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Capability Analysis

Winning the Invisible War: Gaining an Enduring Advantage in the EMS

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The following article is adapted from a new report by the Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments (CSBA), Winning the Invisible War: Gaining an Enduring U.S. Advantage in the Electromagnetic Spectrum.

By Bryan Clark, Whitney M. McNamara, and Timothy A. Walton

The explosion of mobile communications and emerging Internet of Things are turning the electromagnetic spectrum (EMS) into an increasingly crowded place. The advent of 5G, which needs wide swaths of spectrum in multiple frequency ranges to achieve high data rates, will only intensify this trend and create more conflicts between commercial and government users. The challenge of spectrum management and control will be acute for militaries, which depend almost entirely on the EMS for sensing and communications.

The American military is particularly affected by a congested EMS. U.S. forces deploy the most advanced networks of sensors and precision-guided munitions, relying on them for almost all operations. Adversaries like China and Russia have exploited this dependence during the last decade by developing and fielding a comprehensive array of electronic warfare (EW) systems to contest the spectrum.

The U.S. military, however, did not address the challenge posed by its competitors and numerous assessments now argue the U.S. military is unprepared for competition or conflict in the EMS. The problem was not a lack of funding, as defense spending for EMS operations grew steadily since 2015. DoD’s EMS shortfalls arose because the additional dollars were not spent implementing a coherent strategy and instead were used to upgrade legacy systems and fill various capability gaps. Regaining EMS superiority against Chinese and Russian forces at the current pace will take one or two decades – assuming America’s adversaries do not continue to improve.

DoD should accelerate its efforts to regain an advantage in the spectrum, but likely budget constraints will preclude simply throwing more money at the problem. Instead of perpetuating the current move-countermove competition by attempting to fill every EMS capability gap, DoD can adopt a new approach to EMS operations focused on asymme­tries between U.S and opposing militaries. An EMS strategy designed to undermine enemy strengths and exploit adversary vulnerabilities may leave some capability gaps intact but could be the only way for the U.S. military to achieve EMS superiority in time to forestall opportunistic aggression by one of America’s military competitors.

Exploiting Asymmetries

The most important asymmetry between U.S. and opposing militaries is the adversary’s “home team” advantage and how it impacts EMS operations. For example, Chinese and Russian forces can exploit their proximity to likely conflicts by employing sensor techniques that rely on multiple stationary arrays such as passive radio frequency (RF) detection or geolocation and long-range high frequency radars. As an expeditionary force, the U.S. military is less able to employ these techniques and often relies on active, monostatic radars for situational awareness and defense, exposing U.S. units to enemy detection and geolocation.

Their home team advantage also allows China’s People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and the Russian Armed Forces to place EW and sensor systems on their own territory, where they can rely on wired communications, or in nearby sea or airspace, where line-of-sight RF communications can be reliable and difficult to jam. The relatively uncluttered spectrum near their territory also permits Chinese and Russian militaries to pre-plan their spectrum use. As an expeditionary force, the U.S. military must manage spectrum dynamically.

The proximity of U.S. competitors to likely areas of conflict creates additional asymmetries in force design and command and control (C2) between U.S. and competing militaries. For example, because the PLA understands where conflict is likely to occur, the Chinese forces to be employed, and the likely variety of enemy dispositions and tactics, the PLA can employ pre-architected systems of systems and tactics. This approach, which Chinese military strategists call System Destruction Warfare, prioritizes attacks on perceived enemy vulnerabilities, such as U.S. forces’ dependence on the EMS. Although it also uses pre-architected systems and focuses contesting adversary information operations, the Russian military’s C2 approach delegates subordinates more authority to improvise tactics. Similar to PLA leaders, however, Russian commanders are expected to use modeling and cybernetics to scientifically lead forces and antici­pate combat outcomes.

The worldwide commitments of the U.S. military require a more expeditionary and self-contained force design than those needed by Chinese or Russia forces. Today, U.S. forces center on large multimission platforms and troop formations, which are efficient but constrain the force’s flexibility. U.S. forces also need a more adaptable C2 process than the Chinese or Russian militaries to accommodate more contested communications, changing force packages, and the variety of local conditions. The U.S. military employs “mission command” to rely on a junior leader’s judgment and ability to follow the commander’s intent if communications are lost. A lack of planning and management tools available to junior commanders currently hinders their ability to innovate, however, making their actions more predictable to an adversary.  

A Return to Maneuver Warfare

To regain EMS superiority, DoD should focus on exploiting asymme­tries in ways that could undermine adversary strengths or exploit enemy vulnerabilities. Most prominently, the home team advantage of U.S. adversaries could be turned into a weakness if DoD adopts new warfighting approaches that emphasize maneuver and complexity. For instance, the PLA’s reliance on pre-planned, static systems of systems and tactics could be a disadvantage against highly dynamic and unpredictable U.S. force postures and capabilities. Furthermore, complex U.S. operations in the EMS could be especially effective against Chinese and Russian operational concepts that center on defeating U.S. C2, communications, and sensors.

To fully exploit the potential of maneuver warfare, the U.S. military should replace some of its self-contained multimission units that result in highly predictable force packages and tactics with cheaper and less multifunctional units to create a disaggregated and recomposable force. This would enable greater adaptability in U.S. force packages while imposing considerable complexity on adversaries. A disaggregated force would better enable the U.S. military to conduct EMS operations that would be challenging for an enemy to detect and counter, including passive and multistatic sensing, distributed EW, and decoy operations.

A disaggregated force will be difficult to manage, however, in a contested communications environment. Instead of DoD’s current trend toward centralized staffs and resilient wide-area communications for distributed operations, the U.S. military should address this challenge by adopting context-centric C2 and communications (C3). In this approach, C2 relationships are based on communications availability, rather trying to build a communications architecture to support a pre-determined C2 hierarchy. An essential element of context-centric C3 is planning tools that enable junior leaders at to creatively plan, adapt, and recompose their forces and operations. These tools are already being developed and fielded by DoD labs and industry.

U.S. forces will also need to dramatically change how they operate in the EMS to impose complexity and uncertainty on an adversary. Most importantly, the U.S. military’s over-reliance on active monostatic radars can enable adversaries to understand U.S. dispositions and tactics because radars can be detected, classified, and geolocated relatively easily. To more fully support maneuver and adaptability, U.S. forces should use more passive or multistatic sensing, complemented by LPI/LPD communications and electronic countermeasures.

To support passive and multistatic sensing, every U.S. EMS system should also incorporate passive RF detection, or electronic support (ES), functionality. ES capabilities would also help achieve LPI/LPD characteristics by monitoring friendly emissions; improve the effectiveness of EW actions by sensing adversary EMS actions; and enable coordination of EMS operations with minimal communications by detecting EMS operations of collaborating units. Introducing multifunction EMS systems to U.S. forces that can communicate, sense, jam, and decoy, would increase the variety of locations from which sensing or effects be delivered and provide greater adaptability to U.S. forces.

