Final Storm (11 page)

But it would take more than the cannons riding aboard the F-16s to destroy the heart of the Soviet task force.

So he quickly discussed an idea with his F-16 pilots and with Fitch on the lead AC-130 gunship. They compared current positions, timing and remaining fuel loads, and finally came to the conclusion that Hunter’s plan, though risky, had a chance of succeeding.

Like Spaulding before him, Hunter knew he had to take a gamble. But this one was a double long shot. He was betting not only that all the active radar sets on the Soviet ships were switched off, but also that the shitbox Soviet passive systems couldn’t tell the difference between the gunships and the regular transports, at least not until it was too late.

If the first two guesses were correct, then the third leg of the bet dictated that the Americans had to switch off their own AN/APG-70 digital fire control radar sets, as the “hot” sets would have given themselves away too soon.

The overall result would be that just about everyone involved would be shooting with one hand over one eye …

On board the Soviet aircraft carrier
Brezhnev
, the Soviet task force commander was feeling somewhat rattled, yet still confident.

His primary mission had been executed: his airplanes had shot down at least two of the American airliners, and damaged several more. And, in the strange air attack that followed, three of the American A-10s had been shot down.

But his task force had also paid a price. The
Kirov
-cruiser was heavily damaged, still afloat, but all but useless. The destroyer was burning badly and would most likely have to be abandoned. As many as six Forgers unaccounted for. And his own ship was missing its main radar mast after the last A-10 had sheared it off shortly before crashing.

Two airline transports and three A-10s at cost of two battered ships and a half-dozen Yak fighters
, he thought.
Who won this battle?

He had no time to think any more about it—rather, it was time to resume his mission. Stay hidden, avoid US submarines, wait for another American air convoy, and attack again. All in all, his own ship was in good shape. The few stray bomb hits that reached them hadn’t been serious. Ninety percent of his communication and command equipment was still working—and all his active radars were shut down. Even the troubling lack of the top mast radar wouldn’t be a problem for too long. His damage control parties had assured him that substitute radars were already working to pick up the slack.

And even now, he could see a repair crew was climbing to the top of the superstructure in order to mount a temporary radar dish near the top of the clipped-off mast.

It was these men who were the first to see the approaching F-16s …

L
IKE THE VALIANT A-10S
before them, the F-16 Falcons came in just above wavetop level.

They would strike in two groups: Hunter, Rico and DuPont would go in first; a minute later, Crider would lead Christman and Samuels in for the follow-up.

“Cannon armed and powered,” DuPont radioed over to Hunter.

“Ditto here, Captain,” Rico confirmed.

Hunter checked and confirmed that his own big gun was ready.

“Roger, cannons ready,” he called back to them. “I read twenty and two miles to target …”

With their radars switched off, this would be an eyeball attack. But this didn’t worry Hunter—their target would be one of the biggest things afloat.

“There they are,” Hunter called out calmly, spotting the silhouettes of the Soviet ships just above the horizon. Also visible were the half-dozen plumes of black smoke coming from the damaged cruiser and destroyer.

“And there’s the big guy,” Hunter continued, spotting the massive outline of the carrier,
Brezhnev.
“Everyone got a visual?”

“Roger,” came the near simultaneous reply from his two wingmen.

“OK,” Hunter said, feeling an invigorating rush of adrenaline wash through him. “It’s showtime …”

With a kick of their afterburners, the first three F-16s were in amongst the Soviet ships within seconds. For the first wave of the attack, the carrier would be the sole target—the rest of the ships would be left alone for the time being.

Although the carrier’s SAM crews were not prepared to fight, the Soviet anti-aircraft gunners saw them coming. In seconds the air was filled with AA fire. But the nimble fighters, roaring in three abreast, were able to jink around the heavy stuff with aplomb, turning wing-tip up in order to reduce their target profile. They were heading toward a point off the port side of the carrier’s bow, rising above the waves ever so slightly to bring their noses level to the uplifted front ramp of the carrier’s flight deck.

“Ready …” Hunter yelled into his radio as the airplanes approached the 500-foot-to-target mark. “
Fire!
”

Instantly their cannons spoke with one terrifying voice. Spitting 20mm shells across the crowded flight deck, the exploding rounds gashed several waiting aircraft, then walked up the side of the superstructure to pepper it with holes. Then the three fighters screamed up and over the massive ship.

