The Elephant Game Page 34

  Suggs, engines still at afterburner, heart pounding, hands still on the bar above his head, braced himself for the…

  The aircraft jolted forward.

  His helmet pressed back into his seat as the USS Ford’s electromagnetic catapult accelerated his F-18 to over one hundred and fifty knots in two seconds. The Superhornet launched off the flight deck, and Suggs quickly placed his hands back on the controls as they became airborne.

  Shaking off the familiar shock of a cat launch, he checked his instruments, turned the aircraft to the proper heading, and climbed up to five thousand feet. He pushed the throttle forward and accelerated to five hundred knots while the weapons systems officer in the rear seat began prepping for their attack.

  37

  Captain Hoblet stood in the balcony overlooking the dimly lit ship’s mission center of the USS Michael Monsoor, designated the DDG-1001. It was the newest commissioned ship in the Zumwalt class of destroyers. And they were—hopefully—about to prove that it had been worth the nearly four billion taxpayer dollars spent to build it.

  “TAO, hostile air tracts are now in range,” he heard piped onto the balcony over the speaker.

  Below, highly trained and hand-picked sailors worked feverishly at over a dozen individual three-screen workstations. There, they could control everything on the ship, using trackballs and special button panels on the common display system. Hoblet watched his team as they sucked in information from the sensors and radar and used it in conjunction with the information other ships were plugging in to the datalink.

  Updated positions of Chinese air contacts, now identified as J-15 attack aircraft, were projected on the screen in front of him. By Hoblet’s estimate, they would be in range to fire air-to-surface missiles any minute now. If they were going to drop bombs on Guam, it would be a while longer. It was time to respond.

  The TAO looked up at the captain from the floor twenty feet below, speaking through his headset. “Captain, TAO, we’ve received unconfirmed reports of explosions on Guam. Initial indications are that they are under missile attack.”

  Captain Hoblet looked at the tactical display again. The column of Chinese fighters en route to Guam couldn’t have fired missiles already. They were still too far away. “Do we know where the attack came from?”

  “We think the attack may have been submarine-launched, sir.”

  Captain Hoblet knew that Anderson Air Force Base was a strategic air command base. As such, it would be well protected against missile and electronic attack. But would they be able to withstand a coordinated attack coming from submarine-launched missiles and fighter squadrons?

  “Is Guam firing back?”

  “Hard to tell from the information we’re getting, sir.”

  “Understood. Have our SAG destroyers reported that they are ready?”

  “Yes, sir, the last one—Farragut—just rogered up.”

  “Very well. You are weapons free.”

  Seconds later, surface-to-air missiles began shooting up from the vertical launch systems of the USS Michael Monsoor, the USS Farragut, and each of the other destroyers in their surface action group. The missiles traveled at nearly three times the speed of sound, zooming towards the Chinese fighter squadrons.

  The first barrage of missiles destroyed eight of the aircraft. The Chinese fighters were performing evasive maneuvers in a panic, shooting flares and chaff in hopes that the SAMs would miss. But the American missiles were the latest-generation, with upgraded software to ensure that they did not bite off on countermeasures.

  Some of the Chinese aircraft, seeing the destruction ahead, realized the futility of their task and began turning around to retreat. That was when the second barrage of American surface-to-air missiles hit. Each of the J-15s was destroyed.

  38

  Plug watched the tactical display on his screen. The F-18 that had been monitoring the merchant ships hadn’t checked in for the past fifteen minutes. He presumed that it had been shot down.

  After general quarters had sounded, the commodore had entered the Zulu cell and sat down.

  “AIROPS, what’s the status?” the commodore asked, referring to Plug by his job title.

  “Sir, the F-18 that was flying a surveillance mission for us located the six Chinese merchant ships about one hundred miles to the west. FLIR imagery from the Ripper aircraft revealed multiple missile batteries being set up on the decks of the merchant ships. We informed strike group, and they launched the swing-loaded alert aircraft and set general quarters.”

  The commodore stared up at the tactical display. “Tell the ships to report any unusual sonar contacts. If the Chinese are attacking Hawaii, they’ll have submarines here as well. Where’s SUBS?”

  The chief said, “Sir, I’ll contact the destroyers.”

  “Sir, SUBS is in the Sierra cell.” SUBS was the title of the submarine officer on the commodore’s staff. He advised him the commodore all subsurface and anti-submarine warfare matters. “He’s coordinating with COMSUBPAC and the Romeo squadron on board to start a local area search.”

  The commodore nodded and rose. “I’m going to Sierra. Call me there immediately if anything changes, and update me when the alert F-18s reach the merchants.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chinese Han-class submarine

  “Conn, Sonar, contact designated US aircraft carrier 78 bearing zero-nine-five for thirteen thousand meters and closing.”

  Captain Ning watched as his men conducted their work. They were diligent and professional, quietly performing each task just like they had trained. Except these would be real torpedoes that they would fire. And this was a real American supercarrier they were hunting.

