Tempered Steel

Chapter 14

“Inbound aircraft now bearing 095 distance 50 miles, multiple aircraft, course 280 speed 350,” the watch coordinator reported.

“How many have you made out?” Hammond asked from his seat in Strike.

“About 150, sir,” the coordinator said.

“Well, we know they’re not Korean. They’re coming from the wrong direction,” said the Operations Officer or OPS.

“I could use the air cover. Despite all this armor, I don’t like the idea of us being out here by ourselves. One DDG and a frigate are not really enough,” Hammond said. The door opened and Admiral Thacke entered.

“Admiral in Strike,” someone announced.

Thacke walked over beside Hammond and sat in a chair. “Believe it or not, those are ours,” he said. “Please don’t shoot at them.”

Hammond chuckled. “Wasn’t planning to right off. You mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked.

“Phase two. Now that we’re in it, I can tell you that there are a couple of carriers around here that just started operating. They should be coming up on the net any time now.” He sat back and took a deep breath. “According to the plan, we took out just about anything they had last night. We figure it will take a day for them to get their act together. So it gives us one day before we can expect any real retaliation. Those guys are going in to support the troops so we can make as much ground as possible. Just so we don’t get left out, I’ve ordered the North Carolina, Wisconcin and New Jersey up the east coast and the Alabama, Massachusetts and Missouri up the west. If I were them, I might try and make a general sortie out of their naval bases. So, no matter what we’ll be ready,” the Admiral said.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Hammond. “We should be on station by 1300. My guys have been briefed on the call for fire, so anything else will be a target of opportunity. Any word on how far the troops got last night?”

“About 40 miles as far as I could see, but they’re still spreading out. A big collection of troops and armor was set up on the western side of the peninsula. Looks like they were planning some sort of end run. I don’t know how they’re doing, but the lines keep pushing out, so I guess they’re okay,” Thacke said. “In a few days you guys will be ordered to Sasebo to refuel and rearm. Get your guys a couple of days of liberty, then get back on station. I’m going to transfer my flag to the North Carolina and stay in the area. So at least you won’t have to put up with me the whole time,” he grinned.

Hammond gave him a sideways glance. “About time,” he said with a sly smile. “To tell you the truth, we could use a little break. It’s been non-stop for a while.”

“Hazards of war, sir. That or no rest for the wicked,” Thacke quipped. “By the way, whose idea was it to let the band play this morning?”

“Thought it might be good to wake everyone up. The crew enjoys it. I might just let them play for everything we do.”

“Seems to have worked. Did you see all the people on the docks?”

“Yes. Quite a party. I’m glad somebody enjoyed it,” Hammond said.

The men watched the screen of the computer showing the inputs of the satellite signal. On it was the entire disposition of forces in Korea. They watched as the signals for two aircraft carriers suddenly appeared on the screen along with all the aircraft. It didn’t seem so lonely any more. One carrier was on the west coast and one on the east.

“Ahh, the cavalry has arrived,” Thacke said. “I better get back to my staff,” he said, standing up and walking out the door.

Hammond sat back and watched a while. He could see the disposition of aircraft as they split up and went toward several different positions near the leading line of tanks. In just a few minutes the aircraft seemed to circle around and begin heading back out to sea. As those aircraft left, the planes from the other carrier entered the area.

Lieutenant Chris Jarvis almost couldn’t believe what he was doing. He banked the A-6 Intruder sharply to the left and pointed it at a convoy of trucks going down a back road on the way to Daejeon. The first jet in the flight had already made its run and pasted the first quarter of the convoy. Jarvis’ plane sailed through the plume of smoke and down the line as Jarvis’ right seater, Ensign Davis, toggled off the bombs in order. Davis was a good one. He toggled in just the right timing to make sure the bombs were evenly spaced along the line. Half way through the run the streak of tracers flashed past the windscreen. Seeing the source, Jarvis veered the jet along the path and Davis let go one that would probably drop right in their laps.

Jarvis continued the run. At the end he pulled back on the stick and rocketed upward, joining up with the flight leader and moving away from the target area. Looking back over his shoulder he saw a huge plume of fire and smoke coming up from the convoy. It was like shooting balloons at a penny arcade.

After four weeks of intense training, Jarvis loved the A-6. There was something physical about the plane and he felt it could take them anywhere. He knew the maintenance guys had their hands full, but as long as it kept them in the air and delivered ordnance on target, Jarvis was happy.

Checking the instruments, it appeared they hadn’t caught any of the bullets shot at them from the mobile machine gun unit. Jarvis pulled the Intruder in beside the leader and waited as the rest of the squadron joined up. It wasn’t a bad day. No real threats and a nice scorched convoy as a result.

