Author Topic: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR  (Read 14931 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« on: June 26, 2016, 08:43:05 PM »
Ok, here’s Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower moves north. This one’s a little smaller than some of the previous ones. Here’s the setup:



As the Enterprise battle group is attempting to blunt the Soviet sure into the north Atlantic, the Eisenhower battle group, having done some hard fighting in the Med, has now passed Gibraltar and is making its way north to reinforce. The Eisenhower possesses a powerful group, but also some major disadvantages. First, due to the fighting in the Med, the group is scattered for replenishment.  Currently, the Eisenhower, escorted only by the Ticonderoga-class cruiser USS Vicksburg and the frigate USS Halyburton, is the furthest north of the American ships, west of Cape Trafalgar. However, Ike’s escorts are down to about 50% ordinance in their magazines. 

Hurrying to catch up with the Eisenhower is the bulk of her group, escorting the replenishment ship USS Detroit. This group, besides the Detroit, consists of the nuclear-powered cruiser  USS Virginia, the brand new USS Arleigh Burke, the frigate USS De Wert, and the Spanish frigate Numancia. Even further back, having gone to Toulon to replenish magazines, is a second Tico, the USS San Jacinto, accompanied by the Spruance-class USS David R. Ray. These are still in the Med, but approaching the straits of Gibraltar. Both groups will need to hurry to catch up with their carrier, since the Enterprise must be on station west of Ireland in 48 hours to link up with the replenishment ship HMS Fort George, on her way from Portsmouth, and start launching strikes against Soviet-occupied Iceland. Once the San Jacinto rejoins Ike, the commander must detach Vicksburg to Brest so she can refill her VLS cells. What this means is that all American ships, including the two 688-class subs screening ahead, USS Boston and USS Albuquerque, will need to move much faster than the CVBG commander would like, given the submarine threat from the Soviets.

Not only is the naval force scattered, but so is Ike’s air group. Air ordnance stores onboard are also low and the air group sustained losses in the Med. These losses will be made good by replacements from Norfolk flying ion over the next two days, but for now the group is thin, particularly since two squadrons of F/A-18C Hornets are currently at Rota receiving emergency upgrades to allow them to use AIM-120 missiles. The CAG is ok with the arrangement for now, since the air threat is currently low this far south. The sub threat is what is causing the TG commander heartburn, particularly since his ships need to move so fast.

NATO possesses resources to deal with this threat, however. Besides the organic S-3 Vikings and helicopters aboard the American ships, the Spanish navy has provided a two-frigate task group, led by the Vasco de Gama, to clear ahead of Ike. Spanish and Portuguese P-3s will sanitize the area around the straits and northward, as will three submarines. A detachment of Amrican P-3s is also operating out of Rota in support. A French task group is moving into the Bay of Biscay from Brest. Farther north, the submarine HMS Churchill and British Nimrods will sanitize a path for the HMS Fort George and her escorts, the frigates HMS Beaver and HMS Hermione. Final, the brand new Portuguese frigate Corte Real is to the west, hurrying forward with orders to join Ike’s screen.

So, the task for the Ike’s commander, RADM Grundal, is to move north with dispatch, reassemble his battle group and replenish his ships en route, and not lose any to the Soviet submarines lurking in his path. That, and be prepared to fend off a strike from Soviet bombers as he moves farther north. Easy, right? We’ll see.   

Offline Excroat3

  • Hoplite
  • *
  • Posts: 14
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #1 on: June 26, 2016, 09:06:44 PM »
Looking forward to this! :D  BTW, is there already a torpedo from the Albacore being shot at that contact?  ;D  Seems like its going to be an action packed scenario!

Offline Sir Slash

  • Arquebusier
  • ***
  • Posts: 13115
  • Co Butt-Kicker-For-Goodness of Minsc and Boo
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #2 on: June 27, 2016, 09:41:22 AM »
Oh Boy! These things always get me so excited.  :D
"Take a look at that". Sgt. Wilkerson-- CMBN. His last words after spotting a German tank on the other side of a hedgerow.

