NationStates Jolt Archive

The ocean is a big place. No longer big enough to get lost, not with GPS on one's side; but any idiot looking over the side of a vessel at sea notices that the ocean is very big, indeed. Which simply makes it all the more remarkable that, standing on the bridge of a Kregaian warship, one can believe that it can be controlled.

Commander Lucius Carn, commanding the Emperor's Thirty-Second Squadron, was one of those who endeavored to control the seas. A man of noble background, he had been scheduled for greatness since birth: his grandfather had served on the High Command before Javan, back in the 40s, and his father had commanded a battlegroup in the Czardaian War. A legacy like that didn't allow for any other employer than the Navy. Educated at the Prince Aeneas Military University, like Emperor Lucifer and many of the Imperium's great men, he had graduated as a Lieutenant and served with distinction under Admiral Anor during the Succession Wars. A hunch of his had led to the destruction of nine enemy submarines during the Wars, leading to his promotion to Captain, and after Ishamael's naval expansion, he was put in charge of the Thirty-Second Squadron.

The Empire was a big place; not only did the Emperor govern Recedentia, Tiraeum, and the other territories overseas, but Kregaian corporations possessed sizable holdings in numerous other countries, such as Kahanistan or the Gothic nations. The volume of trade and tribute going on between Imperial territories meant that Navy squadrons were dispersed all over the world, as escorts or as patrols. The Thirty-Second had been assigned to sail to Novum Illyricum, there to rendezvous with and escort back to Korronis a sizable shipment of crude oil. But there was more to this mission than simple trade escort duties.

Commander Carn, before leaving Korronis, had received orders from Imperator Malustar himself that he was to set a course that cut through the national waters of United Hogsweat. Carn rather suspected this was a test of him personally; the Hogsweatians could not hope to threaten the Imperium as a whole, so provoking them was of little consequence, and if he performed well, he would no doubt be made a Vice Admiral and put in charge of a fleet. Perhaps the Eighth; his father and grandfather had both served in the Eighth Fleet before becoming flag officers, and the Emperor respected such legacies.

And so here he was, standing on the bridge of the battleship HIMS Invincible, surveying the twenty-odd ships of his squadron, from his brace of carriers to his trio of frigates, straining his eyes to see the drones in the distance. The AEW planes were, of course, far beyond eyesight. But then, most things were when it came to battle on the seas. And so he sailed blind, at least as far as human eyes were concerned, but trusting that before much longer, the Hogsweatians would find him, and take exception to his presence. Then his test could begin.

OOC: Quick summary of ships.

1 battleship
2 carriers
3 cruisers
4 missile cruisers
5 destroyers
3 frigates
1 supply
1 hospital
1 repair
2 minesweepers

tag

Bump.

Mount Communism
Naval Monitoring Command

The operator watched carefully as three Tu-95RTs Bear-D aircraft spread out in a wide semicircle around the approaching fleet. They appeared just as tiny dots on the screen, which could zoom in as close as a 70x70km map of a certain area, or zoom out to see a projection of an area roughly the size of Haven. The aircraft, small yellow circles with their callsigns above them, moved out slowly, the -95 being a lumbering aircraft that, while being fast for its propulsion type, was still slow enough to bore both the pilots and the command operators back at Mount Communism. The approaching Warmasterian fleet had been spotted by another Tu-95 hours ago, and its path plotted to go straight through Hogsweatian territory. With Hogsweatian naval and air forces sinking Prestonian shipping left and right to the oceans south and west of the country, it only made sense to closely guard. That said, firstly the fleet had to identified. It could be Prestonian, it could be Gholgothian, it could be anyone. While electronic signals from long range aerial radars could see where the fleet was, they couldn't see who it was. Sighing, the operator picked up the phone. It was going to be a long day.

With the Tu-95RTs running intermittently, the single photo-reconaissance Tu-16 that had lifted off several hours ago at the decision of Naval Command was now approaching its target. Moving towards the roughly detected fleet, it turned on its own radar, because the Bears had not dared to move close enough to the target to actively light it up. The Tu-16 moved fast and low towards the target, its IFFs blaring a non-hostile intent, but the crew still were sweating. After all, if they were shot down, the enemy would be violating some form of international law, but Hogsweat was Communist... and Stalinist at that. Who would care? As the Tu-16 picked up the Warmasterian ships, it adjusted course and began to move closer. It was absolutely necessary to consider the nationality of the enemy warships, and so if the low flying Tu-16 could not determine this, it could at least ask them over the radio... it was unarmed, and hopefully the fighters that the Warmasterians would hopefully send would notice this. If they didn't, the crew and their aircraft did not have good future prospects of survival.

