Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (18 page)

           
“Send a FLASH emergency message to
Dragon,” he finally ordered his officer of the deck. He could feel the first
prickles of tension-heated sweat forming on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t
from the humidity. “Inform him of our radar contact. We will stand by for
instructions.” He paused momentarily, then added, “Send the minesweeper
Guangzou
from present position northwest
and secure the north and northeast axis. If we have to move toward Phu Qui, I
want the lane clear. I give specific orders for
Guangzou
to enter the neutral zone on my authority; record the
order in the log.” The minesweeper, although based on a Shanghai-class patrol
boat, had no offensive armament except small-caliber machine guns and could not
be considered a warship; therefore sending a minesweeper alone into the neutral
zone could not be considered a hostile act.

           
The officer of the deck issued the
orders; then: “Sir, I suggest we request the helicopter on
Hong Lung
be sent to investigate the contact ahead of the task
force. It would be much less threatening to whoever is on
Phu
Qui
Island
.”

           
“We will be ordered to move closer
to
Phu
Qui
Island
whether we see what is out there or not,”
Chow predicted. “But it’s a good suggestion. Get it in the air.”

           
They did not have to wait long for the
order: “Message from Dragon, sir,” the officer of the deck reported. “ Task
force two is hereby ordered to cross into the neutral zone immediately.
Investigate contact on
Phu
Qui
Island
with all possible speed, identify all
intruders, detain all persons. Peacetime rules of engagement in effect—do not
fire unless fired upon, but repel assaults with all available resources.
Helicopter will be dispatched immediately to assist. Dragon task force en route
to your location. ETA two-point-three hours.’ Message ends.”

           
“Very well,” Chow replied, nodding
confidently and pumping his voice up with as much enthusiasm as he could
muster. “Sound silent general quarters, repeat, silent general quarters. Relay
to all vessels, go to silent general quarters.”

           
It was a fairly calm night, and the
noise of alarm bells and sirens going off might very well be heard twenty
kilometers away. This was the first time that Commander Chow had ever faced a
real confrontation between two powerful, hostile navies, and so far his thin, forty-six-kilogram
body was not taking the excitement too well. His stomach was making fluid,
nervous rumblings.

           
“Have
Guangzou
complete a zigzag pattern along the zero-five-degree
bearing from us, then begin a search pattern direct to
Phu
Qui
Island
. Transition
Yaan
and
Baoji
into trail and forward-scan each flank for
signs of intruders.” He was glad when his officer of the deck and the rest of
the bridge crew went about their duties—he was feeling worse by the minute. He
had never experienced seasickness in his sixteen years in the People’s
Revolutionary Army Navy, but this time, at the worst possible moment, he just
might. . . .

           
He tried to ignore his stomach and
ordered his ships in the best formation in which to approach a hostile island.
The minesweeper would execute a zigzag pattern in front of
Chagda
perhaps a kilometer wide, clearing the path of any hidden
mines while maintaining good forward speed toward the target. With his two
Hainan-class patrol boats in trail position, one behind the other and spaced
about a kilometer apart, whoever was on that island might not detect the two
trailing vessels until the shooting started. The two patrol boats, each one
configured for both antiaircraft and antisubmarine warfare, would be scanning
the skies and seas ahead and to each side of the formation, searching for
hostile aircraft, ships or submarines.

           
“All ships are at general quarters,”
the officer of the deck reported with a bow. Chow was just donning his life
jacket and baseball cap, in lieu of a combat helmet. “All ship’s weapons manned
and report ready.”

           
“Very well. I want range to
Phu
Qui
Island
every kilometer,” Chow ordered. “Have the
vessels maintain ten knots until—”

           
“Sir! Acquisition radar detected,
bearing zero-five-zero,” Combat reported.

           
“Well, what in blazes is it?
Analysis! Quickly!”

           
There was another interminable
delay; then: “C-band acquisition, sir... probably Sea Giraffe 50, OPS-37,
SPS-10 or -21 surface-search system ... slow scan rate ... Calling it an SPS-10
now, sir . . .” Chow scowled at the reports from his Combat section; they were
rattling off Swedish and Japanese radar systems when they knew that the only
C-band radar in the Spratlys had to be Filipino.

           
“Nineteen kilometers to
Phu
Qui
Island
and closing,” came the range report from
the navigation officer. “Speed ten knots.”

           
“Negros Oriental class,” the officer
of the deck announced. “Latest intelligence reports had the
Nueva Viscaya
putting out to sea. It may
have arrived here in the Spratlys.” Chow nodded his agreement. The
Nueva Viscaya
was one of two active
ex-U.S. anti-submarine-warfare vessels operated by the Philippine Navy as
coastal patrol boats, another fifty-year-old rust bucket rescued from the scrap
heaps. It was small, slow, and lightly armed. They used old American C-band
SPS-10 or French Triton II surface search and acquisition radars as well as
older-model ULQ-6 jammers. Fortunately, its heaviest weapon was a 76-millimeter
cannon, as well as 40- and 20-millimeter antiaircraft and antimissile guns that
might be a danger to the
Hong Lung's
helicopter
as far as six kilometers away.

           
“Relay to
Hong Lung
that we suspect the Philippine vessel PS80 to be in the
vicinity of
Phu
Qui
Island
,” Chow ordered. “Inform them we have
detected acquisition C-band radar emissions and that—

           
“Message from
Baoji
,
sir!” the radio technician yelled. “Radar
contact aircraft, bearing one-niner-zero, fifteen kilometers!”

