[b]The Caribbean Sea[/b] [i]August, 1955[/i] Captain Pulido’s change of mission came as a wireless telegram delivered to the cabin at eight in the morning as he emerged on deck with a freshly steaming cup of coffee. It had been delivered two hours or so earlier and decrypted by the ship’s intelligence and encryption desk using a curious electromechanical rotor cipher machine. The machines, utilized on both ends of a morse code or other radio network, encrypted messages into a cipher text and allowed free transmission of secret messages: any interceptor would merely see a jumbled alphabet nonsense. Its settings had switched over at six in the morning in compliance with the rule that the rotors be wired strictly according to codebooks distributed before patrols: the message came in full no more than five minutes later. Captain Pulido put his mug down on a ledge by the ship’s wheel, studying the printout. It came directly down the chain from the [i]Comando del Teatro Atlántico[/i], or the Navy’s Atlantic command. He raised an eyebrow at the message. Of course, he had been privy to high-level indications of these preparations, but the course of action seemed to have jumped the gun on their supposed timeline. [i]COMMANDING, ARM [/i]MATADOR[i], ARM [/i]HERNANDEZ[i], ARM [/i]GIRASOL[i], ARM [/i]MADRESELVA[i], ARM [/i]MARAVILLA [i]TORMENTA/TORMENTA/TORMENTA 1) OPERATION PLAN [/i]REY GRANDE[i] IS ACTIVATED. ALL UNITED KINGDOM NAVY FORCES ARE TO BE CONSIDERED HOSTILE. 2) IDENTIFIED VESSELS ARE DESIGNATED BASED ON CURRENT GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION AS WARTIME TASK FORCE 11. 3) DIRECTED MISSION RETASKS CURRENT PATROL TO INTERCEPT AND DESTROY MERCHANT MARINE VESSELS IN VICINITY OF: LATITUDE 17.58, LONGITUDE -75.99. 3.A) ALL VESSELS WILL IMMEDIATELY RENDEZVOUS IN VICINITY OF: LATITUDE 19.11, LONGITUDE -78.16. 3.B) ENEMY FLEET COMPOSITION: 3 PATROL BOATS, 1 CORVETTE, 6 CIVILIAN MERCHANT MARINE VESSELS (TONNAGE UNKNOWN.) ANNEX A CONTAINS INTELLIGENCE ANALYSIS OF LIKELY VESSEL CLASS. 3.C) ENEMY FLEET DISPOSITION: RECONNAISANCE SEAPLANE IDENTIFIES FORMATION STEAMING EASTWARD HEADING ESTIMATED 70 DEGREES, 10 KNOTS. WARSHIPS ARRAYED TO NORTH/WEST IN DEFENSIVE ESCORT POSTURE. ANNEX B CONTAINS NAUTICAL NAVIGATION TECHNICAL SPECIFICS. 4) ARM [/i]MATADOR[i] ASSUMES COMMAND OF TASK FORCE 11. ANNEX C CONTAINS COMMUNICATION SPECIFICS FOR TASK FORCE 11. TORMENTA/TORMENTA/TORMENTA NAVAL OPERATIONS ATLANTIC THEATER COMMAND[/i] Pulido sat down in his padded chair, reexamining the message. He had ordered [i]Teniente[/i] Fuentes to retrieve a copy of Operation Plan [i]Rey Grande[/i] from the classified vault so that he could refresh himself on the specifics of the plan. The current roster of ships assigned to his new task force were all small patrol vessels, with the [i]Hernandez[/i] being the only speedy corvette of the group. The [i]Matador[/i] by far had the strongest and longest-ranged firepower of the group: the patrol boats would have to be used for mopping up and commerce raiding after Pulido and the [i]Hernandez[/i] had dispatched the British ships that were tasked to him. He gave his order quickly, having the helmsman turn towards the identified rendezvous point. Their new course was charted and they took the rest of the day at full speed to head to the area. Atlantic Command’s meeting point for Task Force 11 positioned them squarely to the northwest of Jamaica, almost forty nautical miles north of Montego Bay. The [i]Matador[/i] circled as, one by one, the Mexican ships assembled. The [i]Hernandez[/i], being the fastest, was the first to arrive on scene around midmorning. She hailed the [i]Matador[/i] on radio, flying her signal flags to indicate her friendly disposition. Two of the patrol vessels arrived later that afternoon as the pair circled the point. The last one, the [i]Maravilla[/i] steaming in from a further patrol point around Cancún, came into formation by the evening. Pulido, with each of the ships’ skippers, confirmed their mission and ordered Task Force 11 to steam eastward as fast as they could go. This turned out to be the maximum speed of the patrol vessels, who simply could not go as fast as the [i]Hernandez[/i] or even the [i]Matador[/i]. Pulido checked his watch on the ship’s bridge and frowned. The patrol boats were making their best effort, but he was worried they’d be late to their interdiction location. His navigator, another Lieutenant junior to Fuentes, was drawing a course in a grease pencil across a depth chart. His push-pins, now colored yellow to indicate their new mission, denoted the [i]Matador[/i]’s abrupt