С.Д.Г Бре́жнев Эскадрон, Вице-Адмирал А.Г Лахиров
600km Coast of Hogsweat

The Surface Action Group Brezhnev Squadron was slowly drifting from the coast of Hogsweat at the leisurely pace of 10 knots, just about to set sail for surface duty against Prestonia. The Commander, a Vice Admiral Lakhirov was one of the most decorated leaders of the Soviet Navy, and most importantly, he flew his flag from the Kirov Class Cruiser, the Алехеи Соровоскы, named after the leader of the country. It was a double edged sword - an absolutely magnificent title to hold, but also extremely dangerous to his career if the ship were to be sunk. There had been no reason for Lakhirov to panic beforehand, but now he was not so sure, because they were at a state of war, and he had never been in a war before, not least with Gothic nations. He was, of course, prepared to do his duty, but considered it somewhat of an exaggeration of his skills and the power of his battlegroup when told he was to take on a carrier battlegroup with at least a thousand kilometres of water between him and his opponent. That, given the enemy's detection capabilities versus his when the shooted starting, was pure madness. His only aviation would be the Moskva class carrier, Соровзя, which carried fourteen helicopters, plus the other HELOs strewn across his group.

Lakhirov nevertheless had a solid plan for engagement. He would attempt, using occasional RORSAT bypasses, to follow them stealthily and without revealing his position, get as close as humanely possible, then launch an all out strike before dispersing his fleet and getting back to port as quickly as possible, saving as many ships as he could in the process. If he couldn't sink the enemy fleet with the little resources he had, he could at least preserve his. Lakhirov's Surface Action Group consisted of three Kirov Class Battlecruisers, ten Slava Class Cruisers, eight Sovremenny Class Destroyers refitted to fire the P-500 Bazalt, four Udaloy Class Destroyers also with the same refit, and four Neustrashimy class frigates, with the Moskva helicopter carrier 50 klicks back trying to catch up. This gave him 30 ships in total; a small numerical advantage over his opponents estimated strength, but still not enough to level the playing field over the carriers - in Lakhirov's mind, anyway. It also gave him a total of 380 missiles, some short range, some long. He hoped this would be enough to break through the enemies air defence, but one never knew what tricks your enemy had up his sleeve...

"They're dipping in a finger," Commander Carn muttered to himself. The tactical display showed a single aircraft, obviously Hogsweatian; clearly neither a fighter or a bomber, leaving the only other possibility: scout. Probably trying to figure out what, exactly, an Imperial task force was doing in their waters. Carn, however, had his orders, and he knew that he was here to provoke the Hogsweatians. This was the perfect opportunity.

Calling out to the bridge at large, he announced, "Launch two squadrons and drones immediately and have the rest stand by. Arm missiles and prepare for action. Have the destroyers begin sprint-and-drift maneuvers and get helicopters up in the air with MADs." Within minutes, fighter after fighter could be seen rocketing off of the carriers' flight decks: HIMS Impartial Deliverance plowing lethargically along on Invincible's port and HIMS Immediate Purgation on her starboard. His trio of cruisers preceded the battleship and the carriers, with the four missile cruisers scattered in between, while around them the five destroyers wove around in the prescribed pattern to search for submarines. In the sky, helicopters thrummed around, magnetic anomaly detectors towed beneath, as they dropped sonar buoys into the water, and the two squadrons of Balefires Carn had ordered launched assembled before flying towards the Hogsweatian aircraft, transmitting the following message:

"This is the Kregaian Imperial Navy's Thirty-Second Squadron. You must return to land immediately or we will open fire."

Meanwhile, back on the bridge, SIGINT techs studying the satellite readouts of the area noticed a significant concentration of Hogsweatian ships, roughly a thousand kilometers away and closing. It looked like over a dozen cruisers and about as many destroyers, and a number of smaller ships, with a small escort or helicopter carrier dozens of kilometers back as if lagging behind. The Hogsweatians were taking the bait.

