The Command

Dan watched Camill process this. The chief had just given him a lot to think about. That the Harpoon — its on-air code name “Bulldog”— was ready to engage, with the missiles arriving at each target at the same time — STOT meant simultaneous time on target. He’d also recommended telling everyone in Blockbuster an air attack was likely. Next, he was suggesting all antiship and antiaircraft weapons and fire control systems power up, so all it would take to shoot would be “pulling the pickle”—pushing the fire button. He was recommending Phalanx be switched to auto mode, giving the radar-controlled twenty-millimeters permission to shoot down anything that looked like a threat to their computers. His last advice was to load the forward gun with high explosive, radar-fuzed ammunition, and the after mount with infrared-triggered rounds.

Camill was still thinking. Dan started to slide forward on his chair. Had it been this hard for his skippers, waiting for him to come through? Three seconds … four… he opened his mouth to take over.

The lieutenant said, smoothly and distinctly, as if reading from a script: “SWC, CIWS to auto/air. Set air warning yellow. CSRO, set weapons posture one, surface and air weapons. CSOOW, WEPS, CSRO: Set weapons posture one, all surface and air systems.” Voices answered with loud “Aye, ayes.”

“Whiskey, this is Delta. Air warning yellow, bull’s-eye mike delta. Sector one-eight-zero to zero-zero-zero.”

“This is Bravo, roger out.”

“Charlie, rog out.”

A slight pause, then an accented voice. “Golf, roger out.” Kocatepe, the Turk.

“WEPS, radar two, posture one set.”

“Mount 51, posture one set.”

“Mount 52, posture one set.”

“Mount 51, 52, roger up.”

“Very well,” Dan and Camill said together.

“WEPS, CIWS. Posture one set mount 21 and 22.”

Sparrow rogered up, too. Dan asked for a range to the nearest contact. Thirty-two thousand yards. Well inside Styx range. He forced a deep breath. Another. Just another seagoing game of chicken. Like the ones they’d played with the Soviets in the old days.

“Weps, Harpoon. Tech’s en route to Combat. Needs the permission-to-fire key. Soon as he has it, posture one will be set.”

“Poon, WEPS, roger.”

The weapons system supervisor keyed a different mike. “Posture one set all AAW and ASUW systems with the exception of the PTF key. HER Tech en route Combat to get it.”

“Got the key, Herb?” Dan asked him. “Just in case?”

Camill held it up on the chain around his neck without looking back. He was listening to the CSOOW passing the weapons posture information on his interphone. The man turned his head. “TAO, CSRO. Posture one set AAW, ASUW except for HER. Tech should be here in a second or two to get the permission-to-fire key.”

Camill nodded as someone reported that CIWS was now in auto air ready. A blue-glittering bead was working its way down the back of his neck.

“Vampire, Vampire, Vampire!” the electronic warfare supervisor and the radar operator called out simultaneously.

* * *

Suddenly no one spoke. Time seemed to slow. He could feel it draw out between the very pulses of his heart. If he or Camill or the petty officers on the launch consoles screwed up, the people in this dim compartment had only seconds to live. Styxes were huge, and at this range they’d be full of fuel, too.

“Vampire” meant inbound missile.

“TAO, EW: Vampire emitter is A2Z4, correlates to seeker for SS-N-2-C. I hold two, possibly three emitters. Hard to tell, all on the same bearing and freq.”

“I hold Vampire composition two. Vampire one from target one, Vampire two, target two.”

Dan didn’t hear it fast enough. He yelled, “EW, chaff! Now!”

“Chaff, aye—”

Camill called out, “SWC, take vampires. Engage with Sparrow, shoot, shoot, look. Backup with 51, 52, CIWS.”

Dan got a grip on himself. He had to let them do their jobs, and get the word out what was going on. He grabbed the red phone, the Med Satellite High Command net. “All stations this net, this is Horn actual. I am under attack. SS-N-2-C. Composition two. Missiles launched from probable Osas, flag unknown, out.” He socketed the phone without waiting for replies and pointed to the petty officer controlling the P-3. “Tell Tiger to stand clear during real-world engagement.”

“All hands stand clear of weather decks … missiles inbound… missile firing imminent,” the 1MC said over the gabble that was rapidly rising in Combat.

Dan could feel, hear, the main engines revving to full power. The deck begin leaning. The officer of the deck was applying the ship’s maneuverability to the tactical problem. Bringing to bear as many weapons as they could, but giving the incoming Styxes the least possible lock profile. Meanwhile, he had to take out the incoming missiles and destroy the shooters before they got off the next salvo.

“TAO, SWC. Sparrow locked on to Vampire one. Mark 86 has target two. Stand by.”

The flight deck TV showed the Sparrow launcher suddenly slew around. The gun elevated, too, then whipped around to port.