Offline mirth

  • Tercio
  • ******
  • Posts: 48613
  • Cardboard Harlot
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #3 on: June 27, 2016, 09:49:29 AM »
Thanks for the new installment, AR!
"45 minutes of pooping Tribbles being juggled by a drunken Horta would be better than Season 1 of TNG." - SirAndrewD

"you don't look at the mantelpiece when you're poking the fire" - Bawb

"Can’t ‘un’ until you ‘pre’, son." - Gus

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #4 on: June 27, 2016, 12:23:54 PM »
Looking forward to this! :D  BTW, is there already a torpedo from the Albacore being shot at that contact?  ;D  Seems like its going to be an action packed scenario!

No torpedoes yet. That's just a contact that Albacore has detected right off the bat and its area of uncertainty. I forgot to note that Albacore, a French SS, is out there patrolling as well. Hope to have the next update done this afternoon. I've already finished playing through, so the write-up should come quick this time.

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #5 on: June 27, 2016, 02:56:13 PM »
2300 19 February
Captain 2nd Rank Matros of the Soviet Navy stood in the control room of his submarine, creeping silently 30 meters beneath the waves 200 miles off the northwest coast of Spain, concentrating on his mission. He knew from his latest update from Red Banner Northern Fleet that several submarines had been lost in the past several days in the north Atlantic, more than one captained by a friend of his. He was determined not to let the same fate befall his ship and crew. He concentrated on the second part of the update, which had assigned him a very important mission. An American carrier was coming north from the Straits of Gibraltar with a light escort, and he was in an excellent position  to intercept it. This might be the best chance yet to destroy one of the Americans’ vaunted carriers.

Captain Matros was in command of one of the most advanced submarines his country could produce.  The submarine he commanded was the Pskov, one of what NATO had designated as the Sierra-II class of nuclear attack boats. Quiet and lethal, it was the perfect tool for penetrating the American ASW screens, he believed. But his boat was not the only resource at his disposal. His coordinating instructions had given him clear guidance about what to do if and when he detected the American flattop...

-----
   
2310 19 February
Aboard USS Eisenhower, RADM Grundal swore at the response he had received from fleet headquarters. His request for an extra 12 hours to get to his assembly area had been denied, again. He handed the message to his flag captain, who had come up to the flag bridge to receive instructions.

“What this means, Pete,” the Admiral said, “is that we’re going to have to haul ass all the way up to the north Atlantic. The escorts’ sensors won’t do us much good. Even worse, Boston and Albuquerque have to be even further north than us by the deadline. They’re going to need to go deep and do a long speed run just to make it in time. I don’t like the idea of them running across the sights of some lucky Russian just to meet a deadline. Even worse, the rest of the task force coming behind us is going to need to go to flank speed just to catch up with us! It’s some mess we’re in.”

The flag captain nodded, then tried to mollify his Admiral. “Sir, at least we have the Spanish clearing the way for us to the north.”

Grundal grimaced. “I don’t have a lot of confidence that those old Spanish frigates are going to do us much good. Besides, your patrol planes report a group of fishing vessels along our projected course. Any one of those could be a Russian spy. I want you to shift our course to the west slightly, further out to sea. Just enough to avoid those fishing boats.”

The CAG, who was also present, piped up, “I’ll get on adjusting our ASW patrols. Give me a course and I can have our S-3s sanitize a lane for us. I’ll get on the horn to Rota and see if those P-3s can’t give us some support.”

Grundal nodded, then turned to his N3 and said, “Get a message off to the subs: I want them following the same sanitized lane as us. If they have to do a speed run, best they do it where we can at least warn them if some Russian is up ahead. Set up a comms plan for them to come shallow at regular intervals.”

The N3 nodded.

“Any questions?” Grundal asked. “No? Then let’s stop burning daylight. Make it happen!” 

“Aye, sir,” the flag captain said as he departed to give the necessary orders.

A couple of minutes later the Admiral felt the massive bulk of the carrier shift beneath his feet. He looked ahead out the flag bridge windows as the dark shadow of the carrier’s bow swung several points to port. Further ahead he could just make out the wakes of USS Vicksburg and Halyburton as they executed the same maneuver, maintaining their stations in line ahead of their charge. He could also make out the navigation lights of the ASW helicopters operating off the carrier and its escorts to the front of the formation. Just then an S-3 Viking patrol plain rocketed down one of Ike’s forward catapults and into the sky amid clouds of steam, headed north by northwest. Grundal would feel much more comfortable when he had his whole battle group back around him. For now they were cutting things very close.