[OOC: Shiiiit, sorry dude, forgot I'm supposed to call you Kregaia now XD]

Иван Рейс, 88.Авиацир Военно-Морского Разведчик Полк

The Tupolev pilot almost jumped out of his seat when the incoming transmission rebounded through his headphones, the crisp Kregaian accent meaning very little to him. All he heard was Kregaian Imperial Navy, return to land and open fire. And so, to the best of his abilities, the pilot followed orders. Firstly he raised the altitude, pushing the Tupolev photo-recon bird up through the sky, turbojets burning and broke the three thousand metre mark. Then, in his best English, he managed a reply one that he knew if wrong could cost him his life, while moving his left hand towards the ECM control panel.

"This Ivan Flight, Hogsweat Navy Air Force. We make casual flying, no shooting, this okay, nyet?"

In the blue skies, the flash-white Tupolev was an easy target, especially with the huge red star on its fuselage and vertical stabiliser, with АВ-МФ written on the side in black, block cyrillic. Although the Tu-16 was a sturdy plane, should the Kregaians choose to shoot, the pilot and his entire crew were very likely dead men.

С.Д.Г Бре́жнев Эскадрон, Вице-Адмирал А.Г Лахиров

The SAG moved with speed towards the now identified Kregaian warships, each accelerating to thirty knots and forming up now that the Соровзя had caught up with the rest of the group. They were running totally silently, that is with no sensors be they sonar or radar or even communications online, and only ESM whip antennas and radomes to bring in any ELINT whatsoever. However, Lakhirov had been informed that he had no RORSATs to call in, and that the Bears would likely disperse upon initiation of hostilities, which could happen any minute. This would leave him with no reconnaissance whatsoever, and despite the fact that, at straight running, the enemy battlegroup was a mere eighteen hours away, and three quarters that for accurate firing range, he had to find his targets, a daunting task to say the least given that his aviation consisted of two dozen AEW helicopters with little more than two hundred klicks range on their radars. Crossing his legs and leaning back in the control room, Lakhirov waited patiently for any news to come through from the passive communications suite. No sense worrying about it...

The Hogsweatian pilot's voice, strangled by his thick accent, crackled through the speakers of Invincible's bridge, as Captain Carn listened, a contemptuous smile dragging at his lips. Filthy heathen, he thought to himself. He would deserve what he got. Carn gave the order in his head three times before speaking it out loud, savoring the thought of it, before finally announcing, "Lock on and fire at will."

The more senior of the two squadron leaders, a Lieutenant Titus Jericho, received the honor of firing the first shots. Arming a pair of Methuselah AAMs, Lieutenant Jericho took the liberty of opening a channel to the Hogsweatian aircraft and informing the crew that "You and all your Red buddies are gonna fuckin' burn," before letting them fly. A single talon of Jericho's squadron, four planes, darted in as well, weapons at the ready in case they needed to administer the coup de grace.

On the bridge of Invincible, the captain was heard to mutter, "Shame. The bastard had some pretty decent English."

Иван Рейс, 88.Авиацир Военно-Морского Разведчик Полк

The pilot didn't understand a word of what had just been said, but what he did understand was the beeping from his RWR that an aerial radar had a lock on him and that the two missiles that were just loosed at his aircraft were, within minutes, about to blow off his starboard wing and tear his fuselage in half, or worse, kill him and his crew outright. Informing the rear tail crew by slamming his fist down on the alert button, he then proceeded to nod to his co pilot and yanked back hard on the ejector, just like he had been trained to do. For a moment it felt like it had broken, then he looked up and the top hatch broke away, and immediately he was thrown up into the air with his comrade next to him, their seats blossoming into parachutes three thousand one hundred and eighty four metres above sea level. Looking down on his ex-aircraft, Баня, he realised he had missed the missiles impact, but the plane had torn apart and was hurtling down to sea ablaze and in flames, with one wing and its assosciated turbojet torn off and the tail impossible to make out. A single small parachute had opened and was coming down slowly two hundred metres or so below them... but the Tupolev had four crew members.

