By Richard Mosier

One of the six force design imperatives in the CNO’s NAVPLAN 2022 is, “Expand Distance: Long-range precision fires across all domains and platforms with greater reach to enable naval forces to strike hostile targets while increasing our own survivability.”¹ This design imperative has been partially achieved with the fielding of LRASM, Naval Strike Missile (NSM), Harpoon, SM-6, and forthcoming Maritime Strike Tomahawk, all designed to strike maritime targets at long ranges. However, the effective employment of these weapons against moving ships depends upon timely target location data for targeting, strike mission planning, and target location updates to strike aircraft and missiles enroute to the target. As the Navy expands the scope of its anti-ship arsenal, it needs to consider a concurrent expansion of the information architecture that is needed to employ these weapons at range.

Maritime Targeting Factors

Ships are moving targets, though only at the relatively slow speed of 30 knots. Even at that speed, the area of uncertainty of a target location expands rapidly as time accrues from the original launch of the weapon to the missile’s terminal acquisition of the target. A target location circle estimate of probability (CEP) of three square nautical miles at time of launch increases dramatically, as shown in Figure 1.

The size of the target location probability area is a function of the potential speed of the moving target and the time accrued from sensor data collect, to the tactical decision to launch the strike mission, and the availability of target location updates to the in-flight weapons and launch platforms. As with all engagements of moving targets, the attacking platform or weapon has to arrive in a target probability area that is small enough for their organic sensors to successfully acquire the target. Maintaining timely target location data is the critical factor in effectively cueing missiles and launch aircraft toward a point where they can then acquire the target with organic sensors. The acceptable target probability area varies based on the performance characteristics of the launch aircraft and missiles with respect to range, velocity, terminal target acquisition sensor performance, and capability for in-flight updates. The launch platforms and missile themselves often lack the organic sensor capability to secure much of this information themselves, especially when striking targets that could be hundreds of miles away. This creates a dependence on nonorganic sources for targeting and cueing information, which often take the form of highly specialized sensing platforms and capability architectures.

The time from last sensing to receipt of the target location update by the launch platform or the in-flight missile is the key determinant in the size of the target probability area, and the probability of striking the intended target. But this time can be considerable given the steps involved. The maritime strike process involves the following sequential steps: search, detect, locate, classify/identify, target (assign mission), track, plan mission, satisfy ROE, launch missile, provide target location updates, acquire intended target, strike target, and assess damage. The time it takes to satisfy the needs of this process increases the demand for timely information as the steps are being executed.

Rules of Engagement are promulgated to tactical echelons by the operational commander. One of the key constraints is to not strike non-belligerents. This constraint is a major driver of the anti-ship missile launch decision, and the launch decision-maker is responsible for assuring the missile strikes the target and not a non-belligerent. In-flight target updates provided by the decision-maker have to address not only the target ship, but also nearby non-belligerent shipping, which can substantially congest the area of uncertainty around a target. Multi-modal seeker capabilities, such as electro-optical, infrared, and passive receiver capabilities can also be used by the missile itself to help discriminate and validate targets.

Maritime Strike Targeting Alternatives 

The capabilities required to track and satisfy ROE are unique for striking moving warships. Airborne assets are often considered to bring considerable information capability for facilitating maritime strike. Yet airborne assets have vulnerabilities in a contest with a peer such as China or Russia. Both countries have operational counter-air and fleet air defense capabilities that constitute a formidable threat to non-stealthy airborne surveillance and reconnaissance platforms. While these capabilities can make a substantial contribution prior to the first missile exchanges, they will be high-priority targets whose endurance in conflict is questionable. This suggests these legacy platforms will have to operate from protected airspace, and the calculation of risk will have to be balanced between survivability versus collecting information through greater proximity to the adversary. It also suggests the need to consider a transition from these legacy systems to stealthy airborne platforms or to relying more on space-based assets.

