John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

They had to flood the number one magazine for that gun, but there were three more still high and dry, and plenty of powder bags stretched out on the racks four decks below the gun itself. The huge shells were still rotating into the lifts on the projectile handling floor, and hoisted up into the rammers. Like an enormous clock, the turret skipped a beat or two as the crews recovered from the shock and replacements were sent in, then the workings of the turret continued, and the guns struck twelve with another thunderous roar.

Two more missiles came at them. One popped up and then plunged down on the deck just behind the aft main battery. If the big guns had not been rotated away they would have been struck there, but as it was the missile penetrated the deck and bored into the galley and crew’s mess section on the second deck. The Hot Parker Rolls were going to be a little overdone if they were ever served there again.

The third missile struck amidships, blasting into the superstructure where a special cabin had been set up for FDR when the Iowa transported the President to the Tehran Conference earlier in the war. The explosion damaged a twin 5 inch gun battery, and sent a hail of fiery shrapnel up toward the battle bridge. The armored conning tower where Wellborn captained the ship was protected by thick 17.5 inch armor, and it shrugged off the punch with no significant damage. The fire soon spread from FDRs cabin to the officer’s Wardroom, but crews were rushing to the scene to put the flames down.

Iowa had taken six hard hits, but for all the smoke, fire and concussion, she was not seriously hurt. The primary virtue of a battleship, her ability to take punishment and remain in the fight, was now paramount. With each passing minute the range was decreasing, her crews working the optics, he guns plotting a solution to lob more massive shells at the enemy.

The Russians had turned, skirting the far horizon out of visual range, but Wellborn knew they would see them again soon. If they wanted to break out into the deep blue they would have to continue an easterly heading. He estimated they had probably made a ten or fifteen point turn, and he was correct.

“Gunnery Officer! Adjust your fire five degrees to starboard and set your range steady at 34,000 yards. Aim for that column of smoke.”

He knew they had just scored a lucky hit, and didn’t think they would get another any time soon, but they would keep a rain of hot steel heading the enemy’s way nonetheless.

“Sir, we have visual sighting on our air wing. Aircraft off the port rear quarter!”

The Captain looked to see the skies slowly darkening with tiny specks. They were not in any discernable formation. Some were low on the water, others at altitude, and scattered all over the sky. They had been riding Iowa’s radio direction signal to arrive unerringly at the scene of the battle just as things were heating up. And then he gaped at the sky to the north, seeing it scored by a series of lighting fast contrails that raced out at impossible speeds. The enemy was firing rockets at the incoming planes—rockets with eyes so good that they swerved and struck dead on when they hit, and soon the sky above the ship was blooming with hot fireballs and angry black fists of smoke.

“Radio signal, Captain. It’s Admiral Halsey!”

Wellborn took the handset and toggled the overhead speaker. “Welcome Admiral, take off the gloves and get busy. The enemy is just beyond that column of smoke on your horizon. We put sixteen inches of steel on them with our third salvo.”

“Good job, Chuck. Give ‘em hell. We’ve just seen your main mast on the horizon so we’re about thirty minutes out, but on a good intercept angle. We’ve got your back! Mighty Mo is coming at 33 knots and Sprague is swinging up behind them with Whisky. Together the three of us are going to pound these guys to rubble.”

The Bull was charging to the scene aboard battleship Missouri , mad as hell when he saw the enemy rockets firing at the planes overhead. The entire scene was now becoming another wild display of controlled chaos at sea. The big ships surged forward, sharp bows frothing the waves, huge guns firing amid the drone of hundreds of aircraft coming in above them.

“Order the flack gunners to cease fire,” Wellborn shouted over the noise. “We can’t hit those damn rockets and we might take down our own boys up there.”

He watched as the first planes passed his position, making for the distant column of black smoke on the horizon as the enemy rockets clawed into the sky to look for them. Get the bastards, he urged the flyboys on. But look out for my big guns.

The Big Stick fired again.

Karpovwatched Orlan firing, the missiles accelerating to the incredible speed of Mach 15, five times faster than a bullet fired from a good rifle. The planes in the sky were like slow flying target drones to them, and Orlan’s amazing fire control computers were sending them out with pinpoint accuracy, one missile, one kill. Three, then five, then nine angels fell in the wild sky, yet on they came, blue Hellcats , and Helldivers , well named, for it seemed they were plunging over the edge of perdition as the missiles exploded, taking one plane after another.

“Stand ready on Klinok system,” he ordered. “We’ll add our fire to that of Orlan soon.”

The cold weight of Admiral Golovko’s tragic loss was now settling into his stomach like a heavy stone. They lost their best ASW ship, two hundred men, and all the weapons remaining that now had to be wiped from his mental inventory. He had assigned a place for each of the eight remaining P-900s on the frigate, but now they would never be fired. And her special warhead was gone as well, an even bigger loss, he thought. The ship’s helicopters could be recovered easily enough, but that was another matter that he put far from his mind.

The crew also seemed different now. Each time they saw the crack of fire light up the horizon, then heard the deep rolling thunder of the American battleship firing, there was a long minute of tense anxiety on the bridge. Karpov saw one crewman looking up at the ceiling of the citadel, as if he thought a 16 inch shell might come blasting through the armored roof at any moment like Hayashi’s plane hit the aft citadel when they fought the Japanese. It was not the battleship he was worried about now, but the flights of aircraft massing above it.

The American planes had cut the range in half in the last ten minutes and were now inside thirty kilometers, ripe fruit for the flotilla’s potent missile defenses. Orlan led the way with her superb 9M96E missiles, designed for direct “hit to kill” impact. Their high speed maneuverability was attributed to canards and thrusters, which allowed them to achieve extremely high G turns with precision throughout the engagement envelope. In effect, it was a highly maneuverable shaped charge that would strike and detonate with a tight fragmentation pattern that was ripping the American planes to pieces, one by one.

Yet each missile fired was one less available in the magazines. Orlan started the battle with 180 SAMs, and she had already fired 46 missiles, each and every one finding a target, though three had homed on planes that had already been hit.

Rodenko reported that the SAM defense was exacting a terrible toll, but the Americans were still pressing doggedly forward. “This group must be off Halsey’s carriers,” he said to the Captain, pointing at the tactical board. “That second group there at the fifty kilometer mark must be coming from the Sprague group.”

“How many?”

“Signal tally has about 160 discrete contacts there, sir. The Halsey group we’re engaging now is much bigger, well over 250 aircraft. Orlan started with 152 SAMS after fending off Ziggy Sprague’s first attack, and we have 100 missiles in the Klinok system. Even if we score hits with every missile that will still leave over150 aircraft that will get through the SAM envelope for our close in systems to contend with. The Halsey air group must have vectored in on a signal from that battleship.” He pointed at the tactical board where the symbol for the Iowa was drawn by the computer.