It took less than four seconds, but Hunter knew all three of them had inflicted damage.

But this was just the beginning …

No sooner had Hunter and the others gone into their steep near-vertical escape climbs, when Crider, Christman and Samuels roared in. They too found targets up and down the front part of the ship, including a direct hit on a Soviet Ka-25 Hormone ASW helicopter.

Despite the lightning quickness of his first pass, Hunter had spotted the two Forgers warming up on the carrier’s flight line. Once he, Rico, and DuPont were regrouped, he signaled them to concentrate fire on the first jet on their next pass. He would take the second jet alone.

The three of them did a tight 360-degree loop, and less than a minute later were boring in on the carrier again. The AA fire was now tripled in intensity as gunners on the surrounding escort ships were now joining the battle. Hunter knew the enemy SAM crews—their radar no doubt switching on by the dozens—would soon be back in action.

The trio of jets split up about a mile out, Rico and DuPont going for the Forger near the front of the carrier’s flight deck, Hunter aiming for the one nearer to midships.

Less than a quarter-mile out, Hunter started his cannon firing on the second Forger.

Although he was going just as fast as before, it seemed to Hunter like everything had suddenly gone into slow motion. As he roared in on the carrier he could see his target—apparently a two-seat version of the Forger—just starting to lift off the carrier deck. He slammed his cannon trigger and felt the F-16 shudder as the huge gun started firing. He followed the cannons’ smoke streams and watched as his shells tore open the left wing of the Soviet jumpjet, exploding its fuel tanks and spilling fire onto the flight deck.

Then, in a flash, time resumed its normal pace and he was up and over the carrier once again. Looping back and looking down through his canopy, he saw that he had completely destroyed the Forger, and that Rico and DuPont had killed their target as well. Now two major fires were sweeping the ship’s flight deck, virtually insuring that no more planes could take off until the wreckage of the two Forgers was cleared, and the fires were extinguished.

At this point it seemed like panic swept through the Soviet Task force. Two of the destroyers made tight turns and obviously started to escape, whether under orders or not, Hunter would never know. Then the Soviet anti-aircraft batteries’ crews started to fire blindly at the attacking fighters. With little or no radar yet operating, they were hard pressed to hit one of the speeding fighters—after all, they weren’t pokey A-10s.

But still, the streams of tracers and the streaking unguided missiles made the sky around the task force look like a lethal gauntlet for the F-16s.

Hunter reformed his flight and pressed ahead with the second phase of the plan: a concerted strafing run on the starboard sides of the remaining escorting ships. If the second part of his attack plan was to work, they’d need to clear the path …

As the F-16s swept in from the starboard quarter at an oblique angle to the remaining light cruiser and destroyers, all the ship’s guns were focused on them, blazing away at the strafing planes. Cannon fire laced the cruiser’s foredeck, and more shells obliterated the bridge of one of the destroyers, tearing into the superstructure.

All eyes, even those of the carrier crew, were on the six buzzing planes …

None of the Soviet sailors saw the big AC-130s loom out of the valley created by the big swells as they skimmed across the ocean’s surface in a long line, like a flight of birds of prey. Even when they were spotted, the Soviets failed to notice the howitzers, cannons, and gun barrels protruding from their fuselages.

That is, until they opened up with the first broadside.

In the lead gunship, Fire Control Officer Mike Fitch switched on the Hughes digital fire control radar, locking on to the big carrier deck and the Forgers still lined up to receive their pay-loads. The 105mm howitzer and the 40mm cannon in the rear bay tracked the carrier in unison as radar gave them target and range.

The multi-barrel Gatling gun behind the pilot was armed and ready. In their armored, soundproof battle management station in the center of the gunship, the crew monitored their weapon consoles from behind a U-shaped bank of sophisticated mission control computers.

From each station, the radar operator/navigator, electronic warfare specialist, and fire control officer could verify their target and operational status as the big airplane gained altitude and leaned over, slightly dipping its left wing toward the Soviet carrier.