Satellites have their vulnerabilities as well. China and Russia surely have electronic and kinetic capabilities to attack satellites in orbit and threaten their complex worldwide ground infrastructure. The threat to satellites in orbit appears to be partially offset by the rapid proliferation of commercial satellites and the DoD strategy of orbiting hundreds of small, interlinked satellites that will be more resilient to wartime disruption. Yet the satellite, land, and undersea cable communications infrastructure that support satellite operations are also vulnerable to disruption from physical, cyber, and electronic attack.²

The architecture for providing airborne or satellite support to maritime strike in a great power conflict has to be designed for wartime resilience and assured minimum essential support for the effective employment of anti-ship weapons. This suggests some level of sensor system autonomy so they can provide support when their infrastructures are disrupted. It also suggests a link from the air and space sensor systems directly to the operational and tactical echelons that perform the maritime strike targeting functions.

To achieve the required track continuity, one option is a multi-mode sensor system that combines on the same platform the near-continuous wide-area search capability with another capability or mode for classifying detected contacts. Airborne systems such as JSTARS, U2, GLOBAL HAWK, P-8, and TRITON are examples. They provide integrated multi-sensor capabilities on a single platform, thereby avoiding the complexities and time delays inherent in coordinating various elements of collection by separate platforms. In most cases, they also provide datalinks for the dissemination of data directly to operational and tactical echelons. Yet these airborne systems may have challenges with survivability and endurance in a heavily contested battlespace, which encourages the development of ISR architecture in other domains.

One option for providing the critical data is a constellation of a large number of reconnaissance satellites that can provide the wartime resilience, frequency of coverage, and multiple sensor types that combine wide-area search with target classification capability. Ideally they would be able to pass this information directly to in-flight missiles and warfighters with launch authorities. But so far as these capabilities cannot currently be integrated onto a single satellite, the next best solution is a tightly integrated cluster of different types of satellites in the same orbital plane. This integration into clusters is required to avoid the complexities, vulnerabilities, and large time delays associated with orchestrating multiple, separately managed space systems.

The technology for satellite clusters exists, including onboard data processing, satellite-to-satellite crosslinks, and direct downlink of information and data to deployed land and ship tactical systems. As an example, BAE is developing an integrated cluster of reconnaissance satellites that has been described as:

“Azalea is planned as a cluster of three multi-sensor satellites from BAE Systems and one satellite with Iceye synthetic aperture radar (SAR) technology. Together, the satellites will collect optical, radar, and radio frequency (RF) data. The satellites will also be equipped with edge processors to analyze data while in orbit. BAE Systems announced the cluster on Sept. 7, with intent to launch in 2024.”³

If fielded in sufficient numbers, integrated clusters of reconnaissance satellites such as these offer the prospect of reduced dependence on vulnerable supporting infrastructures, minimal dependence on a cumbersome requirements and collection management structure, and the near real-time direct reporting of target information to tactical forces that can satisfy maritime strike requirements.

The Space Force and Space Development Agency’s seven-layered National Defense Space Architecture has been renamed the Proliferated Warfighter Space Architecture (PWSA), a decision taken to more clearly reflect the mission, and to avoid confusion with other DoD satellite constellations in orbit or planned.⁴ From the tactical perspective, the architecture will have to provide target location updates from offboard air and space ISR systems via LINK 16, the Integrated Broadcast Service (IBS), or the direct downlink of sensor data to systems in direct support of the strike and in pursuit of moving targets.

The PWSA, which addresses these interfaces, is more than a vision. The first 24 satellites in the transport layer are scheduled for launch in March 2023; an additional 128 in 2024; leading to a planned constellation of 300 to 500 satellites in low earth orbit. This architecture includes optical satellite-to-satellite cross links, satellite-to-aircraft cross links, satellite downlinks to air, land, and ship entities, and LINK 16 and Integrated Broadcast Service message interfaces with tactical terminals. Although not confirmed, logic would suggest this architecture also applies to satellite reconnaissance capabilities required for targeting ships, and could stand to substantially increase maritime strike capability.

The Way Ahead

From the technical perspective, satellite solutions are feasible and uniquely capable of offering the performance required for the employment of long-range anti-ship missiles against moving targets. The next step is for the Navy and Air Force to define the performance requirements and conduct the analysis of space and non-space alternatives. If the analysis supports a decision for a satellite reconnaissance solution for this mission need, JROC approval would force, or at least speed, the resolution of any remaining policy issues regarding the architecture, the acquisition, and in particular, the tasking and operation of satellite reconnaissance capabilities that are integral components of the force structure upon which maritime strike depends.

