base of the island structure, some of the bulkheads were mangled and holed. Inside the structure firefighting parties were already at work trying to halt the fires within. The route to the bridge was completely blocked.

Undaunted, Jeffers went back out onto the flight deck and went aft to the rear of the island and entered the structure from there. At least the smoke was less. He made his way to one of the ladders and made his way up three levels onto the deck next to Pri Fly. Making his way forward, he could see some of the deck was scorched and buckling. Smoke still billowed up from below on the starboard side so he kept to the port side and made his way.

Below on the flight deck three of the Ospreys were sitting next to the island. They had just come in and had been refilled with fuel and equipment to ferry to the beach when the ship had been hit. A number of crewmen were working to get the aircraft ready to take off. But the most horrifying sight was just ahead of the ship. USS Enterprise was still at flight quarters launching aircraft, and USS America was turning right toward her.

Rushing forward, Jeffers made his way to the bridge wing and was about to enter when another cruise missile struck the Ospreys on the deck. One of the aircraft had been filled with a bladder of diesel fuel. Flames shot into the sky and pieces of aircraft flew everywhere. Jeffers felt something strike him in the back and fling him against the bulkhead. Stunned, he slowly got back to his feet. His left leg didn’t want to move as much. Looking down, he saw a tear in his pants and blood leaving a spreading stain on them. Looking back, he saw the flames completely covering his only escape route. Turning back toward the bridge, Jeffers noticed the ship was getting even closer to the Enterprise. He knew that when launching aircraft, the ship would not be able to maneuver. Cursing, he staggered on, reaching the door to the bridge.

There was nothing left of the windows in the front. The steel had been peeled away almost like a banana with one end still attached on the port side, but the rest lying across the missiles launcher forward. The bridge itself was a shambles. Charts were burning on the chart table and wires hung from their attachment points along the bulkheads and overheads. Several bodies were splayed across the deck. The ship’s helm was in the center of the area and had several holes in it. The binnacle, with the magnetic compass, was completely gone. Jeffers made his way and saw that the rudder was only a degree or two to port. He spun the wheel to starboard to change the ship’s course. He was gratified to see the ship’s rudder angle indicator begin to swing to starboard. He hoped there was enough time.

***

Aboard the Enterprise the bridge crew began to panic when they realized that the America was not changing course away from them. Orders were given to halt flight operations and her rudder was swung hard over. Second after agonizing second it seemed the two ships would hit, then suddenly the America began to turn. The captain of the Enterprise saw the change and ordered the ship’s rudder to hard left. As the stern of the Enterprise began swinging in the other direction, the America’s turn seemed to increase. The ships passed within 150 yards of each other. Only after the ships had passed did they see the damage to the America.

***

Jeffers made sure he was not steering toward another ship, then placed his rudder amidships. He grabbed the enunciators and ordered a reduction in speed. Looking around the bridge, he saw some movement in two of the people on the deck. One was a seaman who was bleeding from a gash on his head. The other was the ship’s Executive Officer. Jeffers went over to help.

The XO’s legs were at odd angles along with one arm. Jeffers eased him into a more comfortable position. “What about the rest of the bridge crew?” the XO gasped.

“They’re dead, XO. I got the ship pointed away from the rest of the formation. There’s one guy over here that is a little dazed, but he may be okay,” Jeffers reported.

The XO nodded. It was obvious he was barely holding on to consciousness. “I saw you swing the ship away from the carrier. Nice work. Damage control?” He suddenly winced in pain.

“They’re trying to get to us, but we’ve been hit four times and right now we’re alone,” Jeffers said.

“The cloak. The switch is beside the chart table,” the XO gasped. “CO turned the damn thing off.”

Jeffers got up and moved toward the chart table on the right of the bridge. A blast came from the front of the ship as a fifth missile struck the missile launcher just forward of the bridge and blew the launcher and the rest of the bridge windows over the side. Jeffers was lifted and thrown back by the blast ending up on the deck, his face and chest covered with cuts from flying metal shards.

Slowly he got himself up to a sitting position, then leaned forward and eased onto first one knee and then the other. Finally he managed to pull himself up and move, shakily, toward the chart table again. He found the small box with a switch and a light beside the chart table. He turned the switch and saw a green light come on. That was when he noticed a small fire erupt from near the door to the bridge. The door was glowing slightly and the paint was melting away. Jeffers was moving much slower. Not only had the blast given him another shock, but had caused him to be slightly dizzy. Grabbing the seaman, he ordered, “Help me with the XO.”