The CAG stuck his head back in the bridge. “Admiral, Rota just confirmed. They have three P-3s for us to use. The fourth is getting an engine replaced and won’t be available any time soon. But they can promise us continuous presence over the corridor. They just  won’t have anything to flex to prosecute contacts elsewhere.”

“Understood,” said the Admiral. Then to his N3, “Get a message off to the Detroit and San Jacinto task groups. I want them following along in our wakes, along the same corridor. Once they get through the straits they need to go to maximum speed to catch up, understood? We may well need their full magazines the further north we get.” 
« Last Edit: June 27, 2016, 03:55:07 PM by Airborne Rifles »

Offline mirth

  • Tercio
  • ******
  • Posts: 48613
  • Cardboard Harlot
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #6 on: June 27, 2016, 03:34:56 PM »
Nice! Very tense!
"45 minutes of pooping Tribbles being juggled by a drunken Horta would be better than Season 1 of TNG." - SirAndrewD

"you don't look at the mantelpiece when you're poking the fire" - Bawb

"Can’t ‘un’ until you ‘pre’, son." - Gus

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #7 on: June 27, 2016, 07:45:49 PM »
0030 20 February
The commander of USS San Jacinto,  Captain Coors, yawned and stretched his arms, leaning back in his command chair in the cruiser’s CIC. It had been a long, tense run from Toulon, and their time in port hadn’t been particularly restful either, what with having to deal with the French dockyard bureaucracy just to get his VLS cells filled with missiles. You would think they didn’t know there was a war on, he thought. He was beginning to allow himself to relax. One of his helicopters had just finished the hour-long process detecting, tracking, and finally localizing a submerged contact several miles to their south, which had turned out to be a large and wily school of Tuna fishes.

He smirked at the groans among his crew when the contact’s identity had been revealed. They had been all keyed up to drop a torp on the contact. Coors knew he couldn’t be so bold, not in these restricted waters. He almost wished the Spanish Navy would keep their submarines out of the straits  he would need to transit in a couple of hours. Their presence complicated things for him, forcing his sonar techs to make doubly sure of their target before he could engage. On the other hand, those two subs were more sensor platforms for any Soviet sub to evade if they wanted to make trouble around here.  Regardless, for now, the threat board was clear. The USS David R. Ray, a Spruance-class destroyer cruising several miles ahead, had primary responsibility for C2 of ASW ops for their little task group anyway. Perfect time to get some much-needed shut-eye.

“Officer of the deck,” Captain Coors announced, “I’m headed to bed. No need to wake me unless we detect a probable hostile.”

“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant acknowledged.

The captain walked the few yards to his cabin, entered, and threw himself on his bunk, pausing only to remove his shoes.

Captain Coors awoke with a start, confused.

“Sir?”

“Hmm?” the captain grunted.

“Sir?” the sailor repeated. “Sir, the officer of the deck sent me to get you. He says we have a probable contact.“

Coors blinked his eyes. “What time is it?” he asked groggily.

The seaman looked at his watch. “0230 sir.”

Two hours, thought the captain. He didn’t feel any better than when he had lay down. Worse, actually. “Ok, sailor. Tell the lieutenant I’m on my way, and there better be coffee waiting when I get to CIC.”

The sailor fled as Coors stood and splashed water on his face from the sink. Then he walked to CIC.

“What’s the situation?” the captain asked as he strode into ship’s command center, looking more awake than he felt. 

“Sir,” reported the OOD, “a few minutes ago the David R. Ray reported picking up a submerged contact to our southwest. Directly west of us are two Spanish frigates heading our way, the Descubierta and the Baleares. The contact is nearer to them. We’ve contacted them and they have nothing on their scopes.”

“Another biologic?” asked the captain.

The lieutenant shook his head. “Unlikely, sir, this one’s moving at twenty knots or better. Looks like it’s trying to get in range of those two Spaniards.”