Kee watched as the trucks in line ahead of him were enveloped in smoke and flame. He slammed on the brakes as a bomb went off just 100 yards ahead of him. Through the smoke he saw the glint of another aircraft. He threw open the door and dove for the side of the road. Throwing himself into the ditch, he heard the other aircraft come screaming overhead.

The concussion of the bombs nearly bounced Kee out of the ditch. He could feel the intense heat of each explosion and heard the zip of shrapnel as it passed over him and through trees along the road. He felt someone jump into the ditch behind him. Kee tried to press himself further down into the dirt. He could hear the screams of men somewhere in the distance over the roar of flames.

After a few seconds it became almost silent. Kee could still hear flames crackling somewhere, but that was all — no truck engines or explosions. Kee lifted his head slightly and looked around the ditch. Down below him a portion of the ditch was burning, but he couldn’t see much outside the ditch itself. He could feel heat behind and around him.

Raising his head farther Kee finally saw the carnage around him. All along the road trucks were on fire or blown over onto the side of the road. Flames leapt from several places along the line and farther ahead a fuel truck burned fiercely. Looking beside him, his own truck was run up against the back of the truck ahead. Its trailer was bent almost in half and folded back on itself. The cargo was spread all along the road. Some of it seemed to be smoldering. Kee pulled himself up and looked behind him. He started to talk to the man lying behind him until it became obvious the man wouldn’t hear him. The body was burned horribly and every limb seemed to be twisted into an unnatural angle. He couldn’t even see the movement of breathing. Looking around a little more, Kee could see the outlines of many more bodies scattered along the ground. After a few minutes a few men stumbled into view and began moving between the trucks.

Kee eased out of the ditch and took a closer look at his truck. Several of the tires had been punctured, but the worst was the steam coming out of the engine compartment. The explosion had forced the truck forward and it had impaled itself on a steel beam sticking out the back of the truck ahead. The cab and engine were perforated with shrapnel. His trusty old truck would run no more.

A man walked up to him. “Gone, all gone. Most of the drivers are dead,” he said.

Kee looked around a little more. Several men were out now, trying to make sense of things. He grabbed the man’s arm. “Get the drivers together and tell them to get as much food and materials as they can. We will have to camp here until someone comes to get us,” he said quickly.

The other driver nodded his head and turned back down the road. He began stopping people he saw and pointed in Kee’s direction. The men began gathering things up and moving toward him. Kee reached into the cab and retrieved his tarp and sleeping bag. Seeing they were unharmed, he took them across the road and set them down. Kee then walked around the truck gathering a flashlight, some batteries, and a few pieces of personal gear. Looking through the load he was carrying, he opened a box filled with gas lamps and other camping gear, including two tents. The rest included rifles, pieces of electronic equipment, boxes of grenades, mortar rounds, small arms ammunition, clothing, boots, and other equipment Kee didn’t recognize. He began selecting pieces of the equipment and placing it beside the road next to his sleeping bag. As men came up, he detailed them to search the remaining trucks for food or other camping gear. Within an hour enough had been rounded up to keep them warm and safe for a week. Twice during the hour a military vehicle sped by weaving between the ruined trucks. They didn’t even take the time to stop and offer assistance.

Moving everything to a small clearing just a few yards from the road, the men set up one of the large tents, assembled a small camp cooking unit and began heating some canned food. The wounded drivers quickly filled the first tent and a second was set up. Now all the men had to do was wait to be either captured or rescued.

As the sun sank slowly out of sight, a number of small craft began making their way downriver from Nampo in North Korea. As they traversed the river towards the open sea on the west coast they were joined by additional patrol boats and a corvette from other bases in the Yellow Sea Fleet. By the time they reached the river mouth, more than seventy small boats and the corvette were in company. Under the command of an admiral, the small fleet formed a tight group of three lines around 500 yards apart with the corvette leading the way. The entire formation turned and headed south toward Inchon.

Most of the ships were standard patrol boats based on old Soviet designs. They had some light guns and torpedoes. Interspersed in the boats were variants of the old Soviet Osa and Komar guided missile patrol boats. These carried the SS-N-1 and SS-N-2 Shaddock and Styx missiles originally deployed in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Although inaccurate and very large, these missiles posed a real threat to any ship.

Onboard each vessel, the crews sat nervously. They were told they would confront the Americans at sea and deliver a devastating blow for the people. They were promised a hero’s welcome when they returned home. None of the men believed it. Too often the State came up with hair brained ideas that ended up with people killed. The “hero’s welcome” was usually a state funeral. All of them heard of the mighty American Navy, and though they had been told the Americans were defeated, few thought this was the case. Why else would they be going out at night to counter a naval force?

The boats were to run without radars, but the captains were wary of moving around blind. Instead they activated the radars on a lower power setting once every few minutes to make sure they weren’t running into one another. On occasion, they also activated other radars to make sure they were safe.

