Battlefield Ukraine

The Other Side

Captain Rubin Malahit had settled his submarine, the Severodvinsk, on the bottom of the ocean floor, not far from the exit of the Bosphorus, just as he had been instructed to do. He did not like his orders one bit. He had been in the Navy for nearly twenty years, and in all that time, he never thought he would be sent on a suicide mission until now. Attacking an American carrier group was a pipe dream — something the Admirals talked about and submariners joked about, but the reality of pulling it off and surviving to tell the tale was something completely different. Yet, those were his orders.

Of course, he had the support of a number of Kilo, Akula, and Oscar submarines to distract the Americans, but he was the one who had to get close enough to the American carrier to launch his torpedoes. They had been monitoring the movement of the carrier strike group as they entered the Black Sea, waiting for their primary target to head their way. The Kilos and Akulas had two of the other avenues well-covered, and their presence would help to guide the Americans in his direction.

After a stressful two hours of monitoring the American strike group as it exited the Bosphorus, the Americans began to slowly head in his direction, and so did their prized primary target, the carrier, which was finally moving within striking distance. Captain Malahit looked at the clock; they were running late. The American satellites were supposed to go down in the next forty minutes and his submarine was still not in position yet.

Malahit turned to his pilot. “Navigator, raise us up off the bottom of the ocean, slowly, so as to make as little noise as possible. I want to settle about a hundred feet above the floor of the ocean.”

“Ay, Captain,” came the response. The sub began moving gradually; when it stopped, they were still nearly 1,200 feet below the surface.

Once they reached the desired depth, Malahit ordered, “Approach the American aircraft carrier at three knots.”

“That should be slow enough,” he thought. “It’s barely a crawl… hopefully they won’t detect us before we are in place.”

All around them, the other submarines of his attack group were making noise — far more noise than they should have, but that was all part of the plan. They were there to attract the Americans’ attention and keep them focused elsewhere while the Severodvinsk snuck up on the carrier. The closer they were to the carrier when they fired their torpedoes, the less time the Yankees would have to respond to his torpedoes and the higher the likelihood of sinking the carrier.

Thirty-nine minutes had gone by; one more minute until it was show time. They were now within five miles of the carrier, having slipped past her destroyer escorts roughly thirty minutes earlier. As the seconds ticked by, the Captain looked at the faces of the sailors around him. Beads of sweat were forming on many of their faces… the stress had reached a boiling point. They were about to sink an American aircraft carrier. It was exciting, but also terrifying since the chances of them surviving were low. However, they certainly would try.

Finally, the appointed time arrived. The Americans should just be realizing they had lost access to their GPS satellites and communications systems. He turned his head to look at the sonar operators. One of them was lifting his headset. “The Akulas and Kilos have begun their attack runs,” he announced. “We are now reporting multiple torpedoes in the water, some heading for the carrier, and others heading towards the destroyers and guided missile cruisers.”

Then another sonar operator reported, “The Oscar is launching his anti-ship missiles.” That was their signal. It was time for the Severodvinsk to launch its torpedoes.

The Americans above them would be far too occupied with the numerous torpedoes in the water and cruise missiles heading towards them to realize that his submarine had breached their defensive perimeter and was now practically on top of their prized possession. The carrier had gone to flank speed and so had the rest of the fleet, meaning their ability to listen for his submarine had greatly diminished.

The Captain looked at his weapons officer and uttered the words the crew had been waiting to hear for the past several days. “Fire all torpedoes!”

With that simple order, the submarine shuddered as one after another of her eight 650mm torpedoes was ejected from the submarine and began to race quickly towards the USS George H.W. Bush. In less than five minutes, the torpedoes would impact against their target.

As soon as all cylinders had fired, Malahit immediately ordered, “Bring the sub back down to a depth of 1,000 feet, and turn 56 degrees to port. Vacate the area at 5 knots!” The Captain hoped that moving at such a slow pace would allow them to make a “silent crawl” to their escape.

“Captain Miller! One of the torpedoes appears be going for the Nixie, but the others are going to impact us in less than a minute!” yelled one of the anti-submarine warfare officers, breaking through the chorus of voices vying for the captain’s attention.

“Alert damage control that we are about to take some hits, and brace for impact!” shouted the captain.

Someone yelled over the ships PA system, “Prepare for impact from a torpedo!” The warning came mere seconds before the first “fish in the water” hit.

The first torpedo battered the rear of the ship near the engineering room, detonating underneath the keel. The explosion from the warhead created an enormous overpressure of the water around the keel, causing the hull to collapse and throwing its explosive force into the engineering room and the lower decks. As the explosion dissipated, the back of the carrier fell into the newly created hole of water, causing further strain on the rest of the keel of the ship.

Then the second and the third detonated underneath the center of the carrier, lifting the 97,000 ton ship several feet upwards before it crashed back down into the waterless hole left by the explosion. These twin blasts blew two large holes through the bottom of the ship, filling the lower deck with an immediate flash explosion, then enveloping the lower decks in water. One of the two torpedoes exploded near the ship’s aircraft fuel tank, which ignited, causing an enormous secondary explosion that ripped through numerous decks of the ship until it reached the hanger deck, where a series of aircraft were in the process of being armed with anti-ship missiles.

Those anti-ship missiles ignited, creating a massive explosion of their own. Men and women in the hanger decks ran to grab their fire suppression equipment, but unfortunately, some of their shipmates were simply engulfed in the flames.

Captain Smith had been thrown to the ground by the explosion on the hanger deck. Alarms were showing red all across the damage control board as he tried to pick himself off the floor. He saw that others in the CIC had been injured and were helping each other as best they could. He turned to find Admiral Munch, only to see him bleeding on the floor with a cut to his forehead. One of the petty officers nearby was tending to him. Pushing aside his concern for the Admiral, he began to focus on trying to save his ship, and ensuring he was not going to be the first captain in naval history to lose a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier.