Progress is being made in the realization of the CNO’s imperative of expanding long-range strike capability. Long-range anti-ship weapons are being fielded in increasing numbers. The Navy has demonstrated and fully funded the fielding of Maritime Targeting Cells for installations ashore, afloat, and for expeditionary forces. DoD and commercial satellite technologies are advancing at a rapid pace, and the commercial sector is evolving large satellite constellations. The combined capabilities of airborne and space capabilities open the possibility of near-continuous ISR coverage and could provide forces with the targeting capability that is the lynchpin for successful attack against maritime targets.

Richard Mosier is a retired defense contractor systems engineer; Naval Flight Officer; OPNAV N2 civilian analyst; and OSD SES 4 responsible for oversight of tactical intelligence systems and leadership of major defense analyses on UAVs, signals intelligence, and C4ISR.

References

1. CNO NAVPLAN 2022 https://media.defense.gov/2022/Jul/26/2003042389/-1/-1/1/NAVIGATION%20PLAN%202022_SIGNED.PDF

2. The Threat to World’s Communications Backbone – the Vulnerability of Undersea cables https://www.navylookout.com/the-threat-to-worlds-communications-backbone-the-vulnerability-of-undersea-cables/ 

3. Rachel Jewett, BAE Systems Announces Multi-Sensor Azalea Satellite Cluster, Via Satellite, September 7, 2022 Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tMDysRb-ny

4. Hitchens, T. (2023 01 23) Space Development Agency’s satellite plan gets new name, but focus on speed stays, Breaking Defense https://breakingdefense.com/2023/01/space-development-agencys-satellite-plan-gets-new-name-but-focus-on-speed-stays/

Featured Image: GULF OF ADEN (Oct. 8, 2012) An E-2C Hawkeye assigned to Carrier Air Wing (CVW) 1 sits on the flight deck of USS Enterprise (CVN 65) at night. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Brooks B. Patton Jr./Released)

The following selections are derived from an article originally published in the Naval War College Review under the title, “Kamikazes: The Soviet Legacy.” Read it in its original form here.

Read Part One here.

By Maksim Y. Tokarev

As it was, the crews of the field-parked Backfires, in the best aviation tradition, had to accept the primary flight data during briefings in the regiments’ ready rooms. Of course, they had the preliminary plans and knew roughly the location of the incoming air-sea battle and the abilities of the enemy—the task force’s air defenses. In fact, the sorties were carefully planned, going in. But planning was very general for the way out. The following conversation in the ready room of the MRA ’s 183rd Air Regiment, Pacific Fleet NAF, which occurred in the mid-1980s, shows this very honestly. A young second lieutenant, a Backfire WSO fresh from the air college, asked the senior navigator of the regiment, an old major: “Sir, tell me why we have a detailed flight plan to the target over the vast ocean, but only a rough dot-and-dash line across Hokkaido Island on way back?” “Son,” answered the major calmly, “if your crew manages to get the plane back out of the sky over the carrier by any means, on half a wing broken by a Phoenix and a screaming prayer, no matter whether it’s somewhere over Hokkaido or directly through the moon, it’ll be the greatest possible thing in your entire life!” There may have been silent laughter from the shade of a kamikaze in the corner of the room at that moment.

The home fields of MRA units were usually no more than 300 kilometers from the nearest shoreline (usually much less). Each air regiment had at least two airstrips, each no less than 2,000 meters long, preferably concrete ones, and the Engineering Airfield Service could support three fully loaded sorties of the entire regiment in 36 hours. The efforts of shore maintenance were important, as all the missiles, routinely stored in ordnance installations, had to be quickly fueled and prepared for attachment to the planes before takeoff.