Coors pulse quickened. A seaman handed him a mug of coffee, but he didn’t need it. He was wide awake now. He couldn’t think of a reason why any of the Spanish diesel subs he knew were around would be cranking speed like that. But he had to be sure. “What is Ray doing?” he asked.

“Their helo is up and headed that way sir,” answered the lieutenant.

“Tell Ray to remind them that we need to be absolutely sure of the contact’s identity before dropping on it. Shouldn’t be too hard at that speed.”

“Aye, sir.”

Coors looked up one of the large computerized map displays showing the outlines of the Spanish and north African coastlines almost coming together to his ship’s front. The symbols for the two Spanish ships appeared on an eastward course several miles east of the strait. To their south and west, the symbol for the unknown submerged contact was shown with its vector pointed to the northeast, on an intercept course with the Spaniards.  Between Coors’ ships and the contact was the symbol for David R. Ray’s helicopter, call sign Air Wolves One-Zero, speeding outward. The submerged contact was getting uncomfortably close to the frigates.

“OOD,” the captain said, “call Baleares. They should be able to hear that guy by now. Ask them if they suspect this to be one of their boats.”

The lieutenant complied, then reported, “Sir, they say they have negative contact with any submarine.  Baleares reports they believe their submarine on this side of the straits is to the north, repeat, north of their location.”

Coors nodded and watched the symbol for Air Wolves one-Zero, and SH-60B Seahawk, slow and flare to a stop near the estimated location of the contact. Over the radio he heard, “This is Air Wolves One-Zero, lowering sonar now.” Then after a few moments the tinny voice said, “Contact, contact, definitely a diesel-electric boat, repeat, definitely an SSK. Raising the dome and moving north to triangulate, over.”

Silently Captain Coors wished the helo pilots to hurry. That sub, whoever he was, was quiet, even at the speed he was running, and he was getting uncomfortably close to the Spanish ships, who were still reporting that they couldn’t hear it. After a few seconds he heard, “Madman, madman, madman, dropping flares.” Several miles away the pilot of the SH-60B triggered red flares over the piece of ocean where his magnetic anomaly detector had just registered a large magnetic mass. Then the tinny voice said, “lowering dome...contact...Ray, we have a preliminary ID, over.”

“Go ahead, Air Wolves One-Zero,” came response from Ray’s CIC.

“Roger, my tech says is sounds like a Kilo making twenty knots...wait...transient, transient! Torpedoes in the water!  He just launched torps. We make two fish, heading north-northwest, over!”

Coors blood ran cold. In a voice that was more calm than he felt he ordered, “Tell Baleares and Descubierta to evade north. They have got to be able to hear that!” The changing vectors on the symbols representing the two Spanish ships indicated that he was right. “Looks like that bastard launched at long range. Tell the helo to drop on that son of a bitch. Weapons free!”

Air Wolves One-Zero acknowledged. The sonar tech in the back raised the dipping sonar and the Seahawk banked right, guiding off of the flares that had dropped earlier to come in behind the Russian sub. After a few seconds Coors heard, “Fish away!”

Next the OOD reported, “Sir, Ray reports their towed array has our fish running hot straight, and normal...and theirs too.”

“If we can take out the Kilo then their fish won’t have the wires. The Spanish will have a much better shot at evading,” Coors said. to no one in particular, willing the Mk46 Lightweight Aerial Torpedo onward.

The crew of the Soviet sub, a Kilo-class boat with the less than exciting name of B-401, never had a chance. Air Wolves One-Zero had dropped within a quarter mile of the boat’s churning screw. The Soviet sonar operators didn’t even have time to shout a warning before the Mk46’s warhead detonated against the propeller, mangling it and causing flooding to the engine room. The shaft continued to turn, now making tortuous grinding noises for all to hear.

“David R. Ray reports a positive hit, sir,” reported the San Jacinto’s ASW officer.

“Did we kill it?” asked the captain.

The younger officer listened to his headset for a moment, then responded, ”Negative, Ray reports they can hear damage but the contact is still submerged and making headway...enemy torpedoes are still bearing on targets.”

Coors swore. “Tell the helo to re-engage!”