Fully exploiting networked and multifunction capabilities to operate at machine speed will require operators to yield some deci­sion-making to the EMSO system. Today, adaptive algorithms that can react to adversary actions are reaching EW systems in operating forces. These programs should be accelerated, along with efforts to establish testing processes and data governance procedures for future cognitive EMS systems. The most significant impediments to networked EMSO and EMBM are creating interoperable data transmission standards and the varied security levels at which different EMSO systems operate.

EMS maneuver and superiority only have meaning if DoD treats the EMS as an operational domain. Today’s approach to EMS operations treats the EMS as a utility, in which actions such as electronic attack (EA), ES, electronic protection (EP), communications, and sensing are distinct operations. In a domain construct, these actions would be considered as interrelated operations that can be employed in concert to accomplish the commander’s intent and tasking through maneuver in the EMS.

Implementing a New EMS strategy

A more disaggregated and recomposable force has significant impli­cations for how DoD identifies and develops new capabilities. For example, requirements will be harder to determine if the configuration of force packages is not known in advance. Therefore, DoD could adopt an opportunity-based, rather than requirements-based, approach to capability development. New systems would be assessed based on their ability to improve mission outcomes in a range of scenarios and force packages, rather than engineering a point solution based on assumptions regarding future forces and operations. DoD’s new Middle Tier Acquisition Process reflects this approach.   

One tool for assessing the potential benefits of new technologies or systems is experimentation. DoD’s EMS training ranges are unable to provide realistic modern operational environments, but operational security concerns would prevent U.S. forces from recouping the significant investment needed to upgrading live open-air facilities. DoD should shift its emphasis for EMS operations training to virtual and constructive facilities, which would enable concept development, tactics innovation, and training against the most challenging threats at all security levels. Live EMS training to practice safe operations could focus on less-modern threats or employ closed-loop radar, communication, and EW systems.

An Imperative to Change 

DoD cannot continue attempting to gain EMS superiority by incrementally filling capability gaps. This approach is too unfocused, will take too long to reach fruition, is potentially unaffordable, and cedes the initiative to America’s great power competitors. Instead of reacting to adversary moves with its own countermoves, DoD should move in a new direction and focus EW and EMSO capability development on implementing concepts for maneuver warfare that create adaptability for U.S. forces and complexity for adversaries.

If the DoD does not mount a new more strategic and proactive approach to fighting in the EMS and developing the requisite capabilities, adversaries could be emboldened to continue their efforts to gain territory and influence at the expense of U.S. allies and partners. Demonstrating the ability to survive and fight in a contested EMS could help U.S. forces slow Chinese and Russian activities and deter or dissuade these adversaries from more aggressive approaches to their objectives.

Bryan Clark is a Senior Fellow at CSBA.

Timothy Walton is a Research Fellow at CSBA.

Whitney M. McNamara is a Senior Analyst at CSBA.

Featured Image: PHILIPPINE SEA (Nov. 13, 2019) Lt. j. g. Louis Wohletz, from Minneapolis, center, is observed by Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force officers as he stands watch as a surface warfare coordinator during a maritime strike operation exercise in the combat information center of the Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer USS Milius (DDG 69) during Annual Exercise (ANNUALEX) 19. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Taylor DiMartino)

Seamanship and Leadership

Lessons on Dissent from a Navy Ship

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The following article originally featured in The Foreign Service Journal and is republished with permission. Read it in its original form here.

By Jimmy Drennan

During the course of a damage control drill on my first ship, USS Anzio (CG 68), I was barking orders to sailors from my repair locker. My job was to ensure my team quickly suited up in firefighting equipment and established fire control boundaries and then report back to the damage control assistant (DCA) in the Central Control Station. The DCA gave periodic status updates, and in one such update he noted my repair locker was the only one that hadn’t reported completion.

When my team heard this, they scrambled even faster to put on their gear and establish boundaries. Noticing that some sailors began skipping key steps in their haste, I yelled out: “I don’t care what the DCA says! I want you to do this right!”

Just then, the chief engineer, who had been observing the drill in the background, grabbed me by the arm, looked me straight in the eye and said: “Don’t ever do that again.”

I got the message immediately. But I didn’t realize until many years later that the lessons I learned that day involved how to properly and effectively dissent in the military. Over time, the more I grasped the best techniques, motivations and conditions for disagreeing with my superiors, the more I realized that these lessons apply in any enterprise.

If you choose the right venue, build a reputation of competence and integrity, and honestly evaluate your reasons for dissent, you will maximize the chances of being heard.

How Not to Dissent

When I told the sailors in my repair locker to ignore the DCA, I violated several principles of effective dissent. First, and maybe most importantly, I dissented to the wrong audience. If I believed proper procedure was more important than speed, I should have had that conversation with the DCA in private following the drill. The whole point of dissenting is to help guide your organization in the direction you believe best. But as it was, I didn’t give the DCA the chance to hear my thoughts before I shouted my disagreement to the sailors.

This was my second mistake: I dissented in public. Except in rare circumstances, it is almost never the right call to publicly disagree with your superiors, especially if your intent is to convince them to change direction. Public dissent tends to back decision-makers into a corner and, more often than not, forces them to dig in their heels.

Dissenting in a public setting, whether it is a Navy repair locker, a meeting or a widely distributed email, could jeopardize external stakeholders’ trust and confidence in your organization. In my case, I put sailors in the uncomfortable position of having to choose whether to follow my orders (to proceed deliberately) or the DCA’s (to proceed rapidly). This undermined our chain of command. I could have inadvertently introduced delays and confusion in future scenarios as my sailors waited to hear whether I agreed with the DCA’s orders or not. I should have waited for my opportunity in the appropriate venue.

I later discovered I would have countless private discussions with the DCA and attend several small group meetings where my honest opinion would be received with an open mind. If I ever doubted whether I had permission to speak candidly in those private sessions, I recalled some advice from my first chief: “You’re in the room, aren’t you?”

Back in the repair locker, most of my sailors chose to follow the DCA’s guidance instead of mine because he had already demonstrated competence in firefighting and earned their trust. I had been onboard for only a matter of weeks, and my sailors barely knew me. My third mistake was not building trust with my audience before I offered my dissent. Although I believed strongly that it was most important for my sailors to practice their emergency actions deliberately before picking up the pace (and I still do), my sailors had no real incentive to listen to me over the DCA. I would have made more progress if I had first taken the time to demonstrate my competence as a naval officer and shipmate to them.

Building Credibility

If your audience respects your credibility, they will be more apt to heed your dissenting view. Likewise, it is imperative that your audience trusts you to act ethically. There is no surer way to destroy trust than to give dissenting advice based on some ulterior motive, such as politics or personal gain.

One thing I did right that day in the repair locker was to shut my mouth once the chief engineer counseled me. That was another lesson I didn’t fully understand until many years later: don’t carry on blindly. I voiced my dissent, my superior heard me, and he told me to fall in line. And I did.

Throughout my career, I often found that once is enough. Dissent does not have to be contentious or dramatic as it is often depicted in movies. Rather, if it is properly done in a measured way with a valid message, dissent can spur professional, unemotional conversations. If your audience understands your dissent but still decides to go its own way, you can rest assured that you did your job and gave your best advice.