The takeoff of the regiment usually took about half an hour. While in the air, the planes established the cruise formation, maintaining strict radio silence. Each crew had the targeting data that had been available at the moment of takeoff and kept the receivers of the targeting apparatus ready to get detailed targeting, either from the air reconnaissance by voice radio or from surface ships or submarines. The latter targeting came by high-frequency (HF) radio, a channel known as KTS Chayka (the Seagull short-message targeting communication system) that was usually filled with targeting data from the MRSC Uspekh (the Success maritime reconnaissance targeting system), built around the efforts of Tu-95RC reconnaissance planes. The Legenda (Legend) satellite targeting system receiver was turned on also, though not all planes had this device. The Backfire’s own ECM equipment and radar-warning receivers had to be in service too. With two to four targeting channels on each plane, none of them radiating on electromagnetic wave bands, the crowd of the Backfires ran through the dark skies to the carrier task force.

Where Are Those Mad Russians?

Generally, detailed data concerning the U.S. air defense organization were not available to Soviet naval planners. What they knew was that F-4, and later F-14 planes could be directed from three kinds of control points: the Carrier Air Traffic Control Center on the carrier itself, an E-2 aloft, or the Air Defense Combat Center of one of the Aegis cruisers in formation. Eavesdropping on the fighter-direction VHF and ultra high-frequency radio circuits by reconnaissance vessels and planes gave Soviet analysts in 1973–74 roughly the same results as were subsequently noted by late Vice Admiral Arthur Cebrowski: “Exercise data indicated that sometimes a squadron of F-14s operating without a central air controller was more effective in intercepting and destroying attackers than what the algorithms said centralized control could provide.”

SNAF planners found that interceptor crews were quite dependent on the opinions of air controllers or FDOs, even in essence psychologically subordinate to them. So the task of the attackers could be boiled down to finding a way to fool those officers—either to overload their sensors or, to some degree, relax their sense of danger by posing what were to their minds easily recognizable decoys, which were in reality full, combat-ready strikes. By doing so the planners expected to slow the reactions of the whole air defense system, directly producing the “golden time” needed to launch the missiles. Contrary to widespread opinion, no considerable belief was placed in the ability of launched missiles to resist ECM efforts, but the solid and partially armored airframe of the Kh-22 could sustain a significant number of the 20mm shells of Close-In Weapon System (CIWS) guns. (Given the even more rigid airframe of the submarine-launched missiles of the Granit family —what NATO called the SS-N-19 Shipwreck—it would have been much better for the U.S. Navy to use a CIWS of at least 30mm caliber.)

Things could become even worse for the carriers. In some plans, a whole VVS fighter air regiment of Su-15TM long-range interceptors would have escorted the MRA division, so that the F-14s over the task force might have been overwhelmed and crowded out by similar Soviet birds. Though the main targets for the Sukhois, which as pure interceptors were barely capable of dogfighting, were the E-2 Hawkeyes, it is possible that some F-14s could have become targets for their long-range air-to-air missiles with active radar seeker (such as R-33, similar to the AIM-54). Sure enough, no Sukhoi crews had been expected to return, mainly because of their relatively limited range and the fact that they, mostly unfamiliar with long flights over the high seas, depended on the bomber crews’ navigation skills.

Long before reaching the target, at a “split” position approximately 500 kilometers from the carrier task force, and if the target’s current position had been somehow roughly confirmed, the air division’s two regimental formations would divide into two or three parts each. The WSO of each plane adopted his own battle course and altitude and a flight plan for each of his missiles. As we have seen, the early versions of Kh-22 had to acquire the target while on the plane’s hardpoints, making this a terrible job very close to that of a World War II kamikaze, because between initial targeting of the carrier by the plane’s radar and missile launch the Backfire itself was no more than a supersonic target for AIM-54s.