shift of travel around the western coast of Cuba. A crudely drawn Union Jack was pinned to the map with an arrow denoting their path of travel. He updated the map whenever they received reconnaissance information or extrapolated their position based on speed and heading in the absence of the Navy’s seaplane flights. For hours, they puttered through the seas until, in the dusk, a lookout noticed the telltale silhouettes of ships on the horizon. The watch officer called up to Captain Pulido: “Sir, we have a grouping similar in size to our target on the heading.” Captain Pulido raised an eyebrow and looked around the bridge. He had been here for hours, only taking naps in his cabin between extended shifts on deck. “What do you mean, similar size?” “Well sir, it appears to be slightly bigger. One or two ships more than anticipated.” “How large are they?” “It’s too hard to tell, sir,” the watch officer explained. “In these conditions, we can’t tell until we get close. It may just be another merchant ship that jointed the pack. But if we hurry, we can get to weapons range.” Pulido nodded and thanked the watch officer. He hung up the phone and turned to his signal officer on the bridge. The young man fumbled for his pen and paper, quickly jotting down the commander’s request to signal the [i]Hernandez[/i]. With signal lights, the [i]Matador[/i] relayed the message and quickly got the commander of the corvette on a radio channel. Captain Ronaldo Sandia greeted Pulido cheerfully. “You see them, Rafael?” he asked in a chipper tone. “We finally caught up to the bastards, these patrol boats be damned.” “Yeah, yeah, I see them,” Pulido replied. He looked through his window where the silhouettes appeared as tiny specks against the orange horizon. “But we’re running out of daylight and I don’t want to engage at night. Worse yet, the lookout reports that there’s another ship in the pack.” “Another ship?” said Sandia quizzically. “We haven’t seen that. Maybe it’s another freighter that got mixed in with the group.” “That’s what the lookout suspects,” confirmed Pulido. He shrugged. “I fear we may be going too far out of our support network if we wait. I say we speed up to engage. Let the patrol boats catch up as we start shelling them from our maximum ranges. They can maneuver past us and pick off the wounded with their torpedoes.” It was risky, but the [i]Matador[/i] and and the [i]Hernandez[/i] had actual cannons. The [i]Matador[/i] boasted the heaviest armor and weapons, although not by much: the frigate could attack with two high-velocity cannons at the fore and aft, while the [i]Hernandez[/i] needed to get a little closer to utilize its single medium-velocity cannon to hit more vulnerable parts of an enemy superstructure. The patrol ships had direct-attack capabilities in the form of a system of quad-barrel forty-millimeter automatic cannons but was far more deadly up close with its deck-mounted torpedo launchers. The two ships-of-the-line would need to cover the trio of patrol ships as they approached to finish off damaged and slowed vessels. Captain Sandia agreed to the plan, which was quickly relayed by the signalers to the whole formation of Task Force 11. The [i]Matador[/i] and [i]Hernandez[/i], upon receiving confirmation from the patrol ships to alter their course, turned their boilers up to unleash the maximum amount of power to the propulsion systems. The propellers churned up water, splashing a huge wake in the glimmering sea. The [i]Matador[/i] had swung its guns to the enemy formation and waited. Mexican sailors rushed about the ship to attend their battle stations in flak jackets and steel helmets as an alarm blared general quarters. All lights on the ship had been shut off, with the red low-visibility lights taking their place. Captain Pulido, steely eyed and gazing towards the first real ship to ship combat of his career, could hardly think of anything else. But for a split second, he realized something: he should probably give a speech while he still could. Finding the microphone to the intercom, he cleared his throat and addressed the crew as stoically as he could: “Men, we are about to engage the enemy in defense of Mexico for the first time since our revolution. Like our forefathers who fought for liberation against the Spanish, French, and Americans, I know that our spirit will prevail. I trust that everyone will do his duty and I know that you are all well trained for the task ahead. Keep your heads down and your job in mind. Prepare for combat.” He hung up his microphone with a static click as the bridge remained dead silent. For another