           
“Air-defense alert to all vessels,”
Chow shouted. “Order five-kilometers free-fire to all vessels. Broadcast on
emergency frequencies for all aircraft to stay out of visual range of Chinese
warships.” He dashed over to the radar display on the center bridge pedestal.
The composite radar images showed nothing but Pearson Reef and Cornwallis West
Reef, two very large coral formations on the southeastern edge of the
Spratly
Islands
—and it was then obvious what had happened.
The single blast of radar energy from whatever vessels were near Phu Qui was
enough to divert all attention to the northeast, while aircraft managed to
sneak around behind Chow’s task force, hide in the radar clutter created by the
coral reefs, and slip in close.

           
“Radar now showing three aircraft,
altitude less than ten meters, speed sixty knots,” Combat reported. “Suspect
rotary-wing aircraft. Range now thirteen-point-five kilometers and closing...”
The radar display suddenly showed several bright white spikes radiating out
from center. The spikes seemed to spin around the scope, dim, disappear, and
reappear seconds later with even greater intensity. “Jamming on all systems.”

           
“All ships, defensive maneuvering,”
Commander Chow ordered. “Active ECM and decoys. Signal Dragon in the clear,
report possible air attack from the southeast—”

           
“Missile in the air!” someone
screamed. Directly ahead, right on the dark horizon, a bright flash of light
could be seen, followed by an arc of light that flared quickly, then
disappeared. Another flash of light followed, the trail of the missile straight
this time—headed right for
Chagda.

           
“Hard starboard!” Chow shouted.
“Flank speed! Chaff rockets! Release batteries on all guns! All guns,
antimissile barrage!” The portside 30-millimeter antiaircraft guns, twin-
barrel automatic guns housed in two-meter domes, began pounding into the sky,
guided by the Round Ball fire-control radar. The furious hammering, so close to
the bridge, turned Chow’s guts inside out. At the same time, small rockets
fired off the fantail into the night sky—this was the ERC-1 decoy system, which
consisted of racks of small cylindrical mortars that fired parachute-equipped
shells several hundred meters away and about a hundred meters high. Some of the
rockets streamed pieces of tinsel that would act as bright radar- reflectors,
while others would spew globes of burning phosphorus that would decoy an
infrared-guided missile. His ship also carried floating radar reflectors, buoy
polelike devices, like tall punching bags, that were weighted to pop upright
when tossed overboard; they were laughably inadequate devices, but someone
always found the time to heave a few over the side in the slim hope that a
missile might find it more appealing than a two-hundred-ton patrol boat.

           
Every member of the bridge crew was
staring out toward
Phu
Qui
Island
when suddenly a terrific burst of light
split the air, and for several seconds the low profile of the minesweeper
Guangzou
was highlighted in a huge ball
of fire. Several secondary eruptions quickly followed—the shock wave and sound
of the explosion that hit the
Chagda
several seconds later was like a three-second hurricane and thunderstorm rolled
into one. Commander Chow had never seen such a horrifying sight.
“Guangzou
... the minesweeper’s been hit
. . .”

           
“Look!”
someone shouted. Chow turned in time to see a streak of light pass not more
than a hundred meters astern of
Chagda,
a blur of a missile-looking object, just before another huge explosion rocked
the patrol boat. The second missile fired from near Phu Qui had miraculously
missed the patrol boat and homed in on the chaff cloud and formerly
comical-looking radar reflectors, detonating after hitting the floating decoy.
The blast was so tremendous that Chow thought his eardrums had ruptured. Except
for a loud ringing in his ears and a few crewmen knocked off their feet by the
concussion, the small patrol boat was unharmed.

           
The attack continued. Even though
Yaan
and
Baoji
were larger and better equipped than
Chagda,
neither of them carried any
decoy rockets, and their electronic countermeasures emitters were small; they
relied on their antiaircraft guns, two twin 57-millimeter and two twin
25-millimeter rapid-firing cannons, to defend themselves. Both ships’ guns were
lighting up the sky as the helicopters closed in from the southeast.

           
“Sir!
Baoji
reports the helicopters are launching
missiles!” Commander Chow swung his seat over to search the horizon, but could
see nothing through the darkness except for the thin bursts of light from his
escort’s antiaircraft guns.

           
But the fast attack boat
Baoji
lost its battle seconds later. The Filipino
helicopters carried two Sea Ray missiles each, small, short-range laser-guided
antiship missiles with one- hundred-and-fifty-pound fragmentation warheads; one
helicopter was paired with one patrol boat, and they drop-launched their
missiles when within four miles of their targets. The patrol boat
Yaan
destroyed its helicopter with a
burst of 40-millimeter gunfire, which caused the Sea Ray missiles in flight
toward her to break lock and fall harmlessly into the ocean. But the helicopter
tracking
Baoji
managed to swerve and dodge around long enough
to keep the laser beam on target. Both Sea Ray missiles guided directly on the
forecastle of the
Baoji
,
and although the warheads were small and
probably would not have done much damage if they had hit the hull or decks, the
missiles plowed into the bridge and combat control center, killing the captain,
twelve senior crewmen, and decimating its fighting capability.