The seaman got to his feet and helped Jeffers move the XO away from the bulkhead and prop him beside the helm console. Then he went forward to make sure they were still in the clear. The other ships had moved away. On their starboard side a German frigate was keeping them company. He saw that teams were manning fire hoses along the frigate’s side ready to help put out the fires. He went as far as he could where the deck ended and waved to the ship. He saw an officer on the bridge wave back.

Suddenly the 1MC crackled to life. “Bridge, this is the Damage Control Officer. We need to turn the ship to go with the wind. Do you hear me? Turn the ship to go with the wind.”

Jeffers looked around the bulkhead and saw how the flag was blowing, then turned back inside the tattered structure. Looking around the bridge, the 1MC circuit had been torn off the bulkhead and none of the bitch boxes seemed to work. Looking along the overhead, even the radio circuits were a mess. Then he saw the handle for the ship’s whistle. Reaching up, he gave it a pull. The whistle gave a short blast. Looking back at the frigate, the ship began pulling away. Thank god someone could figure it out, he thought. Then he turned the ship’s wheel to starboard again.

The ship began moving into the general direction the flag was blowing. After a few corrections where he had to go back out and look at the flag, he got it close, then slowed the engines until the flag was almost limp on its halyard. Between conning the ship and caring for his two charges, Jeffers was kept too busy to mind his own wounds. Small puddles of blood appeared around the helm console, yet, he maintained his watch over the ship. Since there was no gyro repeater working and the magnetic compass was gone, there was no way of knowing what course they were on. Instead, he went back to the starboard side and looked down at the frigate which had returned to her position. He waved and the same man came out on the bridge wing.

Jeffers cupped his hands and shouted, “No compass and no coms. Need to have zero relative wind. I need to guide on you to maintain course,” he yelled down.

Jeffers saw the other man nod. “Will move ahead of you,” came the reply. Within minutes the frigate was ahead of the America and on course. Jeffers simply kept a relative position with the frigate. It made the job much easier.

On the bridge wing of the frigate, Captain Hufnagel turned to his navigation team. “Take the ship ahead of the America and steer a course with zero relative wind,” he said. “Secure the firefighting parties on the deck but have them ready if needed.” His crew jumped to the task and the frigate maneuvered to a position 500 yards ahead of the America and adjusted their course and speed so that there was almost no wind across the deck. He turned to his deck officer. “I am going aft. I’ll relay any commands through the after lookout watch,” he said.

Making his way to the stern of his ship, Hufnagel watched as the huge American turned to follow him. Looking through his binoculars he could see fires all around the bridge structure, but there was only one man moving on the bridge itself. With the entire front of the bridge structure torn away, he watched him both steer the ship and tend to two other crewmen lying nearby. My God, he’s all alone, he thought to himself.

It took forty five minutes before the men heard water and voices along the rear bulkhead by the door. When the door was finally pried open, the men saw Jeffers standing beside the ship’s wheel, covered in his own blood. A seaman was tending the XO, lying to one side of the steering console. Rushing in, they brought in stretchers to get the men out. Jeffers waved them away, but the XO stopped them. “No, take this man first. He has done more than his share this morning.”

“Tell the helmsman to take station on that frigate. She is keeping us going with the wind,” Jeffers said. One of the officers nodded and called for a sailor to take the helm.

Refusing the stretcher, the men walked Jeffers down the hot, smelling, burned out shell of what once was the ship’s island. They were passed by more men who gathered the XO and the seaman. After descending several ladders and moving down some now clear corridors, they entered lighted spaces. He was reassured that sickbay was not far. Somewhere along the way, Jeffers passed out.

He woke to find his forehead bandaged. His uniform had been removed and he was in a bed wrapped in clean sheets and a blanket. He lifted his head and looked around. The space was full of people in various states. Some were walking around with simple bandages while others were getting IV fluids. Despite all the people, it was quiet in the space. Everything was in order and people were working with a purpose. A figure came up next to his bed.

“I see you’re finally back with us,” said a friendly female voice.

Jeffers looked up to see the smile of Petty Officer Carter from the bluegrass band. “Nice to see a familiar face,” croaked Jeffers.

She reached in and felt his pulse. “Yea, I get around. You’ll be leaving soon. The Doc sewed up your wounds while you were out of it. Told me there won’t be any scars. Too bad. Most gals like a guy with war wounds,” she joked.

Jeffers chuckled and felt some of the stitches on his face tighten. He still smiled. “You did that on purpose.”