Air Wolves One-Zero was already banking for another pass with its second torpedo. The second attack was a repeat of the first. The weapon dropped into the water and immediately acquired its target, dove, and exploded against B-401’s already mangled screw. The explosion completely opened the rear compartments of the boat, slamming the Russian damage control parties forward in a cascade of water. The submarine lost all power, then began to slide backwards to the shallow seafloor below.

“Ray reports a good kill!” announced San Jacinto’s ASW officer. There was no cheering in CIC. Captain Coors ran too tight of a ship for that, but he did see a few of the sailors at their consoles in the blue-lit room pump their fists and mouth “Yes!” in silent triumph. Coors was still watching the tracks of the two Soviet torpedoes bearing on the Spanish frigates.

As he watched, he saw the two ships bear away to the north, coming onto a course that took them out of the way of the two fish, which had been launched at long range. The torpedoes, now lacking guidance from their mothership, reached the end of their vector and, failing to find anything with their onboard sensors, began searching in an S-patters for anything to attack. They found nothing, and eventually sand to the muddy seafloor below, joining the boat that had launched them.

“Sir,” the communication petty officer called across the CIC, “Baleares is on the line. He wants to extend a thanks and congratulations on the kill. He also reports that a Spanish P-3 from 221 Escadrille out of Moron airbase says they just sand a Victor on our line of advance.”

Coors smiled grimly, then said, “Good! I’m going back to bed.” 

The captain was halfway out of the room when he heard ht petty officer call, “Sir! Task Group Vasco de Gama is calling a mayday! They reports the frigate Afonso Cerqueia just took a torpedo forty miles west of Lisbon and is sinking fast!”

Offline Freyland

  • Viking
  • ****
  • Posts: 443
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #8 on: June 28, 2016, 06:30:54 AM »
I haven't mentioned lately:

"Dude, you rock".

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #9 on: June 28, 2016, 07:20:05 PM »
0330 20 February

Aboard USS Eisenhower, Rear Admiral Grundal slammed his fist into the bulkhead in frustration. Out the starboard window he could just make out the glow on the horizon that marked the graves of the two Spanish frigates, Vasco de Gama and Afonso Cerqueia, that had been assigned to screen ahead of his carrier. The fact that he had ordered his depleted task group to the west, away from whatever Russian had torpedoed both ships, did not make him feel any better.

The admiral looked over at his flag lieutenant and said, “Ring up the CAG. I want CSAR birds over there to drop supplies to the survivors. We can’t alter course to pick them up. The Spanish Navy is going to need to send a rescue boat. But we can go after the bastard that attacked them. Call up the on-station P-3 and tell them I want them to head over there and start looking for that sub. Better for now to hunt where we know the enemy is rather than where we think he may be. The S-3s can handle our  corridor for now.”

“Aye, sir,” the flag lieutenant responded, before making the necessary call to the ASW screen commander.

Thirty miles ahead of the carrier, the pilot of Trident Three-One, the P-3C sweeping ahead of Ike, banked his four engine aircraft to starboard, ascended, and pushed his throttles forward to their stops. He wanted to cover the forty miles between his bird and the sinking Spanish ships in as little time as possible. The Russian was almost certain not to stick around after his victory. The sooner his aircraft arrived the better chance he had of bagging a sub.

As they flew the ASW screen commander updated the pilot and his crew on the attack. “The Vasco de Gama’s captain reported before they went off the net that the attack was from head on, that they never even heard the submarine that launched the fish. Afonso Cerqeia had been in the lead and took the first hit. Just as de Gama was maneuvering around the wreck the second one hit her. That’s when we lost contact. Given how little time the Spanish had to track the fish, I would guess that the enemy is in very close.”

Trident Three-One’s commander agreed with that assessment. His MAD gear wouldn’t be much good so near the sinking frigates, but he still had plenty of sonobuoys aboard. He ordered the technicians in the back to begin plotting a pattern around the location of the attack. Fifteen minutes later his put his Orion nosed down and descended through the darkness.  As they passes through scattered clouds the captain could see the yellow and red of two burning ships reflecting off the water all around. “Well, at least we’ll have pretty constant illum,” he commented to his copilot darkly.