twenty agonizing minutes, the only sound was the rushing of the ship as it cut through the sea towards their adversaries. The clock struck seven in the evening, and the weapons officer declared that they were inside of the maximum effective range of their cannons. Not that it mattered much, as the first few rounds at maximum range were bound to miss. Within three minutes, the crew had loaded a shell from the ship’s magazine and stabilized on what appeared to be a warship in the distance. Captain Pulido gave the order to fire. With a roar, the front cannon on the [i]Matador[/i] opened up with a burst of flame ejecting from the barrel. The whole ship shook from the blast of the cannon as the crew waited with anticipation. The first shot of the naval conflict had been fired. Through binoculars, a spotter observed the round splash down in the sea a minute later. It had been a miss. He shouted commands to the rest of the crew nearby to adjust their fire. Deep within the ship, in the plotting room, the data was relayed via intercom and the gunnery crew initiated a complicated dance with their electromechanical rangekeeper computer. The crude analog device’s rotors spun and whirred until a printout gave gun corrections to the gun chief. Within a minute, the corrections had been made by the gunnery team in a cramped and sweaty control room, frantically spinning wheels to adjust the elevation and azimuth. Captain Pulido received confirmation on the bridge that the ship was ready to fire again and he ordered a second shot towards the British pack. In the distance, a few nautical miles ahead, the [i]Hernandez[/i] had taken the lead and was now within range of its own smaller cannon. Distant thumps, more rapid-fire than the [i]Matador[/i]’s own gun, emanated from the corvette as Captain Sandia ordered a rapid fire saturation gunnery of the tightly-packed British fleet. By the time the third shot had left the gun, the [i]Matador[/i] had splashed consistently up to the enemy fleet and was edging in on a hit. But the lookouts spotted the ships breaking formation, one at first but then joined by two others that now appeared to be patrol ships much like Task Force 11. A fourth, the corvette, followed suit and rushed towards the [i]Hernandez[/i]. The rest of them continued their heading, more than likely the merchant vessels. Captain Pulido gave the order to fire at will at the ships who chose to stay and fight. Task Force 11’s own patrol ships broke formation to circle around and close in under the cover of the frigate and corvette’s guns. “Rafael!” crackled the radio. It was Captain Sandia. “We see the enemy corvette heading right for us! I think it wants to fight. We’re going to focus our fire on it before they can target. I’m turning head on.” Pulido acknowledged and watched through his own binoculars as the [i]Hernandez[/i] fired off a round and spun quickly to charge the British corvette. Two ships of equal size, with mostly equal weaponry, were now playing a game of chicken with each other. The [i]Hernandez[/i] presented itself with as small a profile as possible as its main gun continued firing in rapid bursts. After another two shots, Captain Sandia scored the first hit of the fight: a small cannon shell hit the foredeck of the British corvette and exploded. The round did little damage and didn’t knock out the British cannon, which fired a return shot. This near miss splashed up water next to the [i]Hernandez[/i]. Pulido kept firing, the [i]Matador[/i] gunning closer and closer to the British corvette. He had closed in to an acceptable range during his charge, and now felt it appropriate to swing the ship to port and get his neglected rear cannon into action. The [i]Matador[/i], under the heavy hand of her helmsman, leaned dramatically to the side as it sought to bring her rear gun to bear hurriedly. The weapons officer finally received confirmation of a firing solution from the aft gun and Captain Pulido ordered it into action. Two guns off the [i]Matador[/i] erupted, sending high-explosive rounds rippling through the evening sky. They arced over the waves before finding their target. Both of them, somehow, impacted simultaneously on the British corvette’s super structure. Beneath its tripod mast and observation next, bright orange explosions lit up the sky and reflected across the dark blue Caribbean waters. Someone in the bridge shouted “good hit!” and Captain Pulido examined the impact of the shells through his binoculars. The corvette’s superstructure appeared mangled and burned, metal warped and darkened by the flash fires that were now starting