Red Tide, стр. 12
Ryson’s orders were to punch a large hole in the line, thereby preparing the way for the troop transports that would follow. “We have two, repeat two, targets inbound from the northwest,” Deen said. “They’re low, sea skimming missiles, range fifteen miles and closing.”
Sterling gave orders and the combination of evasive maneuvers and mortar launched decoys worked. Explosions marked the spots where the Russian weapons detonated.
In the meantime, the other vessels were being targeted as well. Ryson thumbed his mike. “This is Six. All boats will take evasive action, fire decoys and attack their preassigned targets. Over.”
The other three boats peeled away as they fired flares and chaff while Po put the Mammatus through an unpredictable series of high-speed course alterations, all of which took the PHM in a generally northwesterly direction. “Requesting permission to engage the target with missiles,” Sterling said formally.
“The Flammagen took a hit,” Deen said. “She’s gone.”
Ryson winced. Twenty-five lives snuffed out. Just like that. “Permission granted,” he said, and felt the Mammatus flinch as two Harpoons took to the air. Were the towers equipped with close-in missile defense systems?
The spooks didn’t think so. But they were believed to have decoy launchers. Ryson could see the tower by then. Which meant he could also see the explosions as the Harpoons chased decoys and blew up. “Shit, shit, shit,” Sterling said.
“Close with it,” Ryson ordered. “Tell the RPG crews to get ready. We’ll fire up at the weapons platform. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Sterling gave him a look. Did she think he was crazy? Or brilliant? Ryson couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter. All that mattered was for the Mammatus to survive long enough to get in under the tower’s weapons platform. Because there was little, if any, chance that the tower had a sea level defense system.
More missiles came streaking in and either missed or blew themselves up. Then the hydrofoil entered the shadow under the Russian platform where the Russian weapons couldn’t reach it. Ryson said, “Standby for an emergency stop. Now!”
That was the pilot’s signal to push the foil depth lever down. And, because the turbine was at full power, that had the effect of driving the vessel down into the sea.
At that point the helmsman hurried to throttle the turbine back. Buckets of water fell as the boat bobbed up out of the sea and stopped within her own length.
The RPG teams were now free to stand out in the open, aim their weapons at the structure above, and fire round after round. The explosions were all over the place. Ryson turned to Sterling. “Contact the other boats. Tell them what we’re doing. Now, back her off to the point where we can see the radar array.”
Then Ryson went down to stand between the RPG teams. “Target the radar enclosure!”
The sailors understood. The tower-based system wouldn’t work without targeting information. And the radar enclosure was fully exposed. It took five rounds to crack the boxy structure open and three rounds to destroy the array inside. “Well done,” Ryson told them. “Keep those weapons handy.”
Ryson returned to the bridge where Sterling was ready with a report. “Two additional towers have been neutralized, sir.”
“Good,” Ryson replied. “Send a report to the fleet.”
***
Aboard the Russian cruiser Omsk, on the Black Sea
Vice Admiral Viktor Belkin was eating lunch. It consisted of a thick ham and cheese sandwich, some Ukrainian grapes, and a bottle of Baltika Number 8 beer. Alcohol was prohibited on Russian ships. But rank hath privilege. And who was going to report him?
Belkin heard a knock and looked up to see Lieutenant Volkov standing just inside the door. It was impossible to read the woman since she frowned all the time. “Come in. So, are we victorious yet? Should I give President Toplin the good news?”
It was a joke but the intelligence officer’s expression remained unchanged. “That would be premature, sir. Three of our defense towers have been neutralized.”
Belkin swallowed and took a sip of beer. “And the other two?”
“They are located at the extreme ends of the line, sir. And too far away from each other to provide mutual support.”
“So at least one Allied officer has a brain,” Belkin remarked. “What type of ship or ships brought the towers down? A couple of destroyers?”
“No, sir. Four high-speed hydrofoil missile boats. Three now. One was destroyed. There is some other good news as well. At least 25 percent of the Allied fleet is tied up reacting to the loss of a troop ship.”
Belkin belched, wiped his lips with a napkin, and placed it on his desk. “We will take advantage. Tell the captain to increase speed. Who knows? Maybe we can break out of the Black Sea and enter the Med. I like Greek food.”
***
Aboard the USS Mammatus, in the Back Sea
Ryson hadn’t had time to review the strategic situation since the attack on the towers began. And he was surprised by what he saw. Rather than the orderly process Admiral Canby and his aides described during their briefing two days earlier, it appeared that the battleplan had been severely disrupted by the loss of the troopship.
The plotting screen was filled with arcane symbols. Allied surface ships appeared as a dot within a circle. Hostile vessels were represented by dots in diamonds. And a dot at the center of a box signified an unidentified surface contact.
What jumped out at Ryson was the number of ships scattered about, the diamonds that were still in play, and two unidentified surface contacts.
But most concerning of all was the group of six diamonds, all in formation, all steaming southbound from Ukraine—headed straight for the heart of the shit show. Ryson put his right index finger on the group. “Do we