Carter laughed. “Not really, but we are going to move you. We really need the bed. You feel like getting up?”

“I’ll try,” he said. Jeffers rolled his legs out of the bed and slowly pulled himself up as Carter helped him along. He had on one of the hospital gowns. Carter gave him a bathrobe.

“Try and bring the robe back when you can,” she said. “Come on.”

She led Jeffers to a seat outside an office. In a few minutes the doctor came out and ushered him inside. “Have a seat,” he said.

The doctor looked over a few things, then turned to face Jeffers. “Commander, you seem to be the hero of the day. I must have pulled a pound of sheet metal out of you. Most of it was pretty small. The worst was in your left leg. Don’t worry, I got it all out. You lost some blood, but I just don’t have any to spare for you, so take it easy for a few days. Drink a lot of water. Don’t shower until I take out the stitches. I am giving you some pain medication, but don’t take it unless you really need it. You might want to just take it at bedtime to help you sleep. I have also given you some antibiotics just in case. I don’t know where those Russian missiles had been,” he joked. “Really and truly, Commander, take it easy a few days and you’ll be fine. Come in next Tuesday and I’ll take the stitches out,” he instructed. “Any questions?”

Jeffers smiled and shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Doc, I’m too dazed to ask. Just get me to my stateroom and I’ll be okay,” Jeffers said.

The doctor grinned. “Good enough. If these wounds bother you, come back down and I’ll take another look, otherwise just get well.”

Jeffers nodded, the turned again. “By the way, how are the XO and that seaman? I hope I didn’t kill them.”

The doctor sat back and smiled. “Don’t worry about them, they’re fine. The XO won’t be walking for a while, but he’ll make it. Same for Seaman Kern. They had a lot of good things to say about you,” he said. “Now get out of my office,” he chuckled.

Jeffers shook his hand and left. Petty Officer Carter led him back through the maze of passageways to his stateroom. Fortunately, it was nowhere near the fires and his belongings were intact. He lay in his bed for a few minutes before getting back up and putting on another uniform. He was getting ready to try and get something to eat when the phone rang.

“Commander, the Admiral would like to see you in his quarters if you feel up to it,” said the person on the other end of the line.

“I’ll be right there,” Jeffers said. He grabbed his cover and left his stateroom. The admiral’s quarters were not far up the passageway. He knocked on the door and was beckoned in.

Hustvedt looked at the tired and mangled body of the man in front of him. He walked up and placed his hands on Jeffers’ shoulders. “I thought we had lost you, Rod. I am so glad we didn’t,” he said as he ushered the man to a chair. He noticed that Jeffers sat down gingerly. “The doctor told me how you were wounded. The XO told me what you did. Rod, I am at a loss. You single handedly saved this ship and prevented a collision with the Enterprise. Then you maintained your post until relieved, saving the lives of two members of the crew including the ship’s executive officer. That’s a fair day’s work for any man,” he said. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Just tired, sir. I was going to get something to eat and get back to bed like the doc said. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired,” Jeffers said.

Hustvedt called his orderly and ordered food brought in as they talked. Hustved wanted to know everything that happened from the time he left Flag Plot until that moment. He took notes.

After the meal, Jeffers looked more refreshed. He turned to the Admiral, “Sir, how are the landings going?”

Hustvedt grinned. “Far better than we could have expected. Our troops are far inland and the Turks are pushing hard up through Georgia. I just heard from our friend that he ordered the Italians and Spanish not to stop at the Slovak border. As Richardson swings back west, she will continue to the Crimea while the Turks continue north. We have taken out all the military bases within five hundred miles. The idea is to continue your plan and add more to it as long as we can. But as of now, the landings are complete. The secondary supply units are here and they are preparing to take in supplies and disembark more troops. From here on, everything will come in through Turkey. Your plan, was a tactical and strategic success in all areas. Good job,” he said. Hustvedt started to slap him on the arm but remember his wounds in time.

“I understand the doctor wants you to rest up a few days. Well, I have to shift my flag. We are going over to the Wisconsin tomorrow. While these guys make some temporary repairs, you stay aboard and heal up. In four days I will send a helicopter to pick you up and bring you over to rejoin us. Take a break, Rod. Of all my staff, you deserve it,” Hustvedt said.

Jeffers said, “Thanks,” then made his way back to his stateroom.

“Okay, what do you suggest?” asked Captain Rhodes. The ship now had over 400 Russian sailors aboard. There weren’t enough racks aboard for each to have his own bed, so there had to be some compromises.