Deep inside USS Richard E. Byrd, a 1960s era DDG, Petty Officer Melendez sat silently with headphones covering his ears. He turned the scanner on an old WLR-1 threat receiver. As the radars were turned on, he was able to pick up their emissions and break them down, telling him exactly what was out ahead of them.

“Additional navigation radars bearing 013. So far I’ve picked up about twenty different ones, mostly Don Kays,” he said. Melendez suddenly stopped spinning the wheel and tuned it back and forth. A change could be seen on the screens as a new radar came online. It took Melendez only a second to know what it was. “I’m picking up a Drum Tilt fire control radar on the same general bearing. That’s a gunfire control radar, but it is used a lot on missile boats, especially for our old friend the Styx,” he said over the internal communications system.

The Surface Warfare Coordinator or SWC was watching the events unfolding in the ship’s combat information center or CIC. “Enter it,” he ordered. Watching the satellite data system, he saw their bearing line and the bearing lines of two other ships appear and merge exactly 32 miles away. He chuckled. “Well, at least we know where they are,” he said.

The mostly silent secure communications radio came to life. “All stations in Alpha Bravo, this is Alpha Sierra. Execute Plan Hotel at time 1915. Bearing target 017. Stagger plan Bravo. Break Charlie Golf, over.” Charlie Golf was the Richard E. Byrd’s call sign.

The SWC picked up the handset and pressed the key. “This is Charlie Golf, roger out,” he said. Replacing the handset, he opened a large manual beside him. After flipping a few pages he had his answer.

“I read that as a Harpoon attack on ships bearing 017 from center of formation. Launch time for us is 1915. We are designated to launch at the ships on the left side of the formation. That will be a bearing of 012 at that range,” said the CIC petty officer. There was a big grin on his face. His job was to manage the CIC watch team and work with the SWC to break signals and interpret orders. He was proud of the fact that he could break the signal faster than the officers.

SWC nodded. “Concur,” he said. The race to be ready was something that made the watches go faster for all the men. He turned to the missile coordinator seated beside him. “You got that?” he asked.

“Harpoon selected and programmed. Putting a bird on the rail,” he said.

“Roger,” SWC said. He reached over and hit the bitch box. “Captain, SWC, we’ve been ordered to launch Harpoons in five minutes. We need you in Combat,” he said.

“On my way,” said the Captain.

“Square Tie surface search, bearing 015,” said Melendez.

“Roger,” said SWC.

The Captain came into Combat and sat in his chair beside SWC. “What’s the bearing?” he asked.

“Our shooting bearing is 017. We shoot in the staggered plan with our time being 1915. We’re one of the first. No allied ships are between us and the bad guys,” he said briefing the captain.

The captain nodded. “Bird ready?”

SWC nodded. “The bird is ready. We will launch four in total. Staggering the bearing slightly to assure a distribution,” he said.

The men in Combat maintained their vigilance. After a few minutes the CIC Petty Officer announced “One minute to launch.”

Already the word spread of a missile launch, and all hands cleared the Mk-13 missile launcher area aft near the fantail. A small door opened on the base of the launcher and a white Harpoon missile lifted from the circular magazine and positioned itself on the launcher rail. The single arm pivoted in two dimensions and pointed the missile downrange.

SWC took control. “Thirty seconds. Range clear?”

“Range clear of friendlies.”

“Final bearing?”

“Final bearing 017. Green light.”

“Weapons free,” the Captain said.

“Fifteen seconds.”

The men glued themselves to their screens making sure everything went as desired.

“Five, four, three, two, one, launch,” SWC ordered.

The Chief at the weapons console pressed the firing key. The Harpoon missile’s rocket motor ignited and the missile surged off the launcher and screamed down range. The booster rocket fell away as the missile’s small turbine engine took over the propulsion of the missile. Dropping to a height of 50 feet, the missile made its way across the ocean. At a predetermined point, the active radar seeker activated and a target was selected out of several. Three additional Harpoons followed the first at eight second intervals.

“Active missile seeker bearing 184. It is an American Harpoon missile!” screamed the sailor watching the detection equipment. The Captain of the old OSA missile boat jumped to his feet and ran to the radar screen. No ships were anywhere near them except Koreans.

“Sound the alarm. Warm up the missiles!” he ordered. On the stern of the ship were four Chinese variants of the old Soviet SS-N-2 missiles. The old missiles used vacuum tubes and the fuel tended to erode the tanks and fittings. The Captain inspected the missiles when he came onboard just six months ago, but they had been stored in their launchers since that time. They had never launched one. The radios suddenly became alive with orders, shouts of alarm and other conflicting messages. In the confusion, captains were making many decisions on their own. No one seemed in charge.

Inside the weapons station, the switches were flipped to warm up the missiles. In a minute the missiles reported ready. As the boat maneuvered back and forth to hopefully confuse the enemy missiles, the Captain ordered the missiles fired.