As they plummeted into the sea, the pilot landed roughly closely to his comrade. Panicking somewhat, they realised that it was unlikely for them ever to be picked up. A flare shot off in the distance united them with their other comrade and the sobering news of how their last crewman had perished while clambering out of the escape hatch. They now had between them just a single flare gun and with no hope of contacting H.Q or any friendly, or hostile units, they were pretty much stuck up shit creek with no paddle, and with the sun setting...

С.Д.Г Бре́жнев Эскадрон, Вице-Адмирал А.Г Лахиров

The Bears had broken off twenty minutes ago after getting one last flash at the enemy fleet location, which managed to feed back enough intel to get a rough course for Lakhirov to follow. He was now, however, in the dark - almost literally as the sun began to set. Within an hour it would be pitch black, so Lakhirov knew he had to make some kind of move. Informing his Aviation Officer to ready up the ship's three AEW helicopters, he took to the navigation bridge, wrapping himself up in his officers greatcoat and cap and well prepared with a hipflask full of vodka. He watched as the burning sun, ablaze with all sorts of vibrant yellows, reds and oranges dissapeared behind the ocean horizon, darkness quickly converging on the dying light that it left behind. A minute later and the ocean was entirely dark, except for a small amount of moonlight that strobed across, giving him some view over the three ships in front of the Алехеи Соровоскы. They were totally silent, the only thing showing any signs of life being the flags and the water as the ship's sharp hull cut through it at breakneck speed. There was some sound, but at the stern of his ship it was only in the background, until the rotors of a Ka-27 stirred and kicked into life. Watching them until they flew over the horizon and into the distance, Lakhirov finished his vodka and returned to the Ops Room.

The three AEW helicopters spread out in a fanned semicircle, their systems totally inactive, around the same pattern the Bears had used, but kept a holding pattern seven hundred klicks away from the rough location of the enemy fleet. At just above sea level they were generally undetectable by ships, but their ESM systems and Radar Warning Receivers could hear any active signals made by Kregaian AWACs. If any were watching, then their approximate location would have shown up on the ESM and the helicopters would have relayed it back to command, as with any actively scanning radars from fighter combat air patrols. If the Kregaians were running silent with their AWACs, the AEW helicopters would use this advantage to slowly sneak ever closer to the enemy battlefleet, their ESM systems listening tentatively for the sounds of a radar turning on...

As anyone who knows anything about radar will tell you, it can be heard in a far larger area than it is useful to the searcher. This is due to the reflection that radar relies on, and it presents an interesting conundrum to anyone using active radar. In this particular case, that 'anyone' was the Kregaians. The drones were not seven hundred kilometers away from the fleet, of course. But they were a few hundred kilometers out, and their radar signals would certainly (albeit faintly) reach the Hogsweatian helicopters in the distant twilight...something the Kregaians had no way of knowing. The fighters that had shot down the enemy scout returned to their carrier, while another squadron was launched to provide air cover over the fleet. As the sun died, streaking the sky with orange and blood-tinged gold, the two fleets slowly moved closer together. Time was running short.

С.Д.Г Бре́жнев Эскадрон, Вице-Адмирал А.Г Лахиров

"Bingo" Lakhirov whispered, leaning over the tactical table and observing, with a smile, a number of Kregaian ay-wacks drones with their radars light up like a christmas tree. Everything was, so far, going according to plan. Vonopov, Lakhirov's 2IC gave a brief murmur of approval before suggesting his own course of action. "Could send the HELOs in closer for a better look... just a couple more hours and we're in range, anyway." Vonopov, like Lakhirov, had never seen combat, but unlike his superior officer was more prone to trigger-happy trains of thought, not a particularly wanted trait when stealth was, right now, the name of the game in this little skirmish between two opposing fleets.

"No sense in that." Lakhirov replied. "We don't want to waste ordnance, and our only chance, firing at something not even properly identified. Be patient, Comrade. We'll have our chance to strike sooner or later. No, for now, recall the helicopters and launch more from the Соровзя. Are you taking this, Aviation?"

The Aviation Officer nodded and grunted a "Yes, Comrade Admiral" without even looking up from his notepad.