Over the years I’ve also learned there are often factors I wasn’t considering or even aware of. Every so often you may find yourself in a situation where your convictions compel you to persist in your dissent, despite your audience’s initial dismissal. As always, your convictions and principles should guide you, but do acknowledge the potential consequences of your persistence, and recognize the possibility that you may not be seeing the full picture.

Being Heard

Many years after that first damage control drill, I found myself in an entirely different situation where the lessons I’d learned on dissent proved invaluable. I was in a four-star general’s office with a small group of officers to discuss an investigation. An incident had occurred in conjunction with an ongoing operation and we were being asked to relay the details so the general could answer questions from his superiors. I was the most junior person in the room.

Working in a four-star headquarters as a staff officer, I rarely had the opportunity to interact with the general. But I had briefed him several times in small and large venues, and I had built a reputation as a knowledgeable and trustworthy officer regarding the subject matter at hand.

I listened quietly as the tone of the conversation clearly indicated the general intended to continue the operation, with no one offering a serious alternative. As the meeting was coming to a close, I spoke up and recommended we consider terminating the operation. I am sure I surprised a few senior officers in the room, but I made sure to be respectful, direct and concise. The general heard me out, and the meeting soon adjourned.

I cannot say the general took my advice, but I know he considered it; and several of the other officers in the room later told me they agreed with what I said. Instead of damaging my career, my dissent further cemented my reputation as a subject matter expert and even opened career opportunities for me. Because I followed the lessons I had learned on dissent over the years, starting with that day in the repair locker, I was able to deliver a much-needed dissenting opinion that would be honestly considered, without fear of consequence.

Lieutenant Commander Jimmy Drennan is a naval officer currently assigned to United States Central Command as a maritime operations planner. He has 15 years of experience in the surface navy, with assignments as repair division officer, navigator and operations officer, as well as three deployments to the Middle East on guided missile cruisers. Out of uniform, he is president of the Center for International Maritime Security (CIMSEC). He is the recipient of the Surface Navy Association’s Arleigh Burke Award for Operational Excellence and the Navy and Marine Corps Association Leadership Award. These views are presented in a personal capacity and do not necessarily reflect the views of any U.S. government department or agency.

Featured Image: (Jul 26, 2006)The US Navy Ticonderoga Class Guided Missile Cruiser USS ANZIO (CG 68) (left) pulls alongside the USN Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier USS DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER (CVN 69) for a refueling at sea somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. (U.S. Navy official photo by Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Dale Miller)

Tactics

Naval Tactics and Their Influence on Strategy, Pt. 1

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CIMSEC mourns the passing of renowned thinker on naval tactics and strategy Capt. Wayne P. Hughes, Jr., who passed away peacefully on December 3, 2019. Author of the classic work Fleet Tactics and longtime researcher and faculty member at the Naval Postgraduate School, Capt. Hughes made extraordinary contributions to naval discourse. Below is one such contribution. 

The following piece originally featured in The Naval War College Review and is republished with permission. It will be republished here in two parts. Read it in its original form here.

By Captain Wayne P. Hughes, Jr., U.S. Navy, (ret.)

A viewpoint almost taken for granted among Defense officials is that national policy determines military strategy, which in turn deter­mines the quantities and allocations of forces. Let me offer a contrasting position:

“What actually halts the aggressor’s action is the fear of defeat by the defender’s forces, [even though] he is not likely to concede this, at least not openly.

“One may admit that even where the decision has been bloodless, it was determined in the last analysis by engagements that did not take place but had merely been offered . . . where the tactical results of the engagement are assumed to be the basis of all strategic plans, it is always possible, and a serious risk, that the attacker will proceed on that basis. He will endeavor above all to be tactically superior, in order to upset the enemy’s strategic planning. The latter [strategic planning] therefore, can never be considered as something independent: it can only become valid when one has reason to be confident of tactical success . . . it is useful to emphasize that all strategic planning rests on tactical success alone, and that – whether the solution is arrived at in battle or not – this is in all cases the actual fundamental basis for the decision. Only when one has no need to fear the outcome – because of the enemy’s character or situation or because the two armies are unevenly matched physically and psychologically or indeed because one’s own side is the stronger – only then can one expect results from strategic combinations alone.”

I have been quoting Clausewitz, of course. We should remember that Clausewitz dealt with ground warfare. The passage above is found in Clausewitz’ discussion of defense, which he and other analysts believe is the stronger tactical posture on land. As will be seen, I hold that the tactical nature of ground war often differs from sea war. Specifically, there has been no corresponding tactical advantage for the defense in naval combat. Nevertheless, in this instance I am happy to take Clausewitz as my text, and assert that what he thought to be the link between tactics and strategy on the ground applies even more strongly at sea, if that is possible.

The reason that a discussion of tactics is appropriate when discussing contemporary strategy is that strategy must rest on the rock of combat capability. One builds decisions from the bottom up: tactics affect the efficacy of forces; the correlation of forces reveals what strategy our forces can support, and a supportable military strategy governs national aims and ambitions.

This is the opposite of the Secretary of Defense’s “Defense Guidance,” which starts with national goals and policies, which in due course defines strategy, and which takes largely for granted that existing forces will be able to execute it. The top-down approach is proper for deriving force requirements to guide procurement policies, but force requirements – if they exceed existing force levels – can only be built in the future. If one is concerned with present strategy, he must know current capabilities and design his strategy accordingly. If the forces are inadequate, then a strategy which is part bluff may be necessary, but it is important for everyone to understand that the strategy is in fact not executable, so that the part which is bluff does not become forgotten and lead to self-delusion. As a case in point, many will remember the 2 1/2 war strategy that lingered on long after it was beyond our capabilities.

Firepower, scouting, and c2 are the three elements of naval force – the means – and attrition is the great end. In the back­ground I can hear Peggy Lee singing her song, “Is That All There Is?” Yes, I think that is all.

Of course, the design of a current maritime strategy is not really so simple that it can be built from the bottom up. The process is dialectical, with policy and strategy goals juxtaposed against combat capabilities. But current strategy, I insist, must rest on a foundation of realistic force comparisons.

Perhaps the sense of urgency about tactical considerations will be made more real by starting with this: It is demonstrable both by history and theory that not only has a small net advantage in force (not the same as forces) often been decisive in naval battles, but the slightly inferior force tends to lose with very little to show in the way of damage and destruction to the enemy.

At sea, there has been no counterpart to prepared positions and the effects of terrain, nor any thing corresponding to the rule-of-thumb, 3-to-1 attacker-to-defender ratio. There are no mountains nor swamps to guard flanks, no rivers to cross or defend, and no high ground. A fleet tactical commander keeps no force in reserve and all his energy is devoted to attacking the enemy effectively before the enemy can attack him. At sea, offense dominates in a way foreign to ground commanders. When a tactical commander is not competitive he had better stand clear; because, as I said, he will have little to show for the loss of his force.

In peacetime, every strategist must know the true combat worth of his navy, as compared to the enemy, or he risks deep humiliation with or without bloodshed. That above all was the tactical lesson for Argentina in the Falklands, which found its navy outclassed by the Royal Navy. In wartime, every strategist must know the relative fighting value of his navy – so carefully nurtured and expensive to build and maintain in peacetime. When committed in battle, the heart of a fleet can be cut out in an afternoon.

