Target Lock

USS Cunningham, CLA-79 on Buccaneer Station 30 Miles West of Crab’s Claw Cape 0810 Hours, Zone Time: August 25, 2008

The Sutanto slid out of sight within the cavern. The real-time imaging on the primary large-screen display in the Combat Information Center was beaming back from one of the two Eagle Eye fire control drones the Cunningham had hovering over the engagement zone.

“They’re in, sir,” Hiro’s TACCO commented. “So far, so good.”

“So far,” Hiro replied quietly. “Shift imaging. Bravo drone.”

The tactical officer called up the feed from the second RPV The distant cameras aimed downward on a patch of dense forest growth in the center of the cape. Rents had been torn in the tree canopy by the rocket barrages, and billowing smoke rose in half a dozen locations. Still, there was no visual hint that the landward entrances of the tunnel complex rested below the tree cover. They still existed only as radar traced coordinates in the targeting systems.

Hiro spoke. “Mr. Carstairs, verify gunnery bombardment mission ready to fire.”

“All forward mounts ready to fire. Targeting coordinates set and projectile guidance programmed. The mission board reads green.”

On the Cunningham’s foredeck monitors, the muzzles of the VGAS tubes and the barrel of the bow turret lay trained on the dark smear of land along the blue oceanic horizon.

“Mr. Carstairs, proceed with the mission.”

“On the way, sir. Firing the mission.” The TACCO’s thumbs flipped a pair of guards up and off from over a pair of glowing green keys. The keys went white as he depressed them.

Whump!.. Crack!.. Whump!.. Crack!.. Whump!.. Crack!..

Autoloaders and firing circuits cycled sequentially, the two big fixed VGAS tubes fired a round apiece every fifteen seconds, with the lighter five-inch turret mount adding its contribution in between. The black and orange muzzle flashes were small compared to the flame jets of the ATACM launches, but still most impressive.

Like the ATACMs, the 155- and 120-millimeter “smart shells” extended guidance fins as they cleared their gun barrels. In a world of shockproof, solid-state technology, it was easier and more effective to simply tell the projectile to steer where it was supposed to go than it was to try and precisely aim the gun.

Using terminal laser targeting, the average area of probable impact for precision-guided shells such as these could have been reduced to a circle a meter and a half across. For this mission, however, GPU guidance alone with a fifteen-meter area of probable impact had been deemed adequate.

A dozen rounds were in the air before the first struck.

As the CIC crew watched the drone view of the bombardment zone, the fire streams systematically chewed the forest canopy away from around the tunnel entrances, hits alternating between two targets. The hooded fortifications stood momentarily naked amid the splintered tree trunks, then the hammering shell bursts began to gnaw at the heavy concrete.

As a roiling cloud of dust and smoke blanketed the scene, the Cunningham’s TACCO spoke quietly. “To paraphrase an album cover I saw once. ‘Nobody’s getting out of there alive.’”