War on the Pacific; August 31st

The Soviet Pacific Fleet, a powerful force in its own right. August 31 0120 hours. Three large task forces are steaming into the jaws of hell, being hunted by an unknown monster, for once not a leviathan… but something even more deadly. The United States Navy. Aboard American carriers aircraft are hurtling aloft, wings laden with ordnance.

High in the sky E2 awacs aircraft track the progress of the Pacific fleet, noting just how close they've come to the American fleets before they were picked up. The two fleets were some 480 nautical miles distant, steaming towards each other at twenty six knots.

American Admirals spoke with their compatriots in Sacramento, coordinating reinforcements for the beleaguered American forces in San Francisco. Losses were mounting, unbearably so under the weight of the soviet offensive. Even as the two carriers sent their strike groups aloft to attack the soviet fleet back in Honolulu Tropic lightning were boarding cargo ships, preparing to make the transit to Monterey, landing in the Soviet rear.

That was soon to come, but they'd need to quickly wipe the soviets off the sea. The officers of the fleet were rather upset with intelligence, they'd insisted Soviets only had a single cruiser, yet their E2 was telling them different, and that the fleet currently at sea was many times larger in composition than they'd been lead to believe.

They remained confident though. They were members of the largest and best fleet on the face of the planet. That wasn't going to change because intelligence couldn't do their jobs. They'd put these upstarts in their place, send them back to whatever hell they'd crawled out of.

Meanwhile aboard the Soviet flagship, very different conversations were going on. Increased ems emissions were being detected, and arguments over if they were the carriers or other ships were wasting precious time. That activity, if nothing else meant that the Americans knew where they were.

0133 Gena made his decision. Across the Pacific the Soviet ships adjusted their courses. Hatches opened and launchers were raised. Bright flashes briefly illuminated the fleet as 72 P-500 cruise missiles were fired. They raced away into the night sky as the Stalingrad began to scramble a CAP of Yak 38s.

They'd seen the massive incoming wing of American aircraft, unmistakable as to who they were this far to sea. Both fleets had launched their attack, now it was for the admirals to wait and see who survived the onslaught they'd unleashed. It was known to both who's blow would land first. The massive wave of Soviet missiles screamed over the American pilots, who quickly radioed them to the fleet.

Alarms blared across the decks of the northern American task force, radars switched on, desperately searching for the incoming wave. 0154 American radars pick up the incoming missiles as they dive for the deck. Within seconds VLS launchers start spewing SM2s.

Several miles distant from the American task force SM2s raced to dive into the P-500s. Snaps of light decorated the horizon. But dozens of P-500s were still racing in. the guns of the American fleet started to roar, additional SM2s were launched as the Soviet missile screamed in. 

Flak darkened the night, an occasional burst of light as another missile was intercepted. The massive sleek forms to the P-500s quickly raced within the close range of the SM2s. Cwis whirled into action, spraying streams of tracers at the incoming missiles. A Ticondoraga was the lead ship of the Carrier task force. The bridge crew of the Carl Vinson saw its CWIS light up the night, tracers stitching the sea. A bright flash, the CWIS still firing as it switched to another target. Then a bright snap of light as a P-500 slammed into the Ticonderoga amidships, just aft of the engine rooms. The whole ship went dark, only illuminated half a second later by a second flash of light that turned into a massive pillar of smoke and flame as a second P-500 slammed into the VLS launcher, causing the whole system to detonate.

The Carl Vinson began to heel as the ship started turning hard to port just seconds before its own CWIS began decorating the night. A bright snap exploded a few hundred yards away from the ship, the CWIS instantly switched, another snap of light… Then the whole carrier shook and trembled as a missile slammed into the bow just above the waterline.

The bridge crew lurched, grabbing for anything sturdy. The officer of the watch felt his stomach drop, catching a glint of metal just before another pair of explosions rocked the carrier. These two P-500s had struck the carrier closer amidships, the first had flown high, passing into the open hangar door, slamming into the far wall before exploding. The third missile had almost missed the carrier, hitting the carrier inches above the waterline under the bridge. Across the task force several destroyers also caught the russian missiles, several bright fires illuminating the now dark sea.

Out of 72 missiles 13 had gotten through. The American carrier strike group was a wreck compared to what it had been a mere half hour ago. The crews leapt into action, trying to save their ships. But for many it was hopeless. The Carl Vinson was already taking water from the bow, listing heavily to starboard while counterflooding was underway.

Intermittent radio reports reached the American aviators. Knuckles turned white as they prepared for their attack. Six Yak38s screamed in, these hopelessly outmatched soviet aviators became the first casualties of the American's newfound fury. Only a single hornet fell from the sky for the six Yaks. the hunters were closing in on their prey.

The Aviators of VFA 97 caught glimpses of the Soviet fleet racing southwest. They grimly set about their business as missiles began coming up from the soviet fleet. Super Hornets laden with bombs dived from the sky like vengeful gods. Missiles and tracers lit up the sky as the warhawks pressed their attacks home. Explosions rippled across half a dozen soviet ships as the super hornets raced back up into the sky. A Slava, a pair of Sovremennys and a trio of Krivaks were quickly coasting to a stop as the next squadron came roaring in.

On the deck harpoons raced through the wall of flak and CWIS the soviets threw at them. Several more ships were hit as another squadron of hornets laden with bombs dove in for the kill. The Soviet task force was picked apart as the carrion birds circled overhead. Nearly every ship was left burning and aflame, the only saving grace was the E2 directing the following squadrons to attack a different task force.

But the soviets hadn't had a one sided affair. A dozen american hornets were sinking into the depths of the sea. But that wasn't on the minds of the Soviet sailors of TF-1. they'd just heard about the slaughter that the Americans had given TF-3… and they were next on the menu. More Yak38s were being sent aloft as the Americans vectored in. missiles began to fill the sky as the Hornets screamed in.

Aboard the Stalingrad Gena had the unfortunate gift of watching as a pair of hornets lined up and dove from the sky. The Stalingrad's main guns and CWIS roared, sending streams of tracers and flak to greet them. The second plane bust into a ball of fire, spiraling to the side. But the first continued its attack, its bombs detaching at the last possible second before the pilot pulled back with all his might. The bombs slammed down forward, turning the P-500 launchers into scrap as the bombs blew large chunks out of the forward parts of the ship.

Gena stood, looking around the fleet as more ships were hit. He felt a deep anger rising in him. He barked orders to the crew. The Fleet would return to San Diego for repair and rearmament. Then he'd scour the seas of these damn Americans.

Over the day the soviets slowly listened to the streams of reports coming in across the fleet. 7krivaks had gone down, 4 more were damaged to varying degrees. They'd lost 5 udaloys, 3 sovremennys, and the Oregon. The cruisers Stalingrad and California were heavily damaged, with the Slava lightly damaged. A bloody day for both the Americans and Soviets indeed.

The Americans were not much better off. A ticonderoga, 5 Burkes, and the Carl Vinson were lost. The carrier was only written off at 1157 as the destroyer Ramage put a pair of torpedoes into its side to deny it to the soviets. The Theoadore Roosevelt had been busy cycling the remains of both airgroups, refueling many of them before sending them aloft to fly back to Hawaii to clear up valuable hangar space. Gritting their teeth the United States navy was forced to turn back, not because they wanted to. But because pushing to completely eliminate the soviets would only be their destruction at this point.