Commander Matt Walsh watched in horror as the scene of chaos continued to unfold below them while they flew above it all in their E-2D Hawkeye (the newest and most advanced carrier-capable tactical airborne early warning aircraft). They were the eyes of the strike group, providing continuous radar coverage of the area for hundreds of miles surrounding the carrier. If a missile launch was detected, the radar images that they sent to the carrier’s CIC would aid the targeting computers’ AI in identifying and destroying the incoming threats.

Commander Walsh knew something was wrong when they suddenly lost access to the GPS navigation satellites. They could fly without them, but the GPS gave them a much more precise picture of their location, and that made their information a lot more accurate. Then, they received a flash message from the Admiral, setting the fleet to Condition One and moving everyone to battle stations. Below them, Walsh saw the ships of the fleet suddenly pick up speed; some of them looked to be taking evasive maneuvers.

One of the radar operators came over the headset. “We have inbound cruise missiles heading towards the fleet!” he warned.

“How many missiles are you tracking?” asked Commander Walsh.

“I’m tracking four — no, it just jumped to a dozen inbound cruise missiles,” responded the radar operator. “Some of them have originated from that Russian-guided missile ship, and at least four appear to have been submarine launched.” The radar operator’s voice had a hint of excitement in it, which might have seemed odd to an outsider, but Commander Walsh understood that he was feeling the adrenaline of doing what he had trained for his entire life.

“If it’s only a dozen missiles, then chances are, the fleet defenses will easily handle them,” thought Walsh. “Our aircraft are already streaming the data to the carrier’s CIC, and the targeting AI is undoubtedly tracking them all.”

A few seconds later, he saw several of the frigates who were screening for the carrier group fire off a series of Standard Missile 2s (SM-2s) at the incoming missiles.

A second radar operator interrupted everyone’s thoughts as he announced, “Sir, I just received a flash message from the carrier; they have multiple inbound torpedoes heading towards them. They are not confident they can evade them. They are doing their best to launch as many aircraft as they can.”

Just then, the CAG (Commander, Air Group) hailed them, “Ghost-One, this is Henhouse. If the carrier goes down, I need you to guide the rest of the airwing to the nearest friendly airbase. Do you understand?” His voice sounded much calmer than Commander Walsh thought humanly possible, considering the situation.

“Yes sir, we’ll make sure everyone gets to safety. Good luck, and see you on the other side,” Walsh replied, signing off for what might be the last time with his Group Commander.

“What in the blazes is going on Sir?!” bellowed one of the frustrated radar operators over the crew communication net.

Walsh looked down at the fleet below them. He saw several of the incoming missiles explode violently on the carrier; a couple more were knocked down by the point defense systems. One of the frigates took a direct hit from one of the cruise missiles. He knew he needed to respond to his radar operator… but he just didn’t know what to say. So, he said the only thing that came to mind.

“It would appear World War III has just started,” Walsh replied. “Listen up, we are professionals. We trained for this, and we have a job to do. I want you guys to keep a close eye out for enemy air activity. Also, what is the status of the enemy fleet?” Commander Walsh asked, wanting to get his crew’s attention focused back on the task at hand.

“Regardless of what happens to the carrier, we still have to provide support to the fleet and the fighters circling above with us,” he thought.

As Commander Walsh and his co-pilot continued to loiter over the strike group, they watched helplessly as the battle below them played out. Their radar operators continued to relay critical targeting data and information to the fleet, but there was little else they could do other than watch.

The cruisers in the battlegroup began to fire off a series of anti-ship missiles at the Russians, ensuring that they had their revenge and got some payback. Off to their right, Matt saw one of the destroyers rise slightly out of the water; then there was an enormous explosion as the ship was nearly ripped in half. “It must have been hit by a torpedo,” he thought silently to himself. “How many men and women just died on that ship?” He tried to push the image out of his mind and focus on flying.

It was hard to concentrate; the other crew members of his command were still down on the carrier. His co-pilot let out a short yelp, and then pointed to the left where the carrier was. Commander Walsh angled the aircraft in the direction of the carrier. He wanted to see the situation for himself. “Sure enough, the carrier has been hit by a torpedo… from the looks of it, multiple torpedoes,” he thought, aghast. He saw plumes of black smoke starting to come from under the flight deck. There were a couple of minor explosions, then a large blast that seemed to have caused significant damage. The ship began to list slightly to the left as it started to take on more water.

Now it was a race against time. “Can the damage parties seal off enough parts of the ship to keep it from sinking? Can they get the fires under control?” Matt wondered.

Then, one of the fighter pilots came over the radio, “Ghost-One, this is Eagle Leader. It does not look like any of us are going to be setting back down on the carrier. Do you have a new landing site for us? Most of us do not have a lot of fuel to hang out for a long time,” he urged.

Commander Walsh asked his radar operators if they had found a suitable site yet. “Eagle Leader, Ghost-One. The closest airport is Istanbul Atatürk Airport. It’s 25 miles away. We’ve sent an emergency message over to them, letting them know that we have 23 combat aircraft needing to make an emergency landing. They weren’t happy, but they have given us clearance to land,” he explained.

Taking control of the situation, Walsh directed, “I want your flight and the others to form up around us as we collectively head towards Atatürk. I want the F-18s to land first, since you guys have the least amount of fuel; the remaining aircraft will follow, and we’ll bring up the rear. Is that understood?”

It was now Commander Walsh’s job to shepherd the remnants of Carrier Air Wing 3 back to safety. Hopefully, the higher-ups would be able to get them back into the fight soon. For now, it looked like their participation in the war had ended, without them even firing a single shot.