Battle of the Golden gate, August 22nd

"Commodore, we're on station." Captain Neuvs informed me quietly as I stared ahead. I gave the captain a nod.

I stood on the bridge of the Slava, the flagship of the Soviet Pacific Fleet. She and her sole escort, the Udaloy class destroyer Minsk were currently sprinting up the California coast at a brisk 30 knots. I glanced out of the bridge windows to starboard, the Minsk's figure barely visible in the dimming evening light against the California coast some twenty miles distant.

I walked over to the chart table, watching as a seamen continuously plotted the course of the Slava and our escort as we moved north. We'd parted ways with the Krivak's Gromkiy and Pylkiy, which I'd tasked with providing naval gunfire support for the Army's coastal advance.

"Were the orders from headquarters confirmed?" I asked, glancing at Neuvs. The captain looked up, his tired face illuminated by the red lights of the bridge.

"They were Commodore, General Reichenbacher himself certified them." he replied.

"Very well, order the ship to action stations."

Alarms blared as the Slava came to life, crew rushing from whatever they'd been doing to their battle stations. I turned my gaze north to the growing glow on the horizon. I repressed a comment of displeasure. Even from here I could tell much of San Francisco was ablaze, some forty miles distant.

"Relay my orders, TF-North to action stations, find and destroy any vessels afloat in or outside of the San Francisco bay."

The comms officer nodded, proceeding to his station to relay my orders. I closed my eyes, visualizing the battlefield.

Task force north, a pair of Udaloy class destroyers and another pair of Krivaks were steaming in a line towards the golden gate. Alarms blared angrily across the task force. Radars came to life, large sweeping bands illuminating the battlefield ahead of the ships.

"Contact, bearing 110, designating track, 1001!" The bridge of the Udaloy class destroyer Novosibirsk came to life.

"Second contact, bearing 131, designating track 1002!"

"Range and speed?" The captain asked.

"Track 1001, Speed 15 knots, heading southwest, range 17 miles."

"New surface contact, designating track 1003, bearing 122."

"Get the fire control to track tracks 1001 and 1002, inform the Khabarovsk to track 1003!"

"Track 1002, range 18 miles, heading southwest."

"Track 1003, heading west, range 26 miles."

"Captain, the fire control is locked on."

"Confirm with the Khabarovsk…"

"All tracks are being illuminated sir."

"Salvo fire 4 SS-N 14s."

Upon the calm pacific, a pair of Udaloys slowly cruised towards the city of San Francisco. Flame and billowing smoke could be seen with the best eyes burning the city. If one listened softly they'd hear the hum of the Novosibirsk and Khabarovsk's engines propelling the ships through the waves. If one had the keenest of ears they might have heard the clunk and metallic clanging of hatch doors opening.

A bright flash of light suddenly brightened the sea and the bow of the Novosibirsk as a SS-N 14 was fired from its tube. A white feathery trail left behind as the middle laden with its torpedo lifted itself into the sky. It was quickly followed by another, the Novosibirsk being illuminated by the light of its missiles motors burning brightly.

Suddenly half a mile distant the Khabarovsk was illuminated as its missiles began to fly. Soon a total of eight missiles were soaring through the sky. Gena opened his eyes, staring at the horizon. Waiting, his watch ticked silently by. A stream of orange suddenly split the night. A smile cleft the Commodore's lips. He knew what that stream meant.

Aboard the coast guard cutter the Cwis whirled, thousands of rounds flew out, an explosion snapped in the distance, the stream of orange quickly flicked across as the crew watched the horizon. The 76mm gun on the deck spat out round after round.

Gena watched as a bright pair of flashes illuminated the horizon. The stream of orange light vanished in an instant, replaced by a third explosion that illuminated the three ships exiting the bay. The small fleet, lead by the Slava slowly steamed under the golden gate, the burning wrecks of the coast guard's little flotilla casting flickering lights across the steely hulls of the Soviet warships.

As soon as the Slava cleared the bridge it trained its guns upon the city of Oakland. A pair of stabbing lights engulfed the turret, throwing a pair of 130mm shells into the night. The crew deep within the ship's CIC calmly adjusted the ship's fire as the impacts were adjusted from the ship's helicopter hovering high above.

The rest of the fleet joined in as they cleared the bridge, slowly advancing deeper into the bay. The fire from the ships slowly increased as the spotter slowly walked the rounds onto large concentrations of troops and equipment. Rounds were directed to target enemy formations attacking the naval infantry, winning them some much needed space. Through the night the fleet steamed deep into the bay, laying waste to the city, but with the rising dawn…

Gena stared at the massive span of the Goldengate bridge as the Slava sailed under it once again, this time heading out to sea. The fleet left in its wake a shelled and burning metro area, the magazines, now significantly reduced in their ammunition storage. No more than a few dozen rounds remained aboard the Slava, likely less remained aboard the Novosibirsk and Khabarovsk.

"Commodore, our estimated arrival in Los Angeles is 0200 tomorrow morning." Gena nodded, finally glancing away from the bridge to the rising sun. maybe they'd bought the army a few precious hours they needed to save those trapped soldiers. He heaved a small sigh. The fleet had taken effectively no damage, baring when Khabarovsk had accidentally run over the sunken wreck of the Vengeance, taking some minor flooding on her port beam.

Gena could already hear the sounds of battle echoing through the city once more and a small frown etched itself into his face. Perhaps they hadn't done enough to these fucking Americans.