Three Tactics-Strategy Interrelationships

The fighting power of forces available determines strategic combinations. This does little to explain why tacticians emphasize not only forces as orders of battle but also the very tactics of those forces as elements of sound strategy. The answer lies in the distinction between forces and force – the difference between an order of battle and fighting power at a scene of action against a specific enemy, or what Russian military scientists call the correlation of forces and means. Here are three examples of how tactics and strategy are interrelated. The first example is in the realm of force planning, the Washington arena. The second deals with naval operations, the battle arena. The third illustrates the danger when either the strategist or the tactician lays his plans without due regard for the risks he may thoughtlessly impose on his counterpart.

First, in the U.S. and Nato studies of the military reinforcement and resupply of Europe in the 1960s and early 1970s, classical convoy tactics were used. The escorts formed a ring around the merchant ships. But the ASW screens so configured could not prevent the penetration of many torpedo­ firing submarines. The Navy’s strategists drew the conclusion that we should buy more ASW protection. Other strategists who toted up the Navy’s hardware bill said there must be a better strategy, better meaning less expensive. One solution was to preposition Army divisional combat equipment in Europe and then fly the troops over to marry up with it. No one questioned the soundness of the convoy tactics on which the gloomy losses were based until the early 1970s. Then some work being done concurrently by the Center for Naval Analyses and a small Nato study group at SacLant concluded that if you opened out the merchant ship formation and embedded the protection inside the convoys, the losses to merchant ships would be reduced by a factor of two or three.

These same studies of the tactical details of the convoy engagements revealed that the submarines ought to be able to find enough targets to unload all of their torpedoes on every patrol, unlike the experience of World War II when the average U-boat fired less than one-sixth of its torpedoes on a patrol. The number of torpedoes carried to sea, therefore, became a number of extreme importance. When the fact was appreciated, a more careful look was taken at the torpedo load of enemy submarines and it was decided that we had probably overestimated it, and in so doing overestimated the damage the subs could do over their lifetimes.

With the estimates of probable losses of merchant ships reduced dramatically, did convoying reenter as the preferred strategy? Not exactly, because there were too many other considerations – political, budgetary, and strategic, affecting the decision. The present attitude toward the desirability of convoying is, in some circumstances yes, in others no. Here the interrelationship with strategy enters the picture. If the maritime strategy described by Robert Wood and John Hanley in the previous issue of this journal is executable, then that will have a powerful and positive effect to reduce the need for convoying. If we are surprised as the allies were in World Wars I and II, then the strategist has some assurance that the tactics are in hand to convoy the most vital shipping – if we must.

Secondly, let us next consider a radically different example of the integration of strategy and tactics that shows up at the interface between land and sea, in what felicitously has been called “littoral warfare.” Navies are built and supported in order to influence events on land. It is almost impossible to find an instance of two fleets going out to fight like boxers in a ring – may the best ships win, to the victor goes the spoils and command of the sea. Seldom has the inferior fleet failed to appreciate its inferiority, and so it has been only some matter of gravest consequence which drew the weaker fleet to sea, usually to its doom and with little harm to the stronger.

One of the tactical implications is that the larger fleet in case after case has been burdened with the forbidden sin of split objectives. Look at the 1942-45 Pacific War. Japan or the United States, whichever was superior and on the offensive, almost always entered into battle with prioritized but nevertheless dual missions – to shield the movement of some vital force and to destroy the enemy fleet. The whole Pacific strategy-tactics interface can be studied and understood in that context. The maxim that a fleet should first gain control of the sea before risking an amphibious assault turned out to be impossible to follow, because without the overwhelming strategic consequences of invasion the smaller fleet would not fight. Now look at the sea battles in World War I, in particular those in the North Sea. In this case the battles came about by some subterfuge, a strategic entrapment –the British hoping to lure the High Seas Fleet into a death trap and the Germans hoping to snare some detachments of the Royal Navy, and whittle it down to equality. Since neither Britain nor Germany had a strategic motivation to come to battle at a disadvantage and since Scheer knew his fleet was decisively inferior, there was never a fight to the finish as strategists anticipated before the war. The German High Seas Fleet ended its days not with a bang but a whimper.

As the range of weapons and sensors increased, so did the direct, tactical interaction between land-based and sea-based forces. In my opinion there is no finer example than the Solomons Campaign of 1942-43 of ground, sea, and air forces all acting in concert, not coincidentally or serendipitously, but necessarily and vitally. A subject worthy of more study is the way these interactions on a wider, deeper battlefield will carry over into the realm of strategy and policy. Land-based aircraft and missiles already reach well out to sea. Sea-based aircraft have had an influence that is well known, and now missiles from the sea will also play a role. One of the tactical lessons of the Solomons is this: We do not plan to put the Marine Brigade into northern Norway merely to hold the land flank, but also to hold the maritime flank. The Marines and their accompanying airpower would fight from a vital piece of real estate that will support operations at sea as well as on the ground. It is hard to find a more apt example of littoral warfare in the making.

Thirdly, as an example, let us look at the Mediterranean, and ponder the problem of the Sixth Fleet Commander. He is very conscious of the need to attack effectively first, but he knows American policy is unlikely to give him the freedom to do so. He also knows that policy has often required a forward, and exposed presence in the Eastern Mediterranean. His survival at the onset of war rests on two hopes to offset these two liabilities. The first is that he will be given the freedom of movement in sufficient time to take a geographical position that will make a major attack on him difficult. The second is that his Rules of Engagement will allow him to act with measured force when certain circumstances demand it. Since the steps he must take are in the nature of denying the enemy tracking and targeting information – “antiscouting,” a term I will define later – in my opinion both the location he must take and the actions he must be authorized ought to be tolerable at the policy level. Whether the modus vivendi now in effect is satisfactory both as to tactics (battlefield risks) and to strategy (political risks) I do not know. But it is important to see the conflict between the statesman’s political objectives and the naval commander’s tactical risks in a crisis. The tactician at the scene understands the primacy of diplomatic and political objectives. But an optimum political stance, such as a highly visible naval presence, can require a disastrous battlefield posture. The tactician and strategist both need agreement that to contain a crisis, the nation must be able to win twice, both politically and on the field of battle. 

In days gone by my solution to the Sixth Fleet’s tactical problem was to head west. To solve the strategist’s problem of the embarrassment of retreating in the midst of crisis, my strategists were to make clear well in advance of any crisis that when the fleet withdrew, that was not appeasement but a final war warning, the naval equivalent of mobilizing the reserves. I think now my solution was too pat. But if heading west is not the answer, then the strategist must collaborate with the tactician to find it. The tactical imperative at sea is to attack effectively before the enemy does so. This is simply too compelling a consideration for the strategist to wish away.

Captain Hughes is on the faculty of the Naval Postgraduate School, writes widely on maritime and national security affairs, and is author of Fleet Tactics, soon to be published-by the Naval Institute Press.