"Good." Lakhirov began. "Launch twelve helos, bring them round in a slow and low semicircle around the enemy suggested fleet position, systems emission state zero. Everything off, except ESM. Launch another half dozen more and position them higher and slightly rearward of the first group - load them up with decoys and keep them in patrol patterns in these assigned spaces. Ready a third group - perhaps a half dozen, with air to surface missiles." Lakhirov paused to mark the circles where the helicopters would pretend a battlegroup existed.

"Then, move the first group forwards at slow speed while keep the second still quite high... at some point, we can turn on the second group's sensors on full and give them an idea of twelve locations where we could be in a fairly wide shape around their suggested area - not including our own, of course, and draw out their AWACs, painting us a clearer picture of their location, then use the third group to fire decoy missiles... make them light up their own radars, which our first group can then detect with their ESM. Assuming this operation takes about two hours to complete, we will be an hour out of firing range by the time they reveal their position. However, we don't want to fire too early. Operations begin in an hour, after helo retrieval. Questions?"

There were none, and with haste, the officers went about putting Lakhirov's plan into action. Meanwhile, the first three helicopters dispatched took the long, somewhat scenic route around, safely out of Kregaian radar range before making sharp turns and heading back towards their own battlegroup in a fashion ensuring they could not be traced back to their original position. An hour later, as the first helicopters began to lift off, the Soviet taskforce raised its battle flags.

The game was afoot.

The mood was tense on the bridge of Invincible, and understandably so. Commander Carn gripped the arms of his chair tightly, staring out at the night, illuminated by the blazing lights of the carriers on either side of the battleship. In the black depths of the skies, he knew, a squadron of Balefires, their black color hiding everything but the glow of their engines, roved around in the remote likelihood of an enemy aerial assault. After all, if the Hogsweatians had fighters, they would be few; it would have been unconscionably stupid to attack an entire squadron without even air parity.

But there was nothing hostile up there. Not a twitch. The Balefires hadn't seen anything, the picket ships hadn't seen anything, the drones hadn't seen anything...it was as if the Hogsweatians weren't here. But there was no doubt that they were coming. The situation was quite clear, really: the enemy was lurking out of range, under strict EMCON. Carn frowned. This was a problem, because the fact that his drones were blaring active radar meant that the Hogsweatians knew, at the very least, where to look for him, whereas he had no idea where to look for them. Unacceptable.

The Commander leaned forward and called out, "Launch twelve more drones ASAP. Have them fan out and search in front of the fleet. I want the enemy found." From the light-flooded decks of the carriers, drones hurtled into the night, fanning out and keeping their radar off until they reached the pickets, at which point they would turn on active radar and begin the search. Whatever was out there couldn't hide indefinitely.

С.Д.Г Бре́жнев Эскадрон, Вице-Адмирал А.Г Лахиров

Now the only thing a gambler needs
Is a suitcase and trunk
And the only time he's satisfied
Is when he's on a drunk

"Touche." The Hogsweatian Admiral muttered while pouring a second glass of strong vodka, the burning sensation dulled by the excitement of war.

The positioning of the three AEW helicopters had at least given one key advantage to Lakhirov - now he had a better idea of the location and path of the enemy search aircraft, thanks to ESM crossfixing, but it didn't help the situation any. Lakhirov cursed again and again the stupidity of naval command of sending a SBG to fight a CVBG, and upon sitting down again with his officers the stress on the whole crew, a reflection of the tense situation unfolding out on both sides of the sea, was clearly visible as tempers were high and the incredible heat of the ops room didn't help either. Realistically, Lakhirov now had two options available to him, neither of which had any particular appeal: he could withdraw, or he could aggressively harass the enemy until in range.This however, would be another three hours worth of travel, and it would definetly give the enemy initiative, although they would have to act as fast as he did... and that was assuming he could find their fleet in time.

However, the electronic detection preparations that had been put in place previously in the form of helicopters was just about to pay off. A more effective electronic deterrent would have been preferable, but the helicopters hardly had time to regroup. As the AWACs moved upwards, the first wave of helicopters switched on their active RADARs and fired up their decoys, dropping them from the sky and firing them towards a rough idea of the location of the Kregaian fleet; it wasn't really important that they didn't know where it was, because these decoys werent even designed to hit their targets. They were a useful distraction that, after they switched on their avionics (which would be rather soon), for all intents and purposes would show up on the Kregaian RADARs as a group of 48 Tu-26 bombers coming in for the terminal phase of an attack run. Of course, detection was available in visual range either by eye-to-eye contact or by infra-red, but it would still hopefully by the Hogsweatians preciously needed time and space. Lakhirov expected that they would be able to launch up to three sorties of airstrikes on his fleet before he delivered his munitions.