The more Phoenixes that could be carried by a single interceptor, the more Backfires that could be smashed from the sky prior to the launch of their Kh-22s. So if the Backfires were the only real danger to U.S. carriers up to the fall of the USSR , it would have been much better for the U.S. Navy to use the F-111B [carrier-based interceptor], a realization of the TFX (Tactical Fighter Experimental) concept, than the F-14. A Tomcat could evidently carry the same six Phoenixes as an F-111B, but there were the data that the “Turkey” could not bring all six back to the carrier, owing to landing-weight limitations. Imagine a fully loaded Tomcat with six AIM-54s reaching its “bingo point” (limit of fuel endurance) while on barrier CAP station, with air refueling unavailable. The plane has to land on the carrier, and two of its six missiles have to be jettisoned. Given the alternating sorts of approaches by Backfire waves, reducing the overall number of long-range missiles by dropping them into the sea to land F-14s safely seems silly. Admiral Thomas Connolly’s claims in the 1960s that killed the F-111B in favor of the F-14 (“There isn’t enough power in all Christendom to make that airplane what we want!”) could quite possibly have cost the U.S. Navy a pair of carriers sunk.

The transition of the U.S. Navy from the F-14 to the F/A-18 made the anti-Backfire matter worse. Yes, the Hornet, at least the “legacy” (early) Hornet, is very pleasant to fly and easy to maintain, but from the point of view of range and payload it is a far cry from the F-111B. How could it be otherwise for a jet fighter that grew directly from the lightweight F-5? Flying and maintaining naval airplanes are not always just for fun; sometimes it takes long hours of hard work to achieve good results, and it had always been at least to some degree harder for naval flyers than for their shore-based air force brethren doing the same thing. Enjoying the Hornet’s flying qualities at the expense of the Phoenix’s long-range kill abilities is not a good tradeoff. Also, the Hornet (strike fighter) community evidently has generally replaced its old fighter ethos with something similar to the “light attack,” “earthmover” philosophy of the Vietnam-era A-4 (and later A-7) “day attack” squadrons; all the wars and battle operations since 1990 seem to prove it. It is really good for the present situation that the ethos of F/A-18 strike fighter pilots is not the self-confident bravado of the F-14 crews but comes out of more realistic views. Yet for the defense of carrier task forces, it was not clever to abandon the fast, heavy interceptor, able to launch long-range air-to-air missiles—at least to abandon it completely.

To fool the FDOs, the incoming Backfires had to be able to saturate the air with chaff. Moreover, knowing the position of the carrier task force is not the same as knowing the position of the carrier itself. There were at least two cases when in the center of the formation there was, instead of the carrier, a large fleet oiler or replenishment vessel with an enhanced radar signature (making it look as large on the Backfires’ radar screens as a carrier) and a radiating tactical air navigation system. The carrier itself, contrary to routine procedures, was steaming completely alone, not even trailing the formation.

To know for sure the carrier’s position, it was desirable to observe it visually. To do that, a special recce-attack group (razvedyvatel’no-udarnaya gruppa, RUG) could be detached from the MRA division formation. The RUG consisted of a pair of the Tu-16R reconnaissance Badgers and a squadron of Tu-22M Backfires. The former flew ahead of the latter and extremely low (not higher than 200 meters, for as long as 300–350 kilometers) to penetrate the radar screen field of the carrier task force, while the latter were as high as possible, launching several missiles from maximum range, even without proper targeting, just to catch the attention of AEW crews and barrier CAP fighters. Meanwhile, those two reconnaissance Badgers, presumably undetected, made the dash into the center of the task force formation and found the carrier visually, their only task to send its exact position to the entire division by radio. Of course, nobody in those Badgers’ crews (six or seven officers and men per plane) counted on returning; it was 100 percent a suicide job.

After the RUG sent the position of the carrier and was shattered to debris, the main attack group (UG, udarnaya gruppa) launched the main missile salvo. The UG consisted of a demonstration group, an ECM group armed with anti-radar missiles of the K-11 model, two to three strike groups, and a post-strike reconnaissance group. Different groups approached from different directions and at different altitudes, but the main salvo had to be made simultaneously by all of the strike groups’ planes. The prescribed time slot for the entire salvo was just one minute for best results, no more than two minutes for satisfactory ones. If the timing became wider in an exercise, the entire main attack was considered unsuccessful.

Moreover, in plans, three to five planes in each regimental strike had to carry missiles with nuclear warheads. It was calculated that up to twelve hits by missiles with regular warheads would be needed to sink a carrier; by contrast, a single nuclear-armed missile hit could produce the same result. In any case, almost all Soviet anti-carrier submarine assets had nuclear-armed anti-carrier missiles and torpedoes on board for routine patrols.

