Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (71 page)

           
“Are you crazy?” the