Featured Image: PACIFIC OCEAN (Nov. 27, 2019) The Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer USS Russel (DDG 59) and the aircraft carrier USS Theodore Roosevelt (CVN 71) transit the Eastern Pacific Ocean Nov. 27, 2019. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Matthew F. Jackson)

Fiction Week

Operation Tripolitan

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Fiction Week

By Jared Samuelson

Celebes Sea, approximately 850 nautical miles from Fiery Cross Reef – 0030 Local

“Romeo’s closed up,” came the call from the port bridge wing. Raising the red and yellow romeo flag to the top of the stays was the signal USS Omaha, an Independence-class Littoral Combat Ship, was beginning its approach to the Japanese oiler Mashu.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Hassan Caterall’s hands betrayed a slight tremor as he flicked his eyes in the direction of his Executive Officer, the ship’s second-in-command. The XO, Commander Morgan Dennis, a former enlisted sailor with more than 20 years in the Navy, hovered over the console between Hassan and the ship’s Navigator, Lt. j.g. Mike Dunleavy. Dennis’s eyes moved continuously, alternately looking out the windows ahead, down at the radar and navigation displays in front of his junior officers and towards the bridge wing where the ship’s captain stood, watching and measuring the distance to the oiler.

“Let’s go, Caterall,” Dennis said. “Just remember, if there’s a problem, forget that schoolhouse bullshit. Just put the throttle down and walk hard away.”

Hassan had completed the training required to drive the LCS just three weeks prior. He thought ruefully about how he and his classmates had spent most of their free time in class bitching about how unrealistic and unnecessarily rigorous the training was. Now he found himself about to make a silent, nighttime approach in wartime conditions to a foreign oiler and silently thanked his instructors. He shifted in his seat. His flame-retardant flash hood pulled at his neck. He was wearing the hood pulled down so as not to restrict his vision; his gloves sat in his lap to allow for maximum dexterity while controlling Omaha’s sensitive waterjet engines.

With his left hand, he eased the combinator, which controlled Omaha’s waterjets, forward, increasing power. The combinator clicked and locked in his hand. He stifled his momentary panic and relaxed his hand while counting to four, just as he’d been taught. At four, he eased the combinator forward again, allowing himself to exhale as he felt the ship surge forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shark-like silhouette of the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer O’Kane, backlit by the moon as she searched for enemy submarines.

************

The South Pacific War, as the media called it, had come without notice. The Chinese executed simultaneous attacks coinciding with two American freedom of navigation operations or FONOPs. In the first, the Ronald Reagan Carrier Strike Group, sailing through the Taiwan Strait, found itself saturated with ballistic and anti-ship cruise missiles, resulting in the worst U.S. Navy losses since the battle of Savo Island. Only the destroyer John McCain had limped away, sustaining multiple missile hits to her superstructure and scores of dead.

The second FONOP, at Mischief Reef in the Spratly islands, ended similarly when Chinese fighters operating from the new airfield at Fiery Cross Reef flew in below the horizon and surprised the destroyers Chung-Hoon and Chafee. Both ships were hit multiple times. Nearby Chinese naval militia in unmarked fishing vessels immediately swarmed, overwhelming the crews with the result that the two American hulks were taken as prizes and moored to a pier at Mischief Reef. An exultant Chinese government immediately released images of the listing ships pierside, Chinese flags flying from their deformed masts. An unknown number of Americans remained on the island as prisoners, complicating plans for a retaliatory strike.

The attacks were just a distraction for the long-anticipated move against Taiwan. With the 7th Fleet Carrier Strike Group at the bottom of the Straits of Taiwan, a large Chinese amphibious force sortied from the fleet base at Ningbo and landed all along Taiwan’s west coast. Despite fierce opposition, Chinese special forces who had infiltrated the populace, a seemingly endless supply of ballistic missiles and China’s unfettered ability to pour in more troops meant the Taiwanese struggle, while valiant, was ultimately doomed.

Chinese missile salvos against Guam and the remaining 7th Fleet ships in Yokosuka and Sasebo, Japan rendered the U.S. Navy impotent west of Pearl Harbor. The Japanese, who had seen much of their own fleet destroyed, were supporting their American allies with two surviving Kongo-class destroyers, the diesel submarines that were underway at the time of the attack, and a trio of ships that had been visiting the American east coast on a training cruise. The Australians had immediately pledged support, but their units were patrolling far to the south. America’s European allies were still mulling over their positions.

American fortunes had improved slightly since the opening onslaught. A decision to eliminate Chinese satellites had resulted in a tit-for-tat exchange that destroyed both countries’ known GPS constellations and reconnaissance satellite coverage. The result for the U.S. Navy was a dramatically reduced Chinese ability to surveil the Americans. The U.S. Air Force had thrown up an improvised constellation of miniature satellites to partially restore American reconnaissance and geolocation services. The satellites, due to their size and number, were proving much harder for the Chinese to locate and destroy.

A Chinese sally from beneath their protective ballistic missile umbrella had been smashed when a pair of American submarines had devastated one of two Chinese carrier strike groups and an accompanying amphibious force. American submarines had performed exceedingly well, doing enough damage to cause Chinese commanders to pull Chinese submarines back into coastal waters. On the heels of those successes, the U.S. Navy would attempt its first tentative step forward to push back the Chinese bubble using its most unlikely platform, the Littoral Combat Ship.

************

Omaha and her Surface Division 11 sisters, Jackson, Montgomery ,and Gabrielle Giffords, had originally been conceived as “Surface Warfare” variants of the Littoral Combat Ship. Each nominally carried a crew of 74, 16 short-range Hellfire missiles and eight Kongsberg long-range Naval Strike Missiles. She and her sisters were now loaded, however, for far more than surface warfare.

SurfDiv 11 had rendezvoused with the Belleau Wood Amphibious Ready Group near Palau a day earlier. Omaha and Jackson had each taken aboard two companies of marine infantry and three Viper helicopters. Gabrielle Giffords embarked a team of maintainers for the Vipers, Marine logisticians, and pallets of small arms ammunition and food. Montgomery received a platoon of marines, a number of large, nondescript boxes, and a team of contractors. Aboard Omaha and Jackson, the Vipers were fully armed, fueled, and strapped to the flight deck. The infantrymen were packed into what, in peacetime, had been cavernous, and often empty, mission bays. Hassan had walked past the bay on his way to the bridge before watch, noting every square foot of space now seemed to be occupied by someone in digital green camouflage.

Before getting underway, each LCS received a hasty alteration to the massive mission bay door on the ship’s starboard side. Rather than a hydraulically operated mechanism to open the door that allowed cargo to be loaded and unloaded directly from the mission bay to the pier, each door was now rigged with a relatively simple pin and wire mechanism to turn it into a ramp that could be raised and lowered. The alteration allowed a single crewman to rapidly drop the ramp by hammering out a pair of retaining pins. The ramp would have to be reseated by a team of 10 sailors pulling it manually back into place.

It wasn’t until the ships were underway, leaving San Diego behind at a brisk 40 knots, that Omaha’s Commanding Officer, Captain Mark Dewitt, assembled the crew to explain the mission. Jovial and relaxed in peacetime, the weeks of conflict had taken a toll on Dewitt. Dewitt paused briefly while providing an overview of the early American defeats, gathering himself as he recounted events that had resulted in the deaths of numerous friends. Hassan thought the Captain’s face betrayed his weariness. He wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

Omaha and SurfDiv 11 were to be part of a massed, high speed assault on the Chinese base complex in the South China Sea. After a series of cross-Pacific, 40-knot sprints from oiler-to-oiler (the LCS was notoriously thirsty for fuel and had minimal tank capacity), the ships would embark marines near Palau, conduct a final refueling in the Celebes Sea, and then dash the remaining 800 miles to the Chinese base at Fiery Cross Reef.