The second group that was flying high switched on their RADARs five minutes after launching their decoys, but this time it was something else. They gave the idea that 16 Su-27K fighter aircraft had just turned on their active radars and were illuminating the Kregaian AEW and moving in for the kill. This was sure to make the drones break, or at least turn off their radars and perhaps keep them in that state for some time - hopefully, if they continued on their path, until they ran in to the Hogsweatian battle group and its fearsome array of highly accurate S-300PMU missiles. However, if they figured out the whole thing was a hoax, the Hogsweatian fleet would probably experience a world of hurt very shortly afterwards. What Lakhirov had done was firstly bring up just under a hundred radar returns on the Kregaian screens within the space of five minutes, some hostile and some none, while, with passive and active radar crossfixes achieved an accurate picture of the positioning of the Kregaian aircraft. The third group of helicopters was now sneaking low and fast with their systems passive around the sides of the Kregaian air group, directed by information received and processed from the battlegroup's core, skirting around the very edges of the radar range of the AWACs that had been sent out to find them, their job being to discover the Kregaian fleet so that the strike could be made.

If this went accordingly, the Kregaian commander would be rather confused, and also unwittingly had unveiled the pattern of air defence that he was using.

"Your move." Lakhirov whispered under his breath, heart beating faster than ever.

Commander Carn was a quiet man, generally. But when growls of "What the fuck!" began booming around the bridge, he rather sympathized with the speakers. A number of enemy contacts had just appeared on the tactical display, specifically, a number of enemy contacts that were quite possibly bombers. This, of course, posed an interesting conundrum...because those bombers shouldn't have been there. Whether the single Hogsweatian carrier was capable of carrying fighters or not, the Hogsweatians had absolutely nothing capable of hauling around a bunch of bombers. Then there was the possibility that they had come from land...regardless, they seemed to be making a direct attack on the fleet, and something had to be done.

"Send the fighters to intercept at maximum speed, and scramble 3 more squadrons." The Commander's voice was calm, despite his confusion; one had to maintain appearances under any circumstances. On the tactical display, the Balefires flying above his fleet glowed pale red as they suddenly accelerated to where the enemy bombers were detected. They were outnumbered four to one, certainly, but Carn trusted his pilots, and there were more where these came from anyway. Afterburners propelling the sleek aircraft to their maximum speed of Mach 3, the Balefires raced to their targets, preparing to launch AAMs the instant the bombers were in range.

The fighters were a different story. The readings were quite plain: sixteen fighters were lighting up the drones and getting close, most likely intending to wipe them out of the sky. It didn't look good; Commander Carn grimly admitted that short of sending out a sizable portion of his airwing, the enemy fleet was likely to remain hidden.

And then it hit him.

Commander Carn realized something he should have realized several minutes earlier. Almost fifty bombers appearing from out of nowhere? Unlikely. But something that was rather more likely: radar decoys. He realized that there was a possibility his Balefires would simply find forty-eight decoys instead of heavily armed bombers. And, of course, if the bombers were fakes, that said something about the sixteen fighters supposedly targeting his drones.

"Accelerate the drones forward at maximum speed," he ordered reflexively, his mind still bogged down in his train of thought. "Advise the Balefires that enemy contacts are possibly decoys. And push the drones as far as they can go. I want that fleet found, yesterday. Oh, and order the rest of the fighter squadrons prepped. And the Overlords." The bridge crew went to work, although the last order drew a few glances. It seemed odd to prepare the rest of the Thirty-Second's air complement when they still didn't know where the enemy fleet was, but as Commander Carn had realized, whether the fighters were real or decoys, the fact that the Hogsweatians had responded to the Kregaians' pressure meant there was something there to be pressured. They'd pressed the button, and someone over there was getting nervous. Carn smiled. Things weren't going so badly after all.