Having launched their missiles, it was up to the crews, as has been noted above, to find their way back. Because of the possibility of heavy battle damage, it was reasonable to consider the use of intermediate airfields and strips for emergency or crash landings, mainly on the distant islands, even inhabited ones, in the Soviet or Warsaw Pact exclusive economic zones. The concept of using the Arctic ice fields for this purpose was adopted, by not only the MRA but the VVS (interceptors of the Su-15, Tu-128, and MiG-25/31 varieties) too. Though the concept of maintaining such temporary icing strips had been accepted, with the thought that planes could be refueled, rearmed, and even moderately repaired in such a setting, it was not a big feature of war plans. The VVS as a whole was eager to use captured airfields, particularly ones in northern Norway, but the MRA paid little attention to this possibility, because the complexity of aerodrome maintenance of its large planes, with their intricate weapons and systems, was considered unrealistic at hostile bases, which would quite possibly be severely damaged before or during their capture.

All in all, the expected loss rate was 50 percent of a full strike—meaning that the equivalent of an entire MRA air regiment could be lost in action to a carrier task force’s air defenses, independent of the strike’s outcome.

An Umi Yukaba for the Surface and Submarine Communities

Although the first massive missile strikes on carrier task forces had to be performed by SNAF/DA forces, there were at least two other kinds of missile carriers in the Soviet Navy. The first were guided-missile ships, mostly in the form of cruisers (CGs), those of Project 58 (the NATO Kynda class), Project 1144 (Kirov class), and Project 1164 (Slava class). Moreover, all the “aircraft-carrying cruisers” of Project 1143 (the Kiev class, generally thought of as aircraft carriers in the West) had the same anti-ship cruise missiles as the CGs of Project 1164. Also, the destroyers of Project 956 (Sovremenny class) could be used in this role, as well as all the ships (the NATO Kresta and Kara classes) armed with ASW missiles of the Type 85R/RU/RUS (Rastrub/Metel, or Socket/Snowstorm) family, which could be used in an anti-ship mode. The main form of employment of guided missile ships was the task force (operativnoye soedinenie, in Russian), as well as the above-noted direct-tracking ship or small tactical groups of ships with the same job (KNS or GKNS, respectively, in Russian).

The other anti-carrier missile carriers were nuclear-powered guided-missile submarines (SSGNs), in a vast number of projects and types, using either surface or submerged launch. The most deadly of these were the Project 949A boats (NATO Oscar IIs), with P-700 Granit missiles. (The SSGN Kursk, recently lost to uncertain causes, was one of them.) The operational organization for the submarine forces performing the anti-carrier mission was the PAD (protivo-avianosnaya divisiya, anticarrier division), which included the SSGNs, two for each target carrier, and nuclear-powered attack submarines for support. In sum, up to fifteen nuclear submarines would deploy into the deep oceans to attack carrier task forces. One PAD was ready to be formed from the submarine units of the Northern Fleet, and one, similarly, was ready to assemble in the Pacific Fleet.

A detailed description of the tactics and technologies of all those various assets is beyond the aim of this article, but one needs an idea of how it worked as a whole. The core of national anti-carrier doctrine was cooperative usage of all those reconnaissance and launch platforms. While they understood this fact, the staffs of the Soviet Navy had no definite order, manual, or handbook for planning anti-carrier actions except the “Tactical Guidance for Task Forces” (known as TR OS-79), issued in 1979 and devoted mainly to operational questions of surface actions, until 1993, when “Tactical Guidance for Joint Multitype Forces” entered staff service. The latter document was the first and ultimate guidance for the combined efforts of the MRA , surface task forces, and submerged PADs, stating as the overall goal the sinking of the designated target carriers at sea with a probability of 85 percent.

