Anvil by Dirk Patton Page B

the water, large canisters that would create noise intended to fool the
torpedoes into locking onto them instead of the sound of a ship racing to
safety. 
    Anti-Submarine
Warfare (ASW) helicopters were already in the air and as he watched, two of
them dropped torpedoes into the sea.  Before the weapons had time to
destroy the enemy submarine, there was a brilliant flash from the stern of one
of the destroyers that had dashed to place itself between the incoming
torpedoes and the Nimitz.  A moment later a second explosion bloomed from
amidship on the destroyer and it went dead in the water.  Flames and thick
smoke poured from it’s damaged hull.
    The CSG
continued to maneuver and more torpedoes were dropped by the helicopters
searching for the Russian vessel.  Packard cursed as new warnings were
sounded when an attack from the opposite side of the formation was
detected.  More torpedoes were dropped and additional helicopters launched
as a destroyer and a frigate dashed to the probable location of the new
submarine.
    The battle
raged on, one of the Guided Missile Cruisers taking hits from three torpedoes.  The
Cruiser’s back was broken, the hull splitting in half and the ship disappearing
under the waves in minutes.  One more leaked through the defenses and
countermeasures, striking the Nimitz and damaging its massive propellers and
rudder.  The giant ship, without propulsion or steering, came to a stop in
the water and began rolling in the large swells. 
    When it was
over, both Russian subs had been destroyed.  But the Americans had lost a
destroyer and a cruiser.  And even though it was still floating, the
Nimitz couldn’t launch or recover aircraft without the ability to maneuver. 
    One of the
console operators was busily marking every sailor in the water he and the system
could identify, sharing the data with the CSG as rescue operations got underway.
    “What’s the
water temperature?”  Packard asked without taking his eyes off the
hundreds of men and women bobbing on the surface.
    “Forty-five
degrees, sir,” a voice he didn’t bother to identify answered.
    “Goddamn
it,” he mumbled to himself.
    He well knew
that in water that cold a human would lapse into unconsciousness in less than
thirty minutes.  It would only be the lucky individual who survived an
hour before succumbing to hypothermia.  As frantically as sailors were
being pulled out of the ocean, there just wasn’t enough time before many of
them died.
    “Status of
CSG Nine?”  He barked out, compartmenting his anger over the loss of so
many.
    “ASW has
detected and engaged three targets, sir.  One destroyed.  They are
still pursuing the other two.  No damage or casualties to any CSG assets
at this time.”  The Senior Chief who was monitoring communications
answered.
    “Time to first
targets for the Tomahawks?”  He asked the Surface Warfare Officer seated
at a station directly beside him.
    “Eleven
minutes, sir,” the woman answered immediately.
    “Launch the
second wave,” he ordered, watching as more sailors were pulled out of the water
into RIBs and winched up into hovering helicopters.
    “Launch
second wave, aye, sir,” she replied.
    Fifteen
seconds later, the remaining three Guided Missile Cruisers began sending the
last of their missiles to target.  Half were programmed to seek any enemy
radar signal that hadn’t been destroyed by the first wave, the remainder flying
slow and loitering.  The launching ships were in communication with them
and would be able to designate targets of opportunity that had survived the
initial attack. 
    The displays
showing the eastern Pacific changed to two more stretches of open ocean,
moments later the surface boiling as more Tomahawks took flight.  The
location was the North Sea, fifty miles off the western coast of Denmark.  Six
more subs launched another eight hundred cruise missiles between them, half
heading for military targets deep inside Russia.  The remaining