The first two Styx missiles left their launch tubes aimed down the bearing of the incoming missiles. The aft launchers were about to fire when one of the Harpoons struck the pilot house of the patrol boat. In the last instant before the operator was blasted to fragments, he pressed the firing key.

Inside the launcher on the starboard side was a missile that had been sitting in the launcher for more than a year. The fuel had degraded the tanks and was leaking into the main casing of the missile. When the squibs ignited the rocket motor, the pooled fuel exploded. The explosion tore through the sides of the launcher and ripped through the ship, blowing off the after guns and sending shrapnel into the missile on the port side, igniting the fuel there as well. The blast tore through the deck plates into the engine room below, blowing the diesel engines almost through the bottom of the ship. The patrol boat sank in less than a minute. It was followed by more than twenty other ships and boats in the force. Several others had also been hit but were able to limp back towards home.

“Incoming missiles, bearing 015!” announced the air warfare coordinator in Combat.

“Here they come,” said SWC. “Train all weapons on target.”

The SPG-53 Gunfire Control system and the 5-inch 54 cal. guns were trained out and looking for targets along with the SPG-51 missile fire control radars. A white SM-1 came shooting out of the magazine and onto the Mk-13 launcher. The launcher then pivoted aiming the missile toward the incoming targets. The fins were extended.

“Twenty-seven missiles now inbound,” said Melendez.

By now the radars were up and operating. The targeting assignments were made via the satellite system. “Target track 03,” said SWC.

“Birds affirm track 03.”

“Birds free track 03.”

The firing key was pressed and the missile roared off the rail. “Birds away track 03.”

“Target track 07.”

“Roger track 07. Birds affirm, track 07.”

“Birds free track 07.”

“Birds away track 07.”

The two missiles were streaking towards their designated targets. The Standard MR1 was a very reliable missile. It took only fifteen seconds to reach the target. Riding the beam of the SPG 51 radars, it sensed the proximity of the incoming Styx and triggered the warhead. The resulting explosion clipped the left wing off the missile, sending it plummeting into the sea.

The second missile did the same, actually approaching within three feet of the incoming Styx before going off. The fireball lit up the night sky fourteen miles away. A third missile was right behind this one and it flew through the debris toward the ship. A third missile was launched but went off slightly behind the missile, peppering the tail but doing no real damage.

The two 5-inch 54 cal. guns were already trained toward the target. At a range of nine miles the guns began shooting their variable timing or VT rounds at the missile. Firing at one round every seven seconds the crews rapidly refilled the revolving feeders in the magazines to make sure the guns didn’t lack for bullets. Round after round flew from the guns as the computers below calculated the aiming point to ensure the rounds hit their targets. The range dropped from nine miles to six, then three. The Super RBOC (Chaff) launchers fired aboard the ship sending an enormous chaff cloud into the air to confuse the missile. Suddenly the Styx exploded just 4,000 yards from the side of the ship.

In Combat the men were tracking each target and determining which ships were targeted. “Target track 21.”

“Birds affirm, track 21.”

“Birds free, track 21.”

“Birds away track 21.”

The latest missile left the rail and was quickly replaced by another. By now, the guns had been reassigned.

A few seconds later the fire control systems confirmed a hit on the target. “Track 21 destroyed. No other assignments.”

The men looked at the screen. There were no additional missiles to shoot at; but listening to communications they could tell at least one of the destroyers in the task group had been hit. The Captain looked at SWC. Both men were sweating profusely, not from physical exertion, but from the sheer intensity of the attacks. “That was fun,” he said.

“No shit. I thought that one was going to get us,” said SWC. The men in the room were breathing again. After checking one last time, SWC sat back in his seat. “And they said these ships were out of date,” he said with a smile.

“Not too shabby. Let’s keep the missile on the rail just in case,” he said. Another 10 hours of night still remained to get through.

On the east coast of Korea, the East Sea Fleet sortied out of T'oejo-dong and several other ports as the ships made their way south. Led by the North Korean Navy’s Soho and Najin class frigates, the force moved toward the Pusan area at a speed of fifteen knots. Unlike the Yellow Sea Fleet commander, the admiral in command of the East Sea Fleet held his ships in strict emission control. No radars, no sonars, only lookouts to provide a warning of nearby ships. The ships were formed into four columns almost forming a box. The frigates and a corvette led each column. The rest of the ships were patrol boats of various types, similar to the ones on the west coast.

Alerted to fleet activity, Captain Christopher Hustvedt launched the North Carolina’s RPV at dusk. The forward looking infrared or FLIR camera onboard picked up the heat blooms of the engineering spaces on the North Korean ships at a distance of thirty miles. As the senior captain, he ordered the Wisconcin and New Jersey to follow North Carolina, then deployed the destroyers in a line ahead and astern of the three ships. As the North Koreans steamed fat dumb and happy down the coast, three battleships and ten destroyers were steaming back and forth across their path.