It is no secret that the officers of the surface community who served on the guided-missile ships counted on surviving a battle against a U.S. Navy carrier air wing for twenty or thirty minutes and no more. In reality, the abilities of the surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) installed on the ships were far less impressive than the fear they drew from U.S. experts. For example, the bow launcher of the Storm SAM on the Kresta– and Kara-class ASW destroyers shared a fire-control system with the Metel ASW missile. It would be quite possible for U.S. aircraft to drop a false sound target (imitating a submarine) ahead of the Soviet formation to be sure that the bow fire-control radars would be busy with the guidance of ASW missiles for a while. The bow SAM launchers of the destroyers of these classes would be useless all this time, allowing air attacks from ahead. Even “iron” bombs could mark the targets.

SSGNs were evidently considered in the West to be the safest asset of the Soviet Navy during an attack, but it was not the case. The problem was hiding in the radio communications required: two hours prior to the launch, all the submarines of the PAD were forced to hold periscope depth and lift their high frequency-radio and satellite communication antennas up into the air, just to get the detailed targeting data from reconnaissance assets directly (not via the staffs ashore or afloat); targeting via low- or very-low-frequency cable antennas took too much time and necessarily involved shore transmitting installations, which could be destroyed at any moment. There was little attention paid to buoy communication systems (because of the considerable time under Arctic ice usual for Soviet submarines). Thus the telescoping antennas in a row with the periscopes at the top of the conning tower were the submarine’s only communication means with the proper radio bandwidth. Having all ten or fifteen boats in a PAD at shallow depth long before the salvo was not the best way to keep them secure. Also, the salvo itself had to be carried out in close coordination with the surface fleet and MRA divisions.

However, the main problem was not the intricacy of coordination but targeting —that is, how to find the carrier task forces at sea and to maintain a solid, constant track of their current positions. Despite the existence of air reconnaissance systems such as Uspekh, satellite systems like Legenda, and other forms of intelligence and observation, the most reliable source of targeting of carriers at sea was the direct-tracking ship. Indeed, if you see a carrier in plain sight, the only problem to solve is how to radio reliably the reports and targeting data against the U.S. electronic countermeasures. Ironically, since the time lag of Soviet military communication systems compared to the NATO ones is quite clear, the old Morse wireless telegraph used by the Soviet ships was the long-established way to solve that problem. With properly trained operators, Morse keying is the only method able to resist active jamming in the HF band. For example, the Soviet diesel-electric, Whiskey-class submarine S-363, aground in the vicinity of the Swedish naval base at Karlskrona in 1981, managed to communicate with its staff solely by Morse, despite a Swedish ECM station in the line of sight. All the other radio channels were effectively jammed and suppressed. While obsolete, strictly speaking, and very limited in information flow, Morse wireless communication was long the most serviceable for the Soviet Navy, owing to its simplicity and reliability.

But the direct tracker was definitely no more than another kind of kamikaze. It was extremely clear that if a war started, these ships would be sent to the bottom immediately. Given that, the commanding officer of each had orders to behave like a rat caught in a corner: at the moment of war declaration or when specifically ordered, after sending the carrier’s position by radio, he would shell the carrier’s flight deck with gunfire, just to break up the takeoff of prepared strikes, fresh CAP patrols, or anything else. Being usually within the arming zone of his own anti-ship missiles and having no time to prepare a proper torpedo salvo, the “D-tracker’s” captain had to consider his ship’s guns and rocket-propelled depth charges to be the best possible ways to interfere with flight deck activity. He could even ram the carrier, and some trained their ship’s companies to do so; the image of a “near miss,” of the bow of a Soviet destroyer passing just clear of their own ship’s quarter is deeply impressed in the memory of some people who served on board U.S. aircraft carriers in those years.

Lieutenant Commander Tokarev joined the Soviet Navy in 1988, graduating from the Kaliningrad Naval College as a communications officer. In 1994 he transferred to the Russian Coast Guard. His last active-duty service was on the staff of the 4th Coast Guard Division, in the Baltic Sea. He was qualified as (in U.S. equivalents) a Surface Warfare Officer/Cutterman and a Naval Information Warfare/Cryptologic Security Officer. After retirement in 1998 he established several logistics companies, working in the transport and logistics areas in both Europe and the Commonwealth of Independent States.

Featured Image: March 3, 1986 – A left underside view of a Soviet Tu-22 Backfire aircraft in flight. (Photo via U.S. National Archives)