in the bridge area. “Repeat that!” he shouted to the weapon officer in uncharacteristic excitement. His heart was pounding through his chest and his hands trembled on the grips of his binoculars. Another roar of cannon fire rippled through the [i]Matador[/i], but these disappointingly fell short. Over the radio, Captain Sandia reported in: “Good hit on that corvette’s bridge, Rafael. We can take it from here.” “I got it, Ron, we’re going to shift fire to the patrol boats.” With that, the [i]Hernandez[/i] belched flame from its medium cannon. A dozen agonizing seconds later, that too found itself hitting the wounded British corvette. The [i]Matador[/i] had already been given the order to focus one cannon on a patrol boat to engage two targets at once, but Pulido still watched the British corvette with morbid curiosity. Sandia’s gunfire had ignited a fire on the deck in front of the superstructure, perilously close to the corvette’s gun. In the light, he could now see the specks of British sailors running across the deck in panic. Its cannon fired one more time, sending a return shot towards its aggressor. It may have been bad luck, or good training, or punishment for past sins committed, but the British corvette’s cannon fire seemed to go straight into the bridge of the [i]Hernandez[/i]. It was textbook: the round practically went through the glass windows of the Mexican corvette and exploded inside, sending channels of flame rushing out through every opening on the bridge. Pulido’s knuckles went white as he realized that Captain Sandia, probably flamboyantly commanding fire from the bridge just like he was, had perished instantly. There was no response to radio hails. But Captain Sandia had his revenge on the way, as a moment before the British hit his vessel a repeat shot had been sent towards the enemy. This one, just as luckily, buried itself into the deck where its previous impact had blown open a hole in the plating. Instantly, the British corvette’s front gun magazine was hit by the impact and exploded into a massive cloud of flame and smoke. The ship rocked, shaken by the explosion, and began diving bow into the waves. Beneath the smoke and dust, Pulido could see that a large gash was taking on obscene amounts of water. Sailors jumped from the gunwales of the vessel into the water and began swimming away. The [i]Matador[/i], still firing at the patrol boats, was unfazed even if Captain Pulido thought of the mutual suicide he had just witnessed. Silently moving through to the south of the enemy pack, the Mexican patrol vessels had reached torpedo range of what appeared to be two merchant ships trailing the end of the convoy. Like wolves to a pack of sheep, the patrol ships settled into a formation and sped up to engage. Each of them swiveled their mounted torpedo launchers to the chosen victim and fired. The pneumatic tubes forced a torpedo off the deck and into the water, where the propeller was activated. Their tiny engines produced enough speed to ensure that the projectile was twice as fast as the British merchant ships, and they sped towards their targets. Unlike long-range naval gunfire, these torpedoes were deadly accurate. One, then another, then a third torpedo found their first target. A coordinated attack on a single merchant ship sent the trio of explosions rippling across its keel on the port side. While the patrol ships reloaded their torpedo launchers and slinked away for another attack, the [i]Girasol[/i] reported to the [i]Matador[/i] that one of the merchant vessels was listing and taking on water. A quick kill, hopefully to be repeated on another target. Within fifteen minutes, they had reloaded and zeroed in on a second merchant ship where they repeated the process. Only two torpedoes found their target this time, but this was enough. The stern of the ship was torn to shreds, the merchant ship’s bow slowly raising into the air as it took on water to its aft. But as the [i]Matador[/i] dueled with the speedy British patrol boats, a ship emerged from the shadows of the pack heading straight for the patrol ships. It was a frigate, just like the [i]Matador[/i]. The mystery vessel had been another warship all along, obscured by the merchant fleet until it was too late. The [i]Girasol[/i], after scoring its second kill of the night, was the British frigate’s first target. A heavy gun unleashed at close range on the much smaller patrol ship, detonating across the foredeck to deadly effect. It didn’t take long before the [i]Girasol[/i] was as dead as the merchant ships it had just torpedoed. Unceremoniously, the two surviving patrol