  The captain saw hints of the immense pressure taking its toll on his men. The pitch of his conning officer’s voice upon replying to the sonar technician. The beads of sweat on the forehead of the navigator, and the way he didn’t make eye contact with the executive officer who stood over him. But the officers and crew were doing everything right.

  Things would become far more difficult the closer they came to the carrier. Technically, they were already within torpedo range. If his weapon traveled at low speed, it could get as far as thirty thousand meters. But at that velocity, the targets would have plenty of notice, as well as a speed advantage which they could use to escape.

  A good submarine commander planned his attack so as to surprise the enemy and give them little to no chance to evade the incoming weapon. Captain Ning had taken his submarine very close to American aircraft carriers before, in the South China Sea. He had been undetected then, and he fully expected the same result here. By the time the Americans knew his submarine was near, it would be too late.

  The problem was the escorts.

  While Captain Ning would love to remove his risk by attacking the escort ships first, that would also give away his element of surprise.

  “How many ships in company with the carrier now?” The escorts had been multiplying over the past week, getting reinforcements from Pearl Harbor.

  “Eight ships in screen around the carrier, Captain.”

  “Status?”

  “They’re all traveling west at an average speed of ten knots, with the carrier in the center of the formation.”

  The captain nodded. His XO walked over to him, sensing that he wanted to discuss something. They spoke in low voices.

  “We won’t be able to get shots off at all of them.”

  The XO said, “I agree.”

  “We’ll need to prioritize the aircraft carrier above all else. Including our escape.” Their eyes met.

  The XO nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  “Let’s close them deep and quiet. We will—”

  “Conn, Sonar, transients! Torpedo bearing one-seven-zero!”

  The captain of the USS Hawaii, a Virginia-class submarine out of Pearl Harbor, stood in the conn, knowing that a Chinese Han-class submarine was only a few thousand yards away.

  “Solution ready,” said the XO.


  “Weapon ready,” said the weapons officer.

  “Ship ready.”

  The captain gave the order to fire, and the massive torpedo was ejected from the submarine.

  “Own ship’s unit in the water, running normally.”

  The officers and crew around him all waited as the Mark 48 torpedo hurtled through the ocean on its way to the Chinese submarine.

  Captain Ning couldn’t believe his ears. High-pitched pings echoed throughout the submarine. He turned and said, “All ahead flank. Come left to course two-seven-zero.”

  “All ahead flank,” came the repeated command.

  “Left two-seven-zero.”

  “Torpedo is homing, Captain!”

  One of his officers yelled, “Who fired? Find us a target.”

  Captain Ning gripped the rails as he made his way to the other side of the space, the submarine rolling hard to the right as it began evasive maneuvers. He leaned over one of his sailors as he looked at the display. “Launch countermeasures.”

  But as the pinging of the torpedo increased in frequency, he knew it was too late.

  The last thing that went through his mind was a feeling of helplessness as he realized how outmatched his submarine had been. His crew hadn’t even identified who had fired the torpedo.

  The torpedo’s pump-jet propulsor took it to speeds over fifty knots as its seeker continued to ping, painting a picture of the target and surrounding ocean. Other onboard sensors on the Mark 48 detected the electrical and magnetic fields of the Chinese submarine. All this information was used to make the weapon more lethal.

  The six-hundred-and-fifty-pound high-explosive warhead detonated a mere three feet from the Han-class submarine, ripping a hole in the bow and breaching the pressure hull. The vessel’s forward speed and flooding caused it to dive downward into the ocean depths. Many of the officers and crew were killed on impact. Others died in the flooding. And the last of them died when the submarine reached crush depth, imploding into itself.

  Plug could hear SUBS’s announcement on the strike group’s communications network.

  “Foxtrot Bravo, this is Foxtrot Sierra. All known Chinese subsurface contacts in the vicinity have been destroyed, over.”

  Plug and the chief looked at each other in gleeful disbelief. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

  The chief nodded, a look of surprised elation on his face.

  “This is Foxtrot Bravo, roger out,” answered the strike group battle watch captain on the radio.

  The phone rang and Plug picked it up. It was SUBS, giving him the five-second version of events per the commodore’s direction. “Two Los Angeles–class and one Virginia-class submarine are in the area. Their location is above the Secret level and that’s why you weren’t notified during your intel brief.”

  Plug rolled his eyes at that comment. “And what, they just sunk them all?”

  “Yes. They had located four Chinese submarines and were silently tracking them for the past few days. When the F-18 was reported shot down, the commander of the Pacific Fleet told his forces to designate all Chinese military units as hostile. It didn’t take our fast-attacks long to do the rest. I have to go, it’s still busy here. We think we got all of the Chinese submarines in the area, but we can’t be sure.”

  “SUBS, good job.”

  “Yup.” He hung up the phone.

  John Herndon, the Desron’s future operations officer, entered the room, looking up at the tactical display.

  “What happened with the submarines?”

  “SUBS said that our fast-attacks sank four of them.”

  “Just like that?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Herndon nodded up to the displays at the front of the room. “Looks like one of them was pretty close to us.”

  Plug followed his gaze and saw a new red icon labeled “Sunk SUB.”

