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

But it was far from over.

CaptainGordon MacRae got the bad news a few minutes later and considered what to do. The damn Russians had one thing on him in this engagement—range. Their missiles had long reach, exceeding his own anti-ship systems by just enough to matter. That was the deadly calculus of modern war at sea. The speed and range of a missile could make all the difference in the engagement. If he wanted to repay the Black Sea Fleet in kind he had to get up north with Iron Duke and close the range a bit.

Fairchild had pressed a new ship-to-ship missile prototype into sea trials on the Argos Fire , the GB-7, or Gealbhan for ‘Sparrow.’ It was faster than the Harpoons on the Iron Duke , and had range almost equivalent to their Block 1D version at 320 kilometers, but he was too far south. The Duke could fire back now and their Captain Williams was doing so, but the frigate only had enough for one good punch, just eight Harpoons .

“Come about to 340 degrees and ahead full,” he said grimly. “We just paid a high price for a chance at getting at the oil quickly. Now it’s out there burning on Princess Irene.”

His Executive Officer Dean had a troubled look on his face. Iron Duke was alone, fighting the brave fight while Argos Fire was escorting the core of what remained of the Fairchild flotilla, two larger tankers with a million barrels each in their holds. MacRae reasoned that he could defend the tankers as long as he kept them inside the circle of his air defense umbrella, and the ship’s Sea Vipers could range out 120 kilometers.

Argos Fire surged ahead, her engines quickly developing 30 knots. With the Russians still heading southeast at 25 knots, the two sides would be closing at just over 100 kilometers per hour. That would put his Gealbhans within range in just a few minutes, and he was ready to engage.

“Wake up the birds,” he said to Dean. “Salvo of eight. Iron Duke has na’ but a handful of those Harpoons , and they’ll be lucky if they get even one through.”

Ten minutes later the Argos Fire engaged, but Captain Pomilov was ready with his final salvo of Oniks missiles as well. His three new frigates were able to get their salvo off before they had to go defensive and switch to SAM systems. He soon had another twelve P-800s in the air and targeted at the Iron Duke this time, intent on taking out a warship after his initial salvo had found and killed its commercial target.

The Oniks was the missile that had eventually been merged into the Yakhont/BraMos project for the Indian Navy. It was a successor to the original SS-N-22 Sunburns , fast, furious, and with a 250kg warhead. It’s ideal flight trajectory over the 300 kilometer range was a high altitude approach followed by a rapid descent to sea level for the final 40 kilometers. So while the eight Harpoons off Iron Duke forged in on the deck, low and slow, the Russian response was climbing high.

Thefrigate was firing with her Sea Ceptors and the deadly dance was on again in the midnight black of the starlit sky. Bright new shooting stars clawed the heavens as the missiles engaged, and all the while the Gealbhans off Argos Fire accelerated to join the fray.

The Harpoons found an old Krivak and two got through to break its back that night. A third made it through to hit Admiral Grigorovich . Yet the Russian missiles were fast and, in spite of a violent defense from her 30mm Mark 34 Bushmaster IIs, Iron Duke took a hit on her aft quarter, igniting the helo deck area in a torrid fire.

Captain Williams was on the bridge in command of the action, pipe in one hand, the other steadying himself against the roll of the ship. He shunned the Captain’s chair, preferring to stand out his watch whenever he was on the bridge. There was a lot going on in the heat of combat, but Williams was a steady rock, with typical British reserve and a well of calm in his gut that would not be rattled. He felt the ship quaver with the missile hit, but a raised eyebrow was the only outward sign of reaction.

“Took one on our backside,” he said calmly to his XO Lt. Commander Colin Firth.”

“That we did, sir.”

There were two other near misses, one spoofed by ECM and chaff, the other bearing in, right amidships.

“Mister Simms, look to your Bushmasters,” said Williams firmly.

The rattle of the frigate’s two automated cannons scored a lucky hit, igniting the last missile not thirty feet shy of the frigate. The clatter of shrapnel striking the hull was evident to them all, and a junior midshipman exhaled loudly with obviously relief. The demonstration drew a stern eye from Captain Williams, who quietly reached into his pocket and found his tobacco tamp.

Then the Gealbhans broke through the Russian defense to get the second Krivak and put another missile into Grigorovich that would make a fiery end to that ship’s brief career. A third found the Essen, striking amidships, and the Black Sea Fleet had had enough.

Backaboard Argos Fire radar man Haley turned to report .

“The remaining ships are executing a high speed turn, sir. They’re coming around on a new heading of 340.”

“They’re turning tail and running for home,” said MacRae. “But they’ve already done their worst. Miss Fairchild won’t like the news tonight. We just lost twenty percent of our oil, and a good ship and crew with it.”

“Aye, sir. Lucky Iron Duke had its Westland Merlin helo up on ASW watch. They’re vectoring it to Princess Irene for rescue operations. Chances are we’ll bring a good many home.”

The entire action had taken little more than an hour. It would end with three Russian ships on the bottom of the sea, and both Iron Duke and Princess Irene hit and burning. Captain Williams was on the radio from Iron Duke with his report.

“Well, we took one on the fantail,” he said “But it looks a whole lot worse than it is…. Sorry about Princess Irene. We’ll get to the crew, but may have to send our Merlin your way until we sort things out here. Those damn Sizzlers…We took down ten, but two got through.”

“Aye, Captain,” said MacRae. “You’ve given your best, and we sent them home three ships light with a fourth on fire. I don’t think we’ll see much more of the Black Sea Fleet from here on out.”

“Seen more of it than we needed already,” said Williams. “Damn bloody business.”

“If you can still make way would you join us off the Turkish coast? We’re coming up to give you just a wee bit more missile umbrella.”

“Much obliged, Argos Fire. We can only make 20 knots at the moment, but that should get us south well enough. Iron Duke over and out.”

That night the survivors aboard Admiral Grigorovich lowered the body of Captain Pomilov into the last launch and made way to join Makarov , the only ship in the fleet that had come through the battle unscathed. The flotilla leader would burn for another three hours before it keeled over and sank, joining the two Krivaks that had already gone down.

Command fell to Captain Tsukov on the Essen , senior officer in the fleet after Pomilov’s death. His ship had taken significant damage, but was still seaworthy and could make 25 knots. The flotilla had expended its entire SSM missile inventory in the brief, violent action. So now he turned and led what was left of the Black Sea Fleet home to Novorossiysk, his war over for the moment.