Their arrival would be preceded by a barrage of Tomahawk missiles launched from American ships and submarines and Conventional Air-Launched Cruise Missiles fired from Air Force B52s. The Vipers would be launched in advance of their arrival at Fiery Cross to suppress enemy defenses further. SurfDiv 11 was to charge the piers, blasting shore targets with the ship’s 57 mm gun and Hellfire missiles while using the incredibly maneuverable waterjet engines to get pierside long enough to drop their ramps and allow the Marines to storm the pier. The marines would be outnumbered, but the general in command was counting on the combined firepower to shock the Chinese and allow his marines to overwhelm the defenses long enough to fly in reinforcements from a base in Palawan.

A pair of Spearhead-class expeditionary fast transports or EPFs, militarized high-speed ferries, would deliver additional air defense units, coastal defense cruise missiles, surveillance radar, and other support elements to establish an Expeditionary Advanced Base. Finally, a pair of U.S. Air Force Rapid Raptor packages would be airborne, waiting to swoop into the freshly seized airfield to begin offensive operations against neighboring Chinese installations.

At the same time, another division of LCSs with marines and special forces embarked would assault or raid the Chinese positions at Cuarteron Reef. A set of unmanned surface vessels and drones were already underway, flooding the area immediately surrounding the South China Sea with false signals to confuse Chinese targeting efforts.    

The mission’s most daring element, however, was its conspicuous lack of major fleet units. Because of the required transit speeds and the detectability of their high-powered Spy radars, American commanders had elected to leave their most potent ships, the Arleigh Burke destroyers and Ticonderoga cruisers, behind. Those units would remain west of the Philippines or in the Celebes Sea to give the Chinese the impression the American fleet was hesitant to push back into the South China Sea. This left the undergunned LCSs exposed to Chinese missiles with only electronic countermeasures and short-range Rolling Airframe Missiles for self-defense.

Celebes Sea approximately 300 miles south southeast of Davao, The Phillipines – 0032 Local

Hassan felt Mashu’s wake nudge Omaha’s bow to starboard as he approached the oiler’s stern. The seas were glassy. The beautiful scene, a full moon reflecting from the ocean’s surface, made for ideal weather for submarines hunting surface ships, although the Chinese had shown no inclination to push their subs out this far. Hassan pushed the thought from his mind and angled his waterjets toward the oiler, forcing Omaha onto a course paralleling the larger ship while Captain Dewitt shouted ranges from the bridge wing. Seconds later, the XO said curtly, “Cut it,” and Hassan reduced power as Omaha settled into position alongside. A line was passed between them to allow the ships to easily measure distance. Normally strung with disposable chemlights, the ships were instead supposed to remain darkened, so distances were relayed via sound-powered telephone. The heavy metal spanwire was hauled over and connected, allowing Mashu’s refueling rig to slide into a bell-shaped receptacle on Omaha’s port side.

Hassan could hear the exchange between the Engineering Officer of the Watch, seated behind him, and the captain culminating with the order to “commence pumping.” It required all his concentration to hold Omaha alongside the Japanese ship. He spent the next 20 minutes silently praying the combinators wouldn’t lock while the ships were this close together. By the time the order “cease pumping” was relayed, he was drenched in sweat and his left hand was cramping on the combinator handle.

As the lines from Mashu dropped clear, he pushed the combinator handle forward. The division “flagship,” Omaha had refueled last and now, free of the oiler, she surged forward, gradually increasing speed to 40 knots as her three sisters and the two EPFs fell in astern, heading northwest in a loose column toward the gap between Tapaan and Maningkulat Islands.

Hassan’s relief, Lt. j.g. Marilyn Starnes, the ship’s Auxiliaries Officer, came up to the bridge a few minutes later and began preparing for watch turnover. Starnes gathered information from Dunleavy, including the ship’s course, speed, and maneuvering intentions for the next few hours while Hassan remained “eyes up,” scanning the horizon for surface contacts. Once ready, Marilyn requested the Captain’s permission to relieve and then allowed Hassan to stand and step away from his chair. He was too tired to apologize for how sweaty he’d left the seat.

Hassan headed below to the messdecks, joining a line of sweaty sailors who had just left their replenishment stations. The marines, mercifully, were eating MREs in the mission bay, so as not to overwhelm the small crew manning Omaha’s galley. Mike Dunleavy joined him in line a few minutes later and the XO showed up shortly, as well. The two junior officers occupied a table in the corner of the messdecks and tried to hide their disappointment when the XO sat down heavily at the next table over.

The XO looked pointedly at them, “You two need to rack out after this. I don’t care what other obligations you think you have. We go to GQ in 16 hours and we’ll be there until we’re pierside or at the bottom.”

The two juniors looked at each other, half-eaten grilled cheese sandwiches hanging from their hands. Finally, Hassan turned back to the XO. “Are we going to make it, sir?” Commander Dennis regarded his young officer, “I think we’ll get in … but the mission isn’t always to come home.”

South China Sea, 200 nautical miles southeast of Fiery Cross Reef, 1800 Local

Hassan had been lying awake in his rack for an hour when the alarm sounded to bring Omaha to General Quarters or ‘GQ’, her highest condition of readiness. He’d slept in his flash hood and had his gloves tucked into his pocket. Just before he reached his battle station on the ship’s bridge, he found a Chief passing out new additions to his wardrobe, lightweight body armor, a small life preserver that clipped around his waist, and a Kevlar helmet. He took a minute to tighten the body armor and briefly considered the inflatable yellow life preserver, light and packed small enough in its navy blue pouch that it fit in his hand and wondered if the buoyancy would be enough to overcome the weight of the body armor if he went into the water.

He found Mike Dunleavy already in the left-hand seat and started gathering information. The ship’s electronic warfare specialists were reporting jamming by both sides. The Chinese had multiple surface and airborne radars flooding the South China Sea searching for Americans, but thus far the combination of jamming support and the NEMESIS system meant SurfDiv 11 was undetected. Montgomery would soon add another element for the Chinese to consider: the nondescript boxes she’d onloaded earlier had transformed into a series of launchers spread over the flight deck. Loaded into the launchers were the drones comprising the LOCUST system. The Low-Cost UAV Swarming Technology would release a swarm of autonomous drones to confuse Chinese radars at the four air defense batteries on Fiery Cross Island’s periphery, buying the LCS, the Vipers, and anyone else approaching the islands additional time to pull within weapons release range.

Hassan looked down at the closed circuit camera showing the flight deck, now a hive of activity as marines and sailors worked together to prep the Vipers for launch. The nervous energy permeating the ship didn’t come as a surprise. Even Omaha’s seasoned Chief Petty Officers, most of whom had at least 18 years’ experience, were being forced to confront their first combat experience.