They leveled off at a thousand feet and banked into their first sonobuoy run. The boys in back had selected a star pattern for their drops. Over the next few minutes the pilot flew back and forth, using the burning ships as his aim point each time. As the men in back dropped the sensors out of the aircraft’s launch tubes, the pilot called in to Ike what he saw of lifeboats in the water around the stricken frigates. Then, their buoy pattern complete, he banked his bird into a gentle circle around the sensors.

After several minutes, Trident Three-One’s lead sonarman called over the intercom, “Sir, I’ve got something on buoy one-three. It’s faint, but getting stronger, above the layer...getting stronger...sounds like an SSK...OK, now I’m picking him up on buoy one-two...definitely a contact sir.”

“How far from the wrecks?” the pilot asked. One of the pyres had by now disappeared beneath the waves, extinguishing one of his markers.

“Maybe one mile, south,” answered the sonarman, “definitely far enough for the MAD gear...signal strength on one-four decreasing...sounds like he’s going to pass right by one-three. If I had to guess I would say he passed right beneath and between the two wrecks, sir.” 

“Ok,” said the pilot, “let’s give it a look-see.” He increased his bank and flew directly over the remains of the Vasco de Gama, which was just now joining her sister in slipping beneath the waves, on a direct course from there to the relevant buoys.

“Sir,” the sonarman called, “I’ve got an ID from buoy one-three. I’m calling it a Kilo, doing three knots. Real hard to hear...he’s got to be about right next to the buoy, sir.”

The pilot nodded as he leveled into his vector. A few seconds later he heard “Madman, madman! Flares away!” A line of red magnesium flares dropped from the P-3C, marking the location and projected course of their target. The pilot waited for several more seconds, then banked sharply to starboard. “No messing around,” he said, “lets line up this som’bitch and let him have it with both barrels. I want two torps on this guy.”

“Roger sir,” the copilot said.

The Orion came around and the pilot lined up his course with the line of flares now bobbing in the water. “Let’s put these right up his ass, Frank,” the pilot said to his copilot. The other man nodded grimly. When they were a quarter mile from the first flare he ordered, “Now, now, now!”

“Weapons away!” crackled the intercom. The four-engine plane lifted slightly as the two Mk-46s dropped out of the open bomb bay and splashed into the water.

Aboard the (also unimaginatively named) K-439, another Kilo-class diesel boat, the Soviet captain had just been congratulating his crew on a well-executed attack, ignorant of the aircraft above, when his sonarman screamed, “Captain! Two torpedoes, directly behind us!” Where had they come from?

“Range?” he demanded.

“Very close, captain!”

His blood ran cold. “Flank speed! Hard to port! Deploy countermea...” his order was cut short by two rapid-fire explosions that knocked him to the deck and caused the lights to go out. Emergency lights came back on a moment later, but he could already hear water rushing in the compartments aft.

“Sir!” his executive officer called from his station. “We have heavy flooding in the battery room! We won’t be able to control it. Engine room is not reporting.”

The captain’s survival instinct took hold. He knew what he needed to do. “Emergency blow! Get us to the surface!”

K-439 broached the surface of the Atlantic in a froth of foam and bubbles. Moments later her hatches flew open and men began to tumble out onto the deck, some dragging survival rafts with them. These yanked the lanyards on the capsules and the rafts hissed into shape. Sailors clambered in as the small submarine began to sink back beneath the water.

The Soviet captain waited until he was the last man in the control room, but not a second more. The feet of his XO were in his face, even kicking him once, as he climbed the ladder through the boat's sail. Looking up he could see stars through the opening past his XO’s back. Then water began to spill down the shaft. He climbed faster and emerged into the open air just as the water pouring down became a cascade. He pushed up off of the last rung and felt his command sink away beneath him. Then he was swimming.

But not for long. Hands reached down and pulled him into a crowded raft. After gathering himself, the captain looked around. It appeared most of his crew had gotten out and were bobbing upon the waves in the crowded rafts around him. He ducked as a large four-engine plane roared over them out of the dark, then looked up again to see an odd sight to the north. Another flotilla of rafts, crowded with figures, was paddling towards them, shouting what sounded like insults. In Spanish. They looked to be about half a mile away. The survivors from those frigates, he though. This was going to be an interesting night.