Hustvedt was a student of history. He knew that no one would ever have the chance to do what he was about to do again. Like Rear Admiral Jesse Oldendorf, he found himself and his force in a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something as old as naval warfare itself. Called crossing the “T,” his ships were preparing to engage the enemy with full broadsides while they could only respond with about half their guns. Making the situation even more ironic, two of the destroyers forming the line of battle were Japanese.

Oldendorf had crossed his “T” in 1944 during the Battle of Surigao Strait in the Philippines. During the battle, old American battleships, cruisers, and destroyers took on Vice Admiral Nishimura’s two battleships, one cruiser, and four destroyers in the middle of the night. The result was the sinking of all but one destroyer.

Slowly but surely the North Korean force steamed onward. Clouds moved in over the hills of the Korean peninsula casting a dark shadow across the waves. Occasionally lightning could be seen in the clouds. A storm was brewing over the mainland.

Admiral To’san was surprised the force had made it so far. Obviously the political officers were correct. The Americans gave all they had the previous night. Nothing was really stopping them from doing what they called an “end run” against the allied forces around Pusan. Stealth was their ally. If they could make their way another fifty miles or so, they had a good chance of making their attack and returning to port in safety.

The drone of the ship’s engines purred in the night air. Standing on the bridge wing, he looked aft into the darkness. The cool night air blew past him as the ship made its way. The stars were almost all obscured now. He couldn’t even see the ships next to them except for a vague outline. All around him the crew members were doing their jobs as trained. He could actually see the red glow of the compass light reflecting off the helmsman’s face as he steered the ship. It was so peaceful. It was as if there was no war at all. The admiral was staring into the pilot house when he noticed the helmsman’s face lighten slightly a couple of times.

“What was that?” the Admiral asked turning to gaze ahead of the ship.

The lookout had been facing the stern when the lights flashed. “I am not seeing anything, Admiral,” he said.

“It came from forward,” the Admiral said. More lightning appeared over the mainland.

The young man turned and stared forward. After a few seconds he said, “I don’t see anything.”

The Admiral nodded. “It must be the storm. Keep a sharp watch,” he said. The Admiral entered the bridge and took a look at the navigation chart.

The splashes of 16-inch rounds bracketed the ship. More rounds landed all along the line of ships. Flashes came both from the land and the sea. He turned and looked at the chart again. They were too far away from land to be shelled. Where had it come from, he wondered.

Now the flashes were coming in an irregular pattern across a line in front of the fleet. The shell splashes were getting closer. The explosions were splashing seawater all over the ship. In some cases, the metal skin of the ship began cupping inward from the concussions, splitting the seams and letting the spaces flood. Each round sent the ship reeling from one side to another, jerking violently from the blasts. The Captain of the ship came running up from engineering. The fear on his face was plain for all to see. “What is happening?” he screamed.

A 16-inch round passed through the forward gun mount and almost through the ship before it exploded. The bridge and the forward third of the ship were blown apart, separating from the rest of the ship. The remainder, still being pushed ahead by the engines, pressed the mangled and torn forward sections deep into the ocean. The interior bulkheads were never designed for anything like this, and the fragile walls were ripped aside. The ship’s engines actually drove the filling hull beneath the waves before the next ship in line overtook them.

The captains of the other ships turned on their radars and were surprised to see nothing within range of their guns. They maneuvered violently, some actually running into each other as they tried to avoid the onslaught. But the shells continued to fall. One by one, the ships and boats were hit.

Eventually flashes were appearing down three sides of the formation. Three of the small Taechong Class patrol boats broke off from the center of the Korean formation and began speeding toward the flashes on the side of the formation. Pushing their engines to maximum revolutions, the patrol boats weaved back and forth at over thirty knots as they pressed ever closer to new blips on their radar screens. They didn’t know what they were approaching; they just knew it was the enemy. On deck the men readied the boat’s 85mm and 57mm guns for action.

Aboard USS Rooks Commander Dandridge saw the approach of the boats. He turned to his Operations Officer in the CIC. “Signal USS Fox and Badger to engage these boats with us.”

Within two minutes the 5-inch shells from nine guns began falling around the patrol boats. The gun crews on the destroyers worked frantically to load and fire the guns while the fire control systems kept them on target. As the patrol boats got closer, the accuracy increased. The guns began making hits after only a minute of firing. The patrol boat on the left hand side suddenly had a flash and began dropping out of the North Korean line. A second round hit the same boat and a fire erupted on the boat’s deck. The right hand boat was next when one of USS Badger’s rounds exploded in a magazine. The fireball illuminated the final patrol boat making its way ever closer to the formation.