The Supply Officer scratched his cheek. “Well, we do have space for an admiral’s staff, but nowhere near enough. Out of the whole ship, I might be able to dig up about seventy spaces. For the officers we can bring in about ten. I’ll put three in the admiral’s cabin with some sleeping on the couches. Your sentry might not like the idea of having them that close, but they’ll have to get over it. I can put some of their senior enlisted in with the chiefs in their lounge. We can request some extra mattresses to put around the messdecks or down in the storage lockers, but mostly these guys will have to hot bunk it. That means 12 on and 12 off. I would suggest we transfer some to the other ships with us and then ask for an amphib to come take them all off. In the meantime, what do we do with them when they are awake? We can’t keep them down in the messdecks all day. I won’t be able to feed the crew,” he suggested.

“This could be a major security risk,” said the CO of the Marine Detachment. “If some of these guys wanted to damage the ship or do something rash, there wouldn’t be much to stop them if we let them roam free.”

“Yea, but aside from Strike and a few other spaces what’s classified aboard the ship?” asked the engineer. “And with our guys around, they will be watched round the clock.”

Boats Patnaude grunted. “Hell, why don’t we put them to work?”

Rhodes lifted his eyebrows. “What are you thinking Boats?”

Patnaude didn’t back down. “Captain, we have maintenance to do and spaces to get clean. I even have a mess to clean up back aft. I say we portion out some of the crew’s work and get some things done. It will let us keep them busy and keep an eye on them as well,” he said.

“What about the Geneva Convention? I’m not sure we can work these guys,” said the Operations Officer.

“Not if we make it a volunteer thing,” said Rhodes. “It will need to be just some general maintenance but that might work, especially since our crewmen would be there with them.”

“I can even take some to care for the sick Russians in sickbay,” said Doc Dickerson.

Rhodes nodded. “Okay we put them to work. Volunteer only, but I would say they should be getting pretty bored sitting on a steel deck by now with nothing to do. I want every department to come up with a plan to use some of these guys. Let’s get them busy as soon as we can. In the meantime, in addition to seeing about a new First Lieutenant, I’ll get off a request for mattresses of some kind to get these guys a place to sleep. I like the idea of using our storage lockers as berthing. They’re open and ventilated. We can work out head access and showers. Now how do we communicate with these guys?”

“A bunch of them speak some English,” said the Supply Officer. “They can translate to the others. Turns out, they teach English in their schools.”

“Then make this work, people,” said Rhodes. “Keep these guys busy until we can figure a way to get them off the ship. It may take a week or so, so do as best you can.”

The phone woke Jeffers from his sleep. He was still dog tired, but even a short nap had seemed to do some good. He picked up the phone.

“Lieutenant Commander Jeffers, this is Petty Officer Carter, in sickbay.”

“Yes, Carter, what’s up?” he asked groggily.

“Sir, your friend, Lieutenant Chambers asked for you to bring his guitar down to sickbay,” she said. There was something in her voice that caught Jeffers’ attention.

“Sure. What’s it about” he asked.

There was a pause on the line. “Sir, you really need to bring it down. Bring yours as well. I’ll explain when you get here,” she said in a sad tone.

Jeffers sat up in his bed. “On my way,” he said as he hung up the phone. Putting his uniform back on, he grabbed his guitar and headed down the passageway to Chambers’ stateroom. The door was unlocked and he saw the guitar sitting in the corner. With both in hand, he made his way back to sickbay, and hoped his friend only wanted to play for the troops.

Petty Officer Carter was waiting for him when he arrived. Instead of taking him to his friend, she took him back to the doctor’s office.

“Thanks for coming back,” the Doc said. “I wouldn’t bring you back unless I felt it was important.” He sat Jeffers down the chair. “Your friend Chambers is dying. His damage control party was fighting the fires in the hangar deck. After personally rescuing about ten sailors out of a compartment, a fuel line ruptured and sprayed flames all over the place. He still went in and brought out one more, but not without getting seriously burned. The burns I could deal with, but he was caught in the flames and inhaled the fire. His lungs are giving up. There’s nothing we can do for him but make him comfortable. When he asked for you, I had Carter call,” he said.

Jeffers looked stricken. They had talked about this only the night before. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. He looked up at the doctor. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not even if we were at Johns Hopkins. The only thing I can do is ease the pain. I’m sorry.”

Jeffers let out a sigh. “I better get in there then,” he said.