ships immediately turned tail and ran before the British frigate could target them at point blank range as well. Pulido could hear the patrol vessels panicking over the radio as they aborted their mission to save themselves. Better to let the merchant freighters go than to commit suicide by frigate. Pulido’s guns had scored an important victory on one of the British patrol boats, hitting its stern and rendering it dead in the water while its two partners continued to rush forwards. “We need help over here!” the commander of the [i]Madreselva[/i] shouted. So the [i]Matador[/i] turned towards the British frigate, in direct opposition to any sort of common sense. The naval crossing of the tee, which had a ship bring all its guns to bear against a perpendicular enemy, was considered the epitome of a textbook attack. Captain Pulido, seeking to maximize the element of surprise while the British ship was busy taking care of the patrol vessels, was now at the wrong end of the tee. He ordered the [i]Matador[/i] to fire, its gun crew having acquired a firing solution on the slow-moving frigate. This one hit, partially due to the larger size of the enemy vessel compared to the corvette, and battle damage could be seen on the hull. “I scored I hit,” Captain Pulido announced over the radio. The British ship fired again, narrowly missing what appeared to be the [i]Madreselva[/i]. “And they can’t shoot all of us. I need you to turn back and fire some goddamn torpedoes into that thing!” With a moment of hesitation, the commander of the [i]Madreselva[/i] agreed. The [i]Matador[/i] repeated its shot, which fell slightly short. But now she was taking fire from the British frigate. Pulido could maneuver and, hopefully, survive a few hits with his own armor. In his heart, he hoped that Captain Sandia on the [i]Hernandez[/i] had assumed all the bad luck of this engagement. Pulido turned his vessel to the port again, zig zagging closer to the British frigate to keep both of his guns in action. While he dueled with the enemy, the [i]Madreselva[/i] took her opportunity. Her captain turned around, charging again towards the British fleet. With both of the British frigate’s guns directed towards the [i]Matador[/i], the [i]Madraselva[/i] was able to take revenge on the [i]Girasol[/i]. The torpedo launchers held two torpedoes, which were both swiveled to the enemy frigate and fired immediately. Caught between the pincers of two attacks, the British frigate took one hit of the [i]Matador[/i]’s guns to the starboard side of her superstructure and two of the [i]Madraselva[/i]’s torpedoes to her port stern. The [i]Matador[/i]’s bridge erupted into cheers as the British frigate went up in flames, the two bursts of fire from the port side condemning the vessel to a swift sinking. With the two British warships sinking into the sea and a patrol boat beginning its own demise, Captain Pulido made a decision. The [i]Girasol[/i] was decimated, the [i]Hernandez[/i] was heavily wounded, and he had two patrol vessels in close contact with an enemy fleet that may have more heavy warships like the frigate they had just destroyed. Over the radio, Captain Pulido gave the order for Task Force 11 to disengage. They were to regroup, maintain a defensive posture, and pick up any survivors that they could find. The British were interested only in a quick getaway, and Pulido didn’t want to risk any damage to his ship or the damaged [i]Hernandez[/i] if he didn’t have to. Task Force 11 pulled together and waited through the night as the British patrol boats realized what was happening and broke contact. Captain Pulido watched and waited as the merchant marine fleet, now two freighters short, got away. But the British had also lost a corvette and a frigate underneath the waters of the Caribbean, and the Mexicans were picking up the survivors of a single patrol ship while one of its corvettes sought the safety of its task force for safe passage to a repair yard. Survivors in life rafts fired flares into the air all night. The [i]Matador[/i] slowed to a crawl as it sailed through the wreckage and debris of the battle. In lifeboats and rafts, her rescue parties picked up survivors both British and American. As the rescue operations continued into the morning, the British pack was long gone to the northeast. All that was left were the Mexican ships and the flotsam of the battle. To Captain Pulido, it reminded him again of the eerie feeling of encountering the USS [i]Isherwood[/i] and the ARA [i]Ironia[/i]. This was mission success for Task Force 11. But the war had just begun for the ARM [i]Matador[/i].