The patrol boat’s 85mm gun opened up adding its own destruction to the carnage surrounding them. Firing rapidly the gun maintained its fire despite the radical maneuvers to avoid being hit by the Americans. USS Rooks suddenly shuddered from a hit on its port side aft. The 85mm round hit the small hangar on the aft superstructure, causing no real damage, but enraging the ship’s gunners. The firing rate increased on Rooks’ guns. Suddenly the remaining patrol boat seemed to lift from the water as two of Rooks’ 5-inch rounds exploded within her. The main deck both forward and aft peeled back from the hull and flames erupted from the stricken vessel. The Rooks continued to fire for a few seconds after that, sending another round into the vessel, completing the destruction. Within a minute the fires of the patrol boat were extinguished as she sank beneath the surface. Rooks and her sister ships returned their attention to the remaining vessels.

For the North Korean fleet, the shells kept raining down. No matter where the small fleet turned, the shells fell. Even when the rest of the fleet turned on flank speed and headed back north, the shells followed. By the time they had reached the port of Wonsan, only ten very small patrol boats were still afloat.

Hustvedt ordered a cease fire and a turn to the south. They had maneuvered back and forth across the fleet until there was nothing but a mass of confusion. Then he sent his destroyers down each side to confine the ships into a restricted killing ground. The ships had maintained the fire for nearly an hour, chasing the remnants along the coast until nearing Wonsan.

Looking around his bridge he smiled at his crewmembers. Hustvedt spent most of the night in the Strike Center watching the progress and maneuvering his ships. Now all was quiet. The guns were secured and the ships steaming away from danger. A sudden feeling of exhaustion was overcoming him. He came to the bridge to fill his lungs with the cool night air. Inside the ship it smelled of paint and age. She seemed to have smells of her own, as if her body had matured and exerted itself. It wasn’t a bad smell, but a subtle one — almost alive and very pleasant.

The men were doing their jobs. They smiled at him as he passed them to climb into his chair on the bridge. He sat back and took another deep breath.

“Would you like some coffee, Captain?” asked the OOD.

“Sounds good. Can someone bring some up?”

“My pleasure, Captain.” The young man turned and called the Messenger of the Watch who scampered away to get a hot cup.

Hustvedt looked out the windows down on the guns below. The clouds had parted as the front passed over and the stars were now filling the sky. He could see men on the main deck checking fittings and skylarking. The ship gently rolled from side to side in the swells. Letting his mind wander, he could imagine what it was like the last time the North Carolina had steamed the seas. A much bigger war was on then, but he imagined the men acted much the same as the men on the deck now — finishing a job or simply having time to relax. There they all were, eating, sleeping, and working on a floating piece of steel. They were the ship’s arms and legs. They were the collaborative brain that took her new places and fought an enemy with her when necessary. They brought the great ship to life while she provided them with a warm home. And he was the one privileged to control this massive organism. As he thought about it, Hustvedt realized he was the happiest he had been in his entire life. This was where he should be — on this ship and with this crew. In many ways he wished he could sail her forever.

The young messenger appeared at his elbow. “Your coffee, Captain. Would you like some cream or sugar?”

“Yes, please, some cream and one teaspoon.” He told the boy. In less than a minute he was holding the steaming mug in his hand. He took a sip and savored the bitterness as it slid across his tongue. “Perfect,” he said to the young sailor. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Captain,” the young man beamed.

Hustvedt could almost see the smile on his face as he turned away. It almost surprised him that the men onboard had come together so quickly. He found himself wondering what it was that drew them into such a well-knit team. The conditions onboard were far from perfect. The ship was more than 70 years old. The bunks were still the old canvas racks or steel wires stretched across metal tubes. In some places the racks were five deep. Electric fans provided the only means of cooling below decks. The ventilators simply drew in clean air and spread it around. The heat from the engines and boilers kept the ship warm. During the day the sun beat down on the metal skin of the ship making it almost like an oven if the portholes were closed. But after the first couple of weeks, the crew didn’t seem to mind the heat. On these ships almost nothing was automatic. A lot of the work onboard was manual. It required a lot of people to do things that on a more modern ship would be done by a machine.

One good thing for the crew was their supply officer. He insisted that the men be fed only the best food and plenty of it. He personally selected the Chief Mess Specialist to be the ship’s cook. The Senior Chief once prepared meals in the Pentagon for the guys in the “E Ring.” From almost the start, the meals had been superb. Despite the worry that people might grow fat and not meet the Navy’s physical requirements, the work onboard kept the men slim and muscular.

He also made sure the “geedunk” was well stocked and operating. The refreshment stand was located at the rear of the mess decks. The supply officer repaired the old soda fountain and the guys got a kick out of watching the operators hand mix a soda or some other soft drink. Even the ice cream machine was kept operational so that a root beer float was a standard item. It was all advertised as a part of being in the “real Navy” and the crew ate it up, literally.