He left the office and Carter took him to a separate room where there were only two bunks. The top was empty. Carter warned him that Chambers had also been blinded by the flames, and to be prepared for the worst.

Chambers lay on the bunk propped up almost to a sitting position. His whole head was burned. There was no hair on his face or head and everything looked a mottled red and yellow. His neck looked the same up to where his uniform had protected him. Chambers’ eyes were opened, but the corneas were white where they too had been burned. As they stepped into the room, Chambers turned his head slightly and asked, “Who’s there?”

Despite the hurt he felt, Jeffers put on a smile. “You look like shit,” he said.

A smile came over Chambers’ face. “Hey. Glad you made it,” he said. Chambers lifted his hand and took Jeffers’ in it. There were no burns on his hands because of the gloves he had worn. Jeffers took his hand in both of his.

“Got into trouble again, didn’t you,” Jeffers said.

“You know me,” said Chambers with a grin. The speech caused him to start coughing. There was blood in the cough. It sprayed over the white sheets. After a few seconds he stopped and lay back. He used a towel in his other hand to dab around his mouth soaking up more blood.

After a short time to catch his breath, he asked, “Remember what we talked about last night?”

“Yea.”

“Well, it looks like I’m not quite as stubborn as you are,” he gasped.

“Oh, I don’t know. Sounded to me like you did a lot of good.”

Chambers tilted his head. “I heard about you too. I guess over time a little bit of you did rub off,” he said. “Did you bring my guitar?”

Jeffers took his guitar out of his case and handed it to him. Chambers let it rest against his chest and his fingers ran over the frets and strings. “Thanks, man. I wanted to play her one last time.”

“It won’t be the last, you’ll…”

“Come on now, we both know what’s happening. But having your best friend with you and playing together is not a bad way to go. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll get some guys together so you can join us some day — kind of like on the ship,” Chambers gasped. His voice was getting weaker. His breaths were becoming whiney.

Jeffers watched as Chambers’ hands moved into a position on the frets and he began to play the Vivaldi Concerto. A peaceful look came over his face as he played. “It’s always been my favorite,” he sighed. He coughed a few times and continued.

Jeffers pulled out his guitar. “I have a surprise for you,” he said as Chambers played. He began playing an accompaniment he had made up to surprise him later on. The music blended into a beautiful duet. The simple melody and a soft harmonization filled the room and drifted out to the other parts of sickbay. Even the doctor stuck his head in to listen. As the music was played, Chambers lay his head back on the pillow. “That’s so nice,” he said.

They played for a couple of minutes when Chambers said just above a whisper, “Just a minute more please.” He began to play some wrong notes. His fingers were struggling to keep up. Then his guitar went silent.

Jeffers immediately switched to the melody. They had played the piece together many times. Now Jeffers would finish it for him. On the last notes, he looked at his friend. The color was already draining from his face. Carter felt for a pulse and found none. She eased his hands from the guitar and placed it beside the bed. There were tears in her eyes as she pulled the sheet over Chambers’ face. Turning to Jeffers, she placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Rod,” she said through her tears.

Jeffers pulled her in for a hug. “It’s okay, Angie. He was happy.”

He put his guitar away and then grabbed the other. Jeffers looked at the doctor. “If it’s okay, I’ll take care of getting this to his family,” he said.

The doctor nodded. His eyes were wet as well.

Jeffers took the two guitars and left the space. For the first time in a long time, he felt very alone.

Boats Patnaude was surprised at how many wanted to go to work. About thirty went outside to tackle cleaning up the mess the bombs had made. They began by pulling shrapnel out of the teak deck, then using welding torches to cut away the remnants of the after deckhouse that had been destroyed. Some went to apply grease to the steel cables on the boat davits and some of the other deck gear. To the Russians, it was just like some of the work they had done on their own ship. Several of the officers had tried to stir up trouble, but now they were keeping segregated from the others.

Misha Slovatin volunteered to help translate but then asked if he could go help in the ship’s after steering compartment. It was where he had served aboard his ship. Down deep in the stern of the great ship he came to a very familiar sight. The hydraulic rams were moving the rudder head just like on his ship. He sat down to watch and the young men on watch began to talk to him. Like most young people, curiosity got the better of them and they began talking and exchanging information about where they were from, what they did in their youth, their jobs aboard their ships and what it was like on opposite sides of the world. When one of the routine drills sounded and after steering took control, Misha was thrilled when they let him steer the ship. He would become friends with many of the crew.

“So the America was the only one hit?” Hammond asked.

