Carrier (1999) (58 page)

 

 

This morning found the
GW
battle group continuing to dish out punishment on the Koronans. The objective was to destroy enough of their armed forces to allow the Marines of the 24th MEU (SOC) to make a landing near the Kartunan capital city of Temal (in actuality, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina) sometime the following week. A battalion from the 82nd Airborne Division assaulting a nearby airfield would support this landing. This would allow follow-on forces to be landed from the sea and air.

Before this could be done, the Koronan forces would have to be reduced in size and power, and this was the job of the ships, missiles, and aircraft of the
GW
group. Already, significant progress had been made toward this goal. Though Koronan air and Naval forces had aggressively launched attacks on the naval units of the allied coalition, Admiral Mullen’s detailed plans for protecting the ships of the force had been working to near perfection. Throughout the battle group, the various warfare commanders had been working hard to eliminate the specialized threats they were responsible for.

Captain Deppe on the
Normandy
(the group AW commander) had been especially busy in dozens of AAW engagements between his SAM ships and the planes of the Koronan Air Force. Deppe’s disposition of his SAM ships had worked particularly well, with the
Normandy
absorbing most of the attacks aimed at the
GW.
The
Carney
and
South Carolina
also shot down their share of enemy intruders, with the result that the USACOM exercise controllers rapidly had to strengthen the Koronan Air Force, lest it be completely destroyed before the shooting phase of the exercise was only three days old. Once again, the J-7 controllers from USACOM were being forced to “ratchet up” the threat level of the exercise, just to keep it challenging for the GW group.

 

The Koronan Navy was put out of action equally fast. Because safe distances had to be maintained between the Koronan KILO-class diesel boats (being played by borrowed USN nuclear submarines) and the ships and subs of the GW group, exercise rules tended to make them sitting ducks. The Koronan surface ships died a little harder, though they did die quickly. Within hours of the outbreak of hostilities, every one of the Koronan missile destroyers and patrol boats had been hunted down and dispatched by the allied forces. Sometimes, their elimination came at the hands of aircraft firing standoff missiles like AGM-65 Mavericks and AGM-84 Harpoons. Particularly effective against the missile patrol boats were SH-60B LAMPS III helicopters from the escorts armed with AGM-119 Penguin air-to-surface missiles (ASMs). Using these little helicopters as perimeter security guards proved to be an efficient way of keeping the Koronan patrol boats at arm’s length, without requiring a mission by an F/A-18 or S-3B to kill them.

There were also a number of surface engagements by ships of the
GW
escort and STANAFORLANT—not all going in favor of the allied coalition. In just a single day of surface combat, hits by simulated Koronan missiles (assumed to be Chinese-built C 802’s) damaged the
Carney, Samuel Elliot Morrison,
and
Seattle,
putting them out of action (and the exercise) for various lengths of time. In addition, the
Boone
was assessed to have been hit by Naval gunfire. In return, the
Underwood
and HMS
London
were assessed to have sunk a Koronan missile patrol boat with RGM-84 Harpoon SSMs. Littoral Naval warfare is like knife fighting: close and bloody. However, by setting his units up to fight this way, Admiral Mullen was able to maximize the number of attack sorties that could be generated by CVW-1 off the GW. Though he risked his surface ships, he got the desired results on the beach.

 

 

Ever since our sailing, Captain Rutheford had made a point of exercising his crew with a series of battle drills—a deadly serious business aboard any warship, and particularly on an aircraft carrier. Most of the damage suffered by flattops in combat has come as a result of fire. It is the worst nightmare of carrier sailors, whose home is basically a big metal box full of jet fuel, explosives, and other combustible materials. Until a carrier like the GW is fully “buttoned up” (that is, put in a condition where it is most survivable), a fire can rage through it much like those that devastated the
Oriskiney
(CVA-34),
Forrestal
(CV-59), and
Enterprise
(CVN-65) back in the 1960’s. Buttoning up usually comes when the ship goes to “General Quarters” (GQ) or Condition “Zebra.” Since it takes time for sailors to learn to live and work at GQ, Captain Rutheford makes a point of practicing it regularly. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening at 2000 Hours (8 P.M.) while under way, the GW goes to GQ for several hours of combat and damage-control drills. It is at GQ when a warship truly becomes a living organism, with the personnel aboard acting as nerves, muscles, and immune systems, making it capable and strong.

It takes just a few minutes for the ship to get fully buttoned up and ready to take whatever punishment an enemy might care to dish out. Every person on the
GW
(even John and I) had an action station, where they are expected to be during GQ. So at 2000, we were manning our action station—a couple of desks inside Lieutenant Joe Navritril’s small public affairs office on the O-1 level. From there we could sit, sweat a little (it’s warm with all the computer and television gear), and listen to the drills around the ship. This evening, a firefighting training drill was going on several levels above us on the island. At the same time, weapons drills were being run with the Mk. 29 Sea Sparrow launchers. All around us, you could feel the crew bonding with the big ship, becoming as much a part of it as the nuclear reactors, plumbing, and catapults. It also is a time of great stress and concern, even during training. This is because the ship must still function while buttoned up. Moving from one compartment to another becomes difficult, as heavy hatches and watertight doors must be opened, and then redogged. There are chances for mistakes to be made, and this evening there was one.