Before leaving Norfolk a couple of crewmen got in a fight at a club when they firmly told some sailors on one of the inoperative frigates they weren’t real sailors. During the Captain’s Mast he almost wanted to reward the men but had to set an example. From what he was hearing, it was almost the same on each of the old battleships. Something about these ships was alluring to the average sailor. Maybe it was just a “guy” thing.

Finishing his coffee, Hustvedt glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. The new watchstanders were making their way up to the bridge. He got out of his chair and walked over to the OOD. “I think I’ll turn in. We’ve had a busy night. Give me a call if you run up on anything,” he said.

“Aye, sir. Good night, Captain.”

Hustvedt handed the coffee mug to the messenger as he walked out the bridge wing door. He made his way to a small room behind the bridge. He turned on the light and got undressed. Before sliding between the sheets he turned out the light and opened the porthole. The fan at the foot of his bed helped draw in the cool night air. The rocking of the ship was almost like being rocked in a baby’s bed. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

President Steve O’Bannon was thanking his stars again. After only 48 hours the forces in Korea had retaken nearly half of South Korea and devastated most of the North’s military machine. General Black was almost gleeful as he recounted how far and how fast General Richardson had moved with the First Marine Division. Admiral Johnson just finished his rushed brief on the naval actions on the east and west coasts. Both men had promised more surprises on the third day.

“Damn! I wish I had been there” exclaimed Butler as he briefed the President over a working lunch. “He crossed the “T.”

O’Bannon almost laughed. He wasn’t quite sure what had his Chief of Staff so excited but knew it must be earth shattering for a Navy guy. He got a kick out of seeing Butler excited. “I’m not sure about how, but that guy Hustvedt sure did a bang up job. From what I was told, he’s responsible for sinking over half of their fleet. The missile battle on the other side was just as exciting,” he said through a sip of iced tea.

“Exciting isn’t the word, boss. Missile engagements are hairy as hell. It’s a good thing they use such antiquated equipment. The newer stuff might have been different. But for a surface sailor, what Hustvedt did was what we have wet dreams about. Crossing the ‘T’ is a tactic as old as ships and the sea. To do it successfully has almost always worked and Hustvedt used it to maximum advantage. He will be cited in the history books for over 100 years. That one victory made it worth all the work and expense of bringing the battleships back. From now on, we won’t have to worry about their navy.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I see Roger took out one of their main supply depots. I bet he’s having a ball out there,” O’Bannon said. “Do you wish you were there?”

Butler snorted and sat back in his seat. “Yeah, in some ways, but I’ve kind of gotten used to this job. I always thought being around you politicos would be the biggest bore, but working with you has been fun. Now that I’ve seen how things really work and learned my way around a little it’s not as boring as I thought,” he said with a sly look.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve earned your keep,” the President said. “At least I’ve had somebody I can beat up every so often. You’ve thrown a few punches yourself.”

“Only to keep the bad guys at bay, sir,” Butler laughed.

“Well, at least we got rid of a few of those. How long do you think it will take to get to Seoul?”

“No telling. Those guys have been doing a great job so far. But remember, we still have to go across the DMZ and on up toward the Chinese border. There’s no telling how much these guys will be able to resist once we get into their home territory. You fight harder in your own backyard,” Butler said. “We have a briefing this afternoon at 4. Just be wary of anyone telling you it will be over in a month.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. You say tomorrow will be the turning point?”

“Yes, sir. They should have had time to set up their infrastructure. Our guys will have to be on their toes,” Butler said. “I talked to the Navy and Air Force and they have a few things up their sleeves to weed out the rest of the defenses. Right now the biggest problem I see is the ground forces. Somebody said it right. You can bomb and you can shell, but it takes ground troops and occupation to win wars,” he said.

“Did you see the casualty reports? We’ve lost about 800 so far,” O’Bannon said. He knew full well that Americans would quickly turn away their support with too many casualties.

“Yes, sir, but if you remember we lost 29,000 dead and over 100,000 wounded on D-Day. Even Inchon during the Conflict cost us over 500 killed and we landed only about 40,000 on that one. Last night we landed over 200,000 troops in three locations with hardly a scratch. Claire Richardson’s plan was brilliant. She was able to get the troops landed right under the noses of the North Koreans. All of our casualties have been after the invasion and during the move inland. Also keep in mind almost half of those casualties came with the sinking of two of our ships during the missile attack last night. In all, these guys have done really well,” Butler said.

“Ok, what’s the next step?”