“Yes, sir. She took five missiles, but is steaming just outside the landing area, repairing her damage and getting ready to return home. Admiral Hustvedt said that the ship’s captain turned off the cloak just before the ship was hit and caused the missiles to lock in,” said an Army captain.

“I thought all the missiles had been reprogramed. Is it not working?” Hammond asked his intelligence watch.

“Actually, it is working quite well. Only two of our tanks have been hit and they were lucky shots from what I see. The air missiles are flying all over the sky and their artillery is hitting nothing but open ground. These missiles were from small patrol boats. It looks like the changes only go down to a certain level via the radio updates. They may get theirs from some shore command. In any case, by knocking out their satellites, the changes have to come via regular radio and we are jamming that. So far, it’s working,” the intelligence officer said.

“Well, we can’t predict everything, can we,” Hammond said with a smile. “Is there a closer place the America could be repaired?”

“Not really. She lost her bridge and CIC. Her hangar deck is a shambles. The best place for her is back home,” said one of the Navy staffers.

“Okay, send her home. Now how bad is the Iowa?”

“Fully operational as far as we can see. They rescued over 400 sailors and have to find places for them aboard. They did suffer a few casualties including their Deck Department Head. He got hit by the first bomb. They are requesting mattresses and a replacement, otherwise, they are ready,” said the Navy staffer.

Hammond thought a moment. “That’s still a lieutenant commander billet isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Hammond reached over and picked up the satellite phone. He dialed a number and it began ringing. “This is Admiral Hammond, let me speak to Admiral Hustvedt.” After a minute he came on the line. “Chris, it’s Roger. You all set for phase two?”

“Ready to go. The supply operations are already shifting to Turkey. The last of our supplies and equipment should go ashore this afternoon, then we are free and clear,” Hustvedt said.

“Good. Except for the America, you were able to do it without a hitch. Nice work. Did you see how the Iowa needs a department head?”

“Yes, sir, I saw. Do we have the same young man in mind?”

“Yes. Why don’t we send him TAD while I clear it through Naval Personnel? The way this is going, he should get plenty of time to make it count. When can he leave?” asked Hammond

“Hang on. You know he’s been wounded.”

Hammond sat straight up in his seat. A look of concern crossed his face. “What happened?”

Hustvedt relayed it all to him. Hammond felt pride rise in his chest for what his young friend had done. Yet he was still concerned about his wounds. “You writing it all up?” he asked.

“Every bit of it. I also have corroborating statements from witnesses. The doctor says he will be fine, but needs some rest. There’s one other thing. His best friend was killed. He may need some time for that as well. I ordered him to his rack and told him to stay there. I’m leaving the America today for the Wisconsin. He’s going to stay behind until the doctor releases him. Why don’t I order up an Osprey to take him to Iowa when Doc gives the okay?” Hustvedt asked.

“Sounds fine, Chris. Is there anything we can do from here?”

“No, Roger, he’ll be fine. Besides, a little time aboard your old ship will do him good,” Hustvedt offered.

Hammond took a second to remember what it was like aboard his ship. He grinned. “You may be right. Send him over, and when you talk to him, tell him I said to stay out of trouble.”

“Will do, Roger. You doing okay?”

“The usual headaches, but things are working. Let’s get this over with so we can go home,” Hammond said.

“I’m with you. Take care, Boss.”

“You too, Chris,” Hammond said as he hung up the phone. He sat back. “Damn. Smart as hell and brave too,” he said to no one in particular. There was a commotion at the far end of the table. Hammond got up to see what crisis had now been discovered.

It only took twenty four hours. Thirty four foot by eight foot panels were set up next to the destroyed electric generation station outside Nogliki and connected to a set of transformers and converters. Those cables were then connected to the town’s electric supply. On signal, the black covers were pulled from the panels and the lights came on in every house in the town.

A food distribution station was set up at the old church and everyone was invited to come stock up on the same things the Americans were eating. Although the people didn’t speak much, they took the food and went their way. In some instances, if a person couldn’t read, special classes were set up to demonstrate how to use an MRE. By that night, the town was still lit up thanks to the battery trucks and two portable generators. The next morning, people were welcoming the Americans with open arms. It was too bad they had to leave. The American forces had already taken Korsakov at the southern end of the island. Teams were already deploying similar power stations along the way.

On the pier in Korsakov, the first of the ships was pulling in. These would bring supplies and their relief forces so the Americans could move onto the Russian mainland. The troops helping handle the lines were surprised at what they saw. Each ship flew the rising sun of Japan.