“Spectre Flight, lock radar and open fire as your guns bear!” Fitch’s voice rose as he mashed the gunship’s fire buttons. Instantly the 25mm Gatling gun roared to life, spitting fiery death at the rate of 6,000 rounds/minute. The howitzer and cannon fired their first shots together, then in a staccato pounding rhythm as they remained locked onto the carrier’s deck, relentlessly pumping high explosives into the clustered Forgers.

The Soviet fuel and bomb loading crews abandoned their planes on the vulnerable, cluttered flight deck, hoses flailing, spilling jet fuel across the deck surface. Bomb trucks rolled haphazardly as their drivers dove for the false safety of the superstructure or the perimeter passageways. Pilots, strapped into their seats, were struggling to escape their bonds as the first barrage ripped into the carrier deck.

The
Brezhnev’s
flight deck was instantly engulfed in flames and violent explosions as the gunships poured their massive payloads of multi-caliber ammunition into the big target. Tracers cascaded down in dazzling streams of light, punctuated by the thumping flashes of the heavier guns. Fireballs of oily smoke mushroomed from the carrier’s flight deck as one Forger after another was touched off by bombs and flash fires from the spilled fuel.

The fire followed the tiniest rivulets of fuel into cracks and crevices where it had settled, spreading to all parts of the exposed deck and starting to feed back on itself. Columns of smoke and flame roared as high as the top of the superstructure, where the radar mast repair crew was watching death erupt below them.

One by one, the AC-130s passed over the carrier’s deck, pounding away with their massive firepower like great airborne Men o’ War delivering broadsides to the hapless enemy. Only these broadsides were digitally controlled to keep targeted on the Soviet ship throughout the long, banking turn around the front of the Soviet task force.

Several Soviet ASW helicopters erupted in huge geysers of smoke and fire as their fuel tanks and ammunition pods exploded. Huge swatches of thick gray paint peeled off the burning ship and wafted in the sky like flaming leaves.

The stunned Soviet gunners on board the other ships began to respond with anti-aircraft and machine guns as the AC-130 flight slowly rounded the front end of the task force.

Now, just ahead of the flaming carrier lay the light cruiser and the already-battered destroyer. On board the lead gunship, Fitch quickly switched off the infrared sensors of the fire control system, realizing it would send their weapons pouring back on the flaming carrier instead of on the escort vessels.

He radioed the other ships to do the same. As he locked on to the new target, the light cruiser, he felt enemy machine gun fire rake the left side of his gunship. Even in the soundproof cocoon, surrounded by the banks of computers, he could hear the dull thud of the bullets as they struck the boron-carbide Kevlar armor.

Fitch knew the armor would hold off the smaller guns, but a big shell would blast them out of the air. Their best defense would be a good offense, he thought, suppressing the big ship’s guns with a barrage of their own.

But at this point, the scales tipped slightly—and temporarily—in the Soviets’ favor.

Two Forgers, survivors from the previous furball with Hunter and the F-16s, had finally made it back to the area. Quickly and uncharacteristically absorbing the situation, their pilots streaked toward the AC-130s, looped up and came back again near the center of the gunships’ line.

Siting one AC-130 near the middle of the line, one Forger opened fire. Instantly the gunship absorbed burst after burst of concentrated fire from the Yak’s 23mm gun pod. Within seconds its right wing shattered as both engines exploded. The big plane fell out of line and cartwheeled into the ocean in fiery slow motion, finally sinking upside down in the churning water.

Anti-aircraft fire from one of the destroyers had found its mark on a second AC-130’s rear fuselage, starting a fire that threatened to engulf the entire aircraft. The opportunistic Forger, sensing another easy kill, bored in on the stricken gun-ship, unaware that he was crossing directly into the firing pattern of the AC-130 flight leader’s Gatling gun.

“Captain, give me ten degrees up on the port wing! Just a hair closer … Fire …
now!
” Fitch roared as he hammered the fire button.

The Gatling roared to life; in less than three seconds nearly 300 rounds of 25mm ammo had perforated the Forger, which disappeared under the fierce barrage of lead from the gunship. Pieces of what had been the Soviet interceptor filtered down out of the sky as the smoke cleared. But no individual part was recognizable—the airplane had simply been vaporized.