Butler got very serious. “Boss, we let them do their jobs. The best way to screw things up is to start fighting the war from here. Give Richardson and the others the chance to do things the way they are trained. They’ll get the job done,” he said. “One thing we can do is make sure the good word gets out. That guy Murrow is helping a lot. He’s reporting the way people feel and how what we are doing is helping. If he’s like his relative he will be honest and positive. But keep in mind he will eat us up if we really screw the pooch. I know there will be some of our esteemed politicians who will be complaining about the ship losses and focusing in on the rough spots. I asked the Pentagon to let the reporters send their stories in as quickly as possible. Right now there is good news and we need to get that out. If we get indications from the naysayers, we need to counter it with truth and facts as soon as we can,” he said.

“I agree. A friend of mine on the Hill called this morning and told me of a couple of people we need to watch out for. I have feelers out,” the President said. “It’s a shame some people feel like they have to be a stick in the mud.”

“Yes, sir,” Butler agreed. He glanced at his watch and then turned on the radio beside the table. “It’s time for our friend in Pusan.”

The men listened to the local radio station and the advertisements leading up to the broadcast from Korea. The announcer began the program and turned it over via short wave.

“This is Pusan, Jason Murrow reporting. A miracle happened in Pusan this morning. It was in the form of music.” The sound changed to a distant band playing a Doobie Brothers tune named “Rocking Down The Highway.” “In the midst of an invasion and after a night of raining devastation, the people of the beleaguered port city of Pusan woke to the sound of a ship’s band playing across the harbor. It wasn’t military music or marches, but the sound of American rock music full of youth, hope, and joy. The music echoed across the waters and through the streets bringing people out of their battered homes and down to the waterfront to listen.

These people came from their homes to find relief and peace for the first time in months. They crowded the waterfront clapping and dancing to the American music as the unknown band played. For over an hour the music filled the harbor drawing thousands to its message of hope and joy. Then as the American battleship left the harbor, the people stayed and celebrated a new world for themselves and the rest of South Korea.

After months of siege, there has been liberation. After months of hardship, there is a new feeling of optimism and goodwill among the people. Through simple songs, the young Americans on the ship passed their own hope and enthusiasm to the people of this city.

Now as I walk through the streets I see smiles instead of frowns. People walk tall instead of slumped. Vendors are on the streets again selling their wares and the fishermen have returned to their boats to bring in their catches. Throughout the area people have begun picking themselves up and stepping forth to rebuild. During the day word has reached the people of Pusan of neighboring towns and cities being liberated. They have begun hearing from families they had considered lost. Optimism is growing with each word of hope, and it all started with the notes played by a few simple sailors. America returned to Korea last night and brought with it a refreshing new outlook. America and its allies are helping the Koreans reclaim their identity and their heritage. The miracle of freedom has begun again.

This is Jason Murrow, good night and good luck.”

The radio was switched off. “My God. What ship was that?” the President wondered.

“I’ll find out,” Butler promised.

Mayor Patricia Crowell heard the music and listened to the commentary. She knew exactly what ship it was. At the end of the broadcast her telephone rang.

“Did you hear?” asked Jack Latham from his shipyard office.

“That was our guys,” she said. There was a tear in her eye.

“Damn, I can’t believe this. What can we do for them?” he asked.

“I don’t know right now, and I doubt they would accept anything. It makes me glad we were able to get those guys that equipment. Maybe we could send them some better instruments or something.”

“Maybe. I’ll ask around. In the mean time do you want me to see about getting copies of those broadcasts? Might go really well in the museum,” he said.

“I’ll call. I can call in a couple of favors over at the affiliate. It kind of makes me wonder if Iowa is a part of the rest of the broadcasts. Either way, those copies will be good to have,” the Mayor said. “I can’t wait till they get home.”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. “You still writing?” Latham asked.

“Got a couple of responses, too, but he can’t really say much in a letter.”

“Didn’t anybody tell you long distance relationships can’t work?” Latham prodded.

“You know me. I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Latham laughed. “Pathetic,” he said. “Well, I’m going to share this with the guys over here. We may have a party or something.”

“Sounds like a good idea. I better get back to business,” she said.

“Okay, if I hear anything else I’ll call.”

After hanging up the telephone Patricia Crowell pulled a letter out of her desk and opened it. It was the third one she had received. After writing six letters she had finally gotten the first reply. Then surprisingly she received a second a week later. Since then she had faithfully written a letter every other day. This one had been on her desk this morning when she came back from a meeting.

Crowell looked at the handwritten letter and began reading it.

The letter had been dated a week ago. She folded it and put it with the others in her personal drawer. She could only imagine what he was going through now. The actual fighting had begun. Somewhere the ship they restored and its crew were probably engaging the enemy. The fear of Hammond being hurt suddenly reared its head in her imagination and she had a difficult time pushing the brief thought away. She couldn’t lose him now.

After a moment, Mayor Crowell pushed away from her desk and walked to her public relations office. Her request was simple. Fortunately someone had already made the arrangements and the recordings and articles were being gathered and filed. Several of the staff members noticed an extra spring in the Mayor’s step when she left the office.