« Last Edit: June 28, 2016, 07:27:47 PM by Airborne Rifles »

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #10 on: June 28, 2016, 07:43:14 PM »
Correction: Vasco de Gama and Afonso Cerqueia are Portuguese warships, not Spanish.

Offline Airborne Rifles

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1577
    • Northern Fury
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #11 on: June 28, 2016, 07:56:42 PM »
0400 20 February
“Sir,” Rear Admiral Grundal heard his flag lieutenant say, “ASW screen commander reports that Trident Three-One confirms a kill on a Kilo-class sub. He says they watched it surface and the crew evacuate.”

Grundal nodded. The loss of the Spanish ships had been a blow, but otherwise things were going well. San Jacinto had called in a kill east of Gibraltar, the Spanish were claiming a Victor off Trafalgar, and now they had bagged another, though at the cost of two valuable frigates. TG Detroit was making good speed from Cadiz to catch up with his, and TG San Jacinto was just now passing the pillars of Hurcules. Once through, they would go to maximum speed to catch up as well.

Making him feel more confident was the dark knife-like shape of a warship joining his formation right now. The Portuguese frigate NPS Corte Real, a new and modern Vasco de Gama-class frigate, was pulling into line in Ike’s wake. The number of his escorts was up to three,  and the screen commander was already at work overcoming the language barrier to work Corte Real’s two Lynx helicopters into his patrols. The line of four ships continued north at 15 knots.

Grundal was about to go to bed when another officer reported, “Sir, one of the Soviet RORSats will be passing overhead in just a few minutes.”

The admiral had forgotten about this. Norfolk had warned him that the Air Force had run out of ASAT missiles before the Soviets had run out of replacement satellites and boosters. There was nothing to be done. That bird was going to see his ships. “Roger. I’m turning in. Wake me in three hours.”

-----
Thirty minutes later, aboard Pskov, Captain 2nd Rank Matros was awaiting the report from his communications officer. The man hurried into the control room with the message and handed it over. Matros grabbed the printout and walked over to the plotting table, reading as he went.

Aha, he though, plotting the latest position of the American carrier group, so he is angling west. No matter, we can still intercept him easily. “Helmsman,” he called, “alter course to three-zero-zero.” That ought to do it.

More troubling to Matros was that the satellite report via fleet headquarters in Murmansk had shown a third escort with the carrier. The Americans were reassembling their battle group. He needed to get at that flattop before the screen got any stronger.

“Helm,” he said, “increase speed to ten knots.”   

Offline KyzBP

  • Man-at-Arms
  • *****
  • Posts: 1204
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #12 on: June 29, 2016, 02:51:53 AM »
I haven't mentioned lately:

"Dude, you rock".
+1 O0

Offline mirth

  • Tercio
  • ******
  • Posts: 48613
  • Cardboard Harlot
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #13 on: June 29, 2016, 07:23:07 AM »
I haven't mentioned lately:

"Dude, you rock".
+1 O0

+2 Great stuff as always.
"45 minutes of pooping Tribbles being juggled by a drunken Horta would be better than Season 1 of TNG." - SirAndrewD

"you don't look at the mantelpiece when you're poking the fire" - Bawb

"Can’t ‘un’ until you ‘pre’, son." - Gus

Offline Boggit

  • Landsknecht
  • *******
  • Posts: 4457
  • Review Scribe, Editor Muneris of the Colosseum
Re: Northern Fury 9.1: Eisenhower Moves North - a CMANO AAR
« Reply #14 on: June 29, 2016, 02:44:05 PM »
Tom Clancy? Who?  ???

We have Airborne Rifles! O0  8)
The most shocking fact about war is that its victims and its instruments are individual human beings, and that these individual beings are condemned by the monstrous conventions of politics to murder or be murdered in quarrels not their own. Aldous Huxley

Foul Temptress! (Mirth replying to Gus) ;)

On a good day, our legislature has the prestige of a drunk urinating on a wall at 4am and getting most of it on his shoe. On a good day  ::) Steelgrave

It's kind of silly to investigate whether or not a Clinton is lying. That's sort of like investigating why the sky is blue. Banzai_Cat