One of the important jobs that must be done daily aboard ship is the testing of the various petroleum systems to make sure that their contents are pure and free of contamination like water or dirt. This evening, a young sailor was carrying several glass jars of samples down from the flight deck to the metrology lab for testing when he dropped one up on the O-2 level above us. Unfortunately, in the darkened compartment he lost track of the spill, and wound up slipping and falling in the slippery puddle. Almost instantly, there was an alarm over the 1MC system of “MAN DOWN!” and a call for a medical team. Within seconds the young sailor had a corpsman at his side, and a hazardous-materials team on the way to clean up the dangerous spill. I was struck by the way that the others in the compartment with John and me stopped what they were doing to wait for word on the young man, almost like waiting for a player to stand up after an injury at a football game. It was quiet for a few minutes, until Captain Rutheford came back on the 1MC to tell us that the sailor’s injuries were slight (an injured wrist was all), and that the response teams had done a great job of taking care of him. As I stepped out of the public affairs office for a drink from the water fountain in the passageway, I saw the young man being carried down the ladder from above on a Stokes litter, not unlike a dozen eggs being cradled by a housewife on her way home.

A few minutes after the GQ alert was lifted, I headed back to my stateroom two levels up. I had to admire the way that the GQ had been handled. It was just like combat. It was at this moment that I knew the
real
truth about this ship. The GW and her crew were
ready
for whatever the coming deployment would bring, and God help the enemy foolish enough to try to hurt them. It would not be a fair fight. You can always tell a military unit that is functioning well: When it is stressed, you cannot even see them sweat!

 

 

The payoff for all the efforts of the “little boys” of the GW battle group and STANAFORLANT was the ability of CVW-1 to concentrate on their real job—attack sorties against Koronan military targets ashore. Did they destroy the occasional air or naval target? Absolutely. And they did so with a ruthless efficiency when the targets were available. But an old saying explains what Admiral Mullen had in mind for his flyers:

 

The aircraft and crews of CVW-1 were
really
earning their keep only when they were delivering ordinance onto targets of value ashore. This meant that the fifty F-14 Tomcats and F/A-18 Hornets aboard the
GW
were flying morning, noon, and night to hit as many high-value targets as possible. In particular, they would give special attention to enemy units and systems that could threaten the Marines of the 24th MEU (SOC) and the airborne troopers of the 82nd Airborne Division when they came into play in a few days. These included targets like mobile antiship missile sites along the coast (which could hit the amphibious ships of the
Guam
ARG), mobile SCUD ballistic-missile launchers, and SAM/AAA sites in the planned invasion area. Along with these high-value Koronan targets, there would be attacks on the fielded forces of the Koronan military in and around Kartuna. Because it is the air crews who fly the planes and drop the weapons who give naval airpower its worth, let’s take a closer look at how their dangerous job gets done on the
GW.

If you want the best view of a carrier’s air operations, there is only one place to go: Primary Flight Control—or “Pri-Fly” as it is known. This is the domain of Commanders John Kindred (the Air Boss) and Carl June (the Mini Boss). Kindred and June are the lords and masters of the
GW
’s flight deck and the airspace around the ship. The Navy has for generations made it a practice to hand responsibility to highly qualified naval aviators for those jobs aboard carriers that relate directly to flying—jobs like catapult and landing signals officers (LSOs). These jobs have to be done
right.
People who do them properly are promoted. Those who don’t can look forward to new civilian careers. Of these jobs, the captain’s, of course, carries the greatest responsibility. However, right after the captain comes the Air and Mini Bosses. No other pair of individuals has so much influence on the core services (flying aircraft in support of Naval/Marine operations) the ship was designed to deliver. These two officers control virtually every aspect of the boat’s air operations, from the pace and number of missions flown to how the aircraft are parked and serviced. This means, practically, that when the ship is flying aircraft, there is no margin for error despite massive stress, a thankless work schedule, and very little sleep. Clearly you need special people to be Bosses.

Since a good long look at Pri-Fly seemed essential to the total experience of carrier operations, I asked to spend a day there with Kindred and June. After climbing the five ladders from my stateroom to the O-7 level of the island, I joined the crowded and busy team in Pri-Fly. Along the port side overlooking the flight deck are three chairs, much like Captain Rutheford’s chair on the bridge one level below. Here is where Kindred and June spend their days and nights. Soon after I entered, they very graciously invited me to sit in the center chair between them. It was an impressive view. On command from Commander Kindred, a chief petty officer behind me passed forward a steaming cup of coffee and the Air Tasking Order (ATO) Flow Sheet—or Air Plan for short—the document that explains and controls the day’s air operations. Printed double-sided on a single legal sheet of paper, it is the daily bible for the flight deck. On one side is a set of time lines, with a line for each squadron or air unit participating that day. These time lines are then broken down into individual “events,” each of which represents a particular planned launch/landing cycle on the flight deck. The flip side shows detailed notes about the flight schedule and the schedule of tanker aircraft, and is personally signed (they have to review it daily) by the GW’s Air, Strike, and Operations officers.