  Herndon said, “That’s less than five miles from us. We must have been his target.”

  No one spoke for a moment, and things just got a lot more real in Plug’s mind. Holy shit, he’s right.

  “Commodore wants me to check on the F-18s going after the merchant ships.”

  Plug said, “They haven’t reported in yet, but they should be in weapons range now.”

  “Have the F-18s updated the ship locations in datalink?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you directed fire on the merchants yet?”

  “What do you mean? I thought that the F-18s—”

  “What are the F-18s armed with?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “What if they miss, or run out of munitions? Come on, Plug, you don’t just use one weapon, use a bunch. If we have updated coordinates on the merchants, use everything at your disposal. Use the ships, man.”

  Plug felt like he was in over his head. “How?”

  The young lieutenant said, “I suggest that you request permission for some of the destroyers to fire anti-ship missiles at the merchants.”

  “I’m supposed to do that?”

  “My guess is that the captains of those ships are cursing us right now for wasting time.”

  Just then, the commodore barreled into the room, glaring at Plug, and snatched up the radio handset. He spoke fast and used terms that Plug wasn’t familiar with.

  A few seconds later, the tactical display began filling with high-speed air tracks. Anti-ship missiles, lifting off the four ships the commodore had just ordered to begin firing.

  Suggs banked his aircraft to the left and dove to one thousand feet. He looked at his display just forward of his stick. They didn’t have the ships on FLIR, but the data on his display told them that they had a targeting solution all set up. He wasn’t totally sure. He had never fired one of these weapons before.

  “It’s okay,” the duty officer told him. “She had the training,” he said, pointing to his rear-seater at the woman who was in charge of the aircraft’s weapons systems. “And besides, you’re not really going to fly, you’re just an alert.” This deployment was totally screwed up.

  He hoped that they were staying far enough away and low enough that they could avoid surface-to-air missiles. He had been told by the duty officer on the air wing’s frequency that the Ripper flight ahead of him had been shot down. “Look for a chute or survivor in the water when you’re done,” he had said.

  Suggs felt a swell of anger at the idea that some of his old squadron mates were now dead at the hands of Chinese missiles. But he quickly forced the thought out of his mind. He had to compartmentalize. To lock up his emotion into a box and set it aside. Now wasn’t the time.

  “Almost ready,” said the naval flight officer in the rear seat. Suggs had only just met her earlier today. She outranked him, but she was also kind of cute. Why was he thinking about this now? Why couldn’t he compartmentalize that thought? He checked his heading, making a minor correction. It wouldn’t be fraternization. It wasn’t like they were in the same squadron. Maybe…

  “Bruiser away,” she said, then a split second later, “Bruiser two away.”

  Dark, futuristic shapes dropped from each wing mount, ignited, and shot out down and ahead of the fighter, speeding towards their prey.

  The Chinese missile commander on the lead merchant ship was nervous now. Things weren’t going fast enough. His men still needed five more minutes before they were ready to launch the ballistic missiles, and another twenty before they were within range of the cruise missiles. One of the air defense teams aboard the ship next to him had fired at an American fighter jet overhead, hitting it. He was happy to see that their training had paid off, resulting in a kill. But now the Americans would know that they were here. It would only be a matter of time until…

  “Sir, our air defense team reports multiple air contacts inbound. Two appear to be American fighters—we classify them as FA-18s. They’re just outside our surface-to-air missile range. But…”

  The man stopped speaking. His
eyes widened as he pointed to the horizon.

  The commander turned to look where he was pointing. The small dark shapes skimming the water were moving too fast to see as they ran into the northernmost merchant ship. But what was clearly visible was the enormous cargo vessel erupting into a geyser of water and metal.

  The missiles that the F-18s had fired were the brand-new long-range anti-ship missiles developed by DARPA. With the modernization of the Chinese navy, the Pentagon had needed a new air-launched anti-ship missile. DARPA had been working on it for years, and the SILVERSMITH team had ensured that the USS Ford received some of these high-tech weapons.

  The long black missiles were fired from over seventy miles away and skimmed the surface of the ocean as they headed to their targets at just under the speed of sound. Their stealthy design made them almost invisible to radar.

  The pair of F-18s carried two of the weapons each. The four missiles raced along the ocean and targeted four separate ships. Each one impacted its target in the center of the hull, just above the waterline, and the one-thousand-pound warheads exploded on impact. The four massive merchant ships began filling with water, their hulls not designed to withstand military ordnance. Within minutes, they were sinking.

  Suggs tuned up the frequency for his controller, asking if they wanted him to perform strafing runs on the remaining two merchant ships.

  “Negative, Ripper flight, remain clear. Additional strike inbound from the surface ships. Request you make a high pass in five mikes to obtain BDA.” Battle damage assessment. They wanted him to make sure all of the merchants had been destroyed.

  “Wilco,” he replied.

  Five minutes later, he brought his fighter up in altitude and overflew the target zone as his weapons systems officer manipulated the FLIR to show the surface picture.

  She said, “Negative SAM threat, I’d say.”