South China Sea, 80 nautical miles southeast of Fiery Cross Reef, 2100 Local

The lookout’s voice crackled over the radio, “Bridge, Starboard lookout. I have a … a glow on the horizon … 050 relative.”

Hassan was “eyes up” while Mike Dunleavy studied the navigation display and he swiveled his head to the right. The XO stood near the captain’s chair. He and the captain paused to look to the horizon. The XO, thumbs hooked into his body armor, said “Tomahawks going in…” just loud enough for the rest of the bridge to hear. The glow continued moving from right to left, racing towards Fiery Cross Reef.

The Captain looked down at his watch. “Right on time…”

Omaha was at flight quarters, preparing to launch her three Vipers. The first was spotted in the center of the deck aft. Her takeoff would be aided by more than 50 knots of relative wind sweeping across the deck as the ship maintained 40 knots. After running through the checklist and getting the Captain’s permission, Mike Dunleavy announced ‘green deck’ into his mic and the two of them heard the noise of Stinger 21’s rotor blades as she swept past. The flight deck crew was already moving to spot the second helo for launch. Stinger 22 and Stinger 23 were both in the air in less than 5 minutes. The three-plane formation did a quick pass over the flagship, joined the helicopters just launched from Jackson and formed a loose line abreast, skimming the wavetops to avoid the Chinese radar that would hopefully be knocked offline by the Tomahawks.

Hassan had to keep his eyes forward to avoid being distracted by the barrage of signal lights being directed toward Omaha. The need to conduct this attack in silence had almost overwhelmed the Navy, which had disestablished its Signalman rating in 2004. The ability to communicate without electronic means was now in high demand, so the Americans had embarked Australian, Japanese, and even British yeomen who had flown around the world to join the fight as silent communicators. American quartermasters, theoretically proficient in Morse code and signaling protocol, were receiving a crash course from masters as the ship COs finalized details of the assault that normally would have been communicated via naval message or e-mail. 

The narrow passage on Fiery Cross Reef’s northeast corner was the only means of accessing the inner harbor. With a 104-feet-wide beam, only 30 feet less than a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, the Independence-class LCSs would be forced to pass through the channel one at a time, followed by the EPFs. With the “landing force” embarked, Omaha and Jackson would be first through and make directly for the piers normally occupied by Chinese auxiliaries and dredgers. Gabrielle Giffords would follow. Her marine aircraft maintainers would fight as infantrymen until landing space could be secured for the Vipers. Montgomery would pass through last and remain in the basin providing supporting fire from marines manning heavy weapons on her flight deck and the ship’s 57 mm gun. All ships were instructed to enter the channel at maximum speed so their momentum would carry them forward and clear, even if damaged. The islands housed an assessed pre-war garrison of 1,000-strong, but long-range radars had detected regular flights from the Chinese mainland. Intelligence estimated most of those flights were fighters and maritime patrol aircraft, but no one knew what the estimate was based on given that American satellite coverage had been largely eliminated in the war’s early days.

South China Sea, 50 nautical miles southeast of Fiery Cross Reef, 2145 Local

The tension of several hours at General Quarters had steadily worn the crew down until the first trickles of information began coming in. While still 60 miles out, there were flashes visible, reflecting from the few high-level clouds. The bridge fell silent as each sailor realized these would be the Tomahawks and Air Force CALCMs impacting or being intercepted. Moments later, a light began blinking urgently from the EPF trailing the formation. The second EPF, USNS Choctaw County, had been fitted with a makeshift signals intelligence and electronic warfare suite mounted on her flight deck in a container.

The British yeoman read the message to the pilothouse seconds later. “Multiple surface-to-air missile launches detected. Radar emissions have stopped.”

Had the Chinese radars been eliminated or were they merely shut off to complicate targeting?

In another twenty minutes, more flashes. “Vipers engaging. At least one shot down. Enemy air search radar operating. Signal isn’t as strong as it was…”

South China Sea, 20 nautical miles southeast of Fiery Cross Reef, 2230 Local

The battle was visible now. While it was still unclear exactly what damage the Tomahawks and CALCMs had done, pillars of smoke rose into the air and fires burned from one end of the island to the other. The American missiles were supposed to target the four Chinese air defense complexes, the headquarters building and the concrete revetments that served as shelters for maritime patrol and fighter aircraft. Small, fast shadows periodically blocked the flames, letting the ships’ crews know at least some of the Vipers were still in the fight.

The ship’s Tactical Action Officer called up on the internal communications net, “Captain, TAO. We’re listening in on the Vipers’ radio frequency now. The channel is clear. Say again, the channel is clear.”

The TAO paused and background noise from Combat spilled over the speaker before an excited voice broke in: “VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE! VAMPIRE bearing 347, range 16 nautical miles!”

The bridge crew automatically peered into the smoke and flames at bearing 347, trying to spot the anti-ship cruise missile the Sea Giraffe radar had detected. “Got it,” said the XO, extending his arm. Just below the horizon, a flame burned, no more than a pinprick of light at this range. The British yeoman was already out on the bridge wing, frantically signaling the other ships in company.

“Looks like it’s headed for Montgomery, sir,” the TAO said, trying to affect a calmer tone. The ships had fanned out earlier and were proceeding in an approximate line abreast. Montgomery was four miles from Omaha’s starboard beam. As the pinprick on the horizon moved towards Montgomery, the entire bridge watched, rapt. Even Hassan, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be “eyes up” watched the engagement unfold. Montgomery was heeled over in a hard turn to starboard, trying to unmask her missile launchers. When the missile was four miles out, flashes erupted from Montgomery, a pair of Rolling Airframe Missiles racing towards the inbound. One of the missiles wobbled almost immediately upon leaving the launcher, spiraled and then dove into the ocean just a few hundred yards forward of the ship. The remaining RAM closed one rapidly until it detonated yards away from the inbound. The Chinese missile shuddered, the flame of its rocket motor appeared to vibrate before impacting Montgomery’s bow seconds later.

The ship’s speed saved her. At 40 knots, an LCS “squats,” her stern sinking deeply and her bow elevating. The Chinese missile had impacted the ship’s bow right where the ship’s anchor was mounted, pushing the anchor back into the windlass room, killing a Bosun’s Mate and starting a fire. The missile fragmented when it struck the anchor. Its remnants punched through the aluminum deck on the foc’sle, directing shrapnel topside, but there were no crewmembers stationed there. The only other casualty besides the Bosun’s Mate was the starboard lookout, knocked down by a piece of shrapnel in her shoulder. Montgomery kept her speed on, slowing slightly due to her wrecked bow. Omaha signaled “Make best speed” as all ships anxiously scanned the horizon for more missiles.

South China Sea, 5 nautical miles southeast of Fiery Cross Reef, 2252 Local

Montgomery had fallen slightly astern of her sisters. The ship’s aluminum hull continued to burn where the missile had struck, fed by wind. There was nothing to be done. The division was too close to the enemy. The ship’s speed was generating enough wind to keep the smoke from obstructing the bridge crew. Omaha’s Captain had ordered a loose column formation now, with Omaha at its head, followed by Jackson 500 yards behind, Gabrielle Giffords astern of Jackson and the wounded Montgomery about 2000 yards behind Gabrielle Giffords. The two EPFs held their position 20 miles offshore, waiting to be told the pier had been secured so they could deliver their cargo. Hassan was grateful to be piloting the flagship, as her place at the head of the column meant he just needed to steer an ordered course rather than attempt to hold station on another ship.

The chaos at Fiery Cross was visible to the naked eye, but Hassan had no time to watch. He could see tracers, presumably attempting to engage the Vipers, reaching toward the sky and sometimes crossing his field of view. The ship’s Combat Information Center had reestablished communications with the Vipers. Three were still airborne, though low on fuel and out of ammunition. They had reported the channel was still clear and that one Chinese auxiliary was tied up at the pier on the north side of the basin. They continued to circle and draw fire from the island’s defenders. One had been shot down on approach, and one had been shot down immediately after destroying the cruise missile battery that had fired on Montgomery. A third had simply vanished.

Aboard all four ships, sailors and marines swarmed over the flight decks, setting up machine gun positions to engage targets ashore. Sailors manning the 57 mm guns and Hellfire missile consoles waited impatiently for targets.

The entrance to the harbor was on the island’s northeast corner. The division’s approach from the southeast meant Hassan would now lead the column in a looping turn. Keeping the other ships close would concentrate their firepower and minimize the amount of time the Chinese had to target ships in the narrow channel. Once in the basin, Hassan would keep his speed on until the last minute, relying on Omaha’s ability to stop almost instantaneously to moor safely.

The British yeoman passed the order for the other three ships to “close up,” decreasing the distance between them to 250 yards. At that distance, if Omaha slowed Jackson would have almost no opportunity to react, smashing into her stern. The XO stood behind Hassan again, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

At two miles out, the Captain moved to the starboard bridge wing and started feeding targets to his 57 mm and Hellfire gunners. There were a pair of Chinese machine gun nests on either side of the channel entrance. The 57 mm gun opened up on the one to the right and a pair of Hellfires demolished the nest to the left, a small figure briefly running around aflame afterward before falling and lying still, still burning.

Omaha charged towards the entrance, passing the remains of the fighting position as she proceeded up the short channel. On her port bow, a set of towers, shattered by American missiles, burned fiercely. The heat was palpable in the bridge and a gust of wind caused the Captain and yeoman, now on the port side to cringe slightly, distracting them from a pair of figures running around the base of the ruined structure. The Captain’s eyes went wide and he barely had time to yell “RPG” before the grenade detonated just above his head, killing him and the yeoman instantly and spraying a cone of shrapnel into the pilothouse. The blast was deafening and Hassan’s head snapped to the right as a metal shard buried itself in his Kevlar helmet. He heard Dunleavy grunt to his left and was vaguely aware of the XO down on the deck to his right. Two sailors on the flight deck with an M240 machine gun engaged the RPG team, tracer rounds reaching out before the Chinese could reload.

Hassan’s vision swam as he forced himself to concentrate, the channel opening into the basin before him. The Chinese auxiliary was visible, moored along the pier to his right. “Range to the pier?” he screamed to Dunleavy. Receiving no response, he looked over and saw a shard of metal the size of his hand sticking out of the side of Mike’s head which was lolling forward on his chest. Horrified, he looked down at his own display, making a snap estimate that he had less than 500 yards to the pier. He undid the seat belt restraining him, noticing the XO stirring as he, out of habit, announced “transitioning to the centerline console” before standing and moving to a position where he could see his navigation screen, his cameras and look out the windows.

The weapons teams aboard all four ships were fully in the fight. The sound of small arms, main guns and Hellfire missiles on the American side and Chinese small arms and RPGs made it impossible to hold a conversation.

The XO clambered to his feet and moved beside Hassan. Commander Dennis’s left hand was clamped on his right arm and blood was seeping between his fingers. He fumbled for his radio and gave a terse order inaudible to Hassan over the sound of the ongoing battle. Hassan altered the control mode for the engines, allowing himself to independently control the port and starboard engines. To get the ramp onto the pier, he would need to walk the ship sideways. He was already cutting speed as Omaha passed the Chinese auxiliary.

Marilyn Starnes led a pair of sailors onto the bridge. The XO started gesturing toward Mike Dunleavy’s inert form and a small fire burning on the port bridge wing. One of the sailors blasted the fire with a CO2 extinguisher while Starnes and the second sailor extracted Dunleavy. Starnes took the seat, slick with Dunleavy’s blood and zoomed in her navigation screen to help Hassan.

Hassan had mostly checked Omaha’s forward motion as she cleared the Chinese auxiliary’s stern. He was trying to pivot the ship on her bow, twisting the stern too rapidly into the light offsetting wind and throwing two sailors, heavily loaded and caught off-balance, over the side along with their M240 machine gun. Everyone else on the flight deck unconsciously pressed themselves into the ship’s non-skid.

Hassan reached down for the ship’s Azimuth Thruster or ‘Azi,’ realizing belatedly, he’d forgotten to engage it as he slowed. The Azi was powered by an 800 horsepower motor that would not only move the bow left or right, but tended to make the entire ship slide sideways. It was ideal for this sort of pier work. Marilyn saw his hand hesitate and jumped out of her seat. She ran back to the engineer’s console, pushing the slumped body of the Engineering Officer of the Watch back just enough to energize and lower the Azi and flashed him a thumbs-up. Hassan rotated the handle to angle the Azi towards the pier and increased power.

The volume of fire from the flight deck increased as Omaha’s rate-of-turn slowed and gunners identified more targets ashore. The fire slackened when one of the Vipers passed overhead, paused and started to lower itself onto the pier. The XO moved to the starboard bridge wing and watched, uncomprehending, until he saw the pilot and his gunner shut the helicopter down, jump out and run towards the ship’s bow and stern, respectively, to receive mooring lines. The petty officers at the line handling stations didn’t wait for an order, firing line guns towards both of the marines while machine gun crews provided covering fire. The marines retrieved the thin red messenger lines and began hauling the ship’s heavier mooring lines over.

Hassan was walking the ship sideways, less than 50 yards from the pier, his lateral movement in excess of the schoolhouse-approved 0.7 knots, but not caring. The XO was hanging halfway over the side of the ruined bridgewing, watching Omaha close the pier. Ahead, he could see Jackson pirouetting to make her own landing. Montgomery stood in the center of the basin, her nose still ablaze as her 57 mm gun pumped round after round ashore. In the distance, Gabrielle Giffords’ upper superstructure was engulfed in flames. She had run full-speed into the pier on the far side of the basin. Dennis stared for a second before looking back down and watching Omaha’s side sliding inexorably towards the pier.

Hassan felt the ship impact the pier before his digital display changed and, whispering “wind out, toe out” to himself, he threw the ship’s starboard side engine 30 degrees “out,” pinning Omaha to the pier. The bow was still coming in when the XO roared “Land the Landing Force” into his handheld radio, watching as the mission bay door dropped and the marines stormed out.

Commander Jared Samuelson is a U.S. Navy Surface Warfare Officer. He previously commanded USS Whirlwind (PC 11).

Featured Image: “USS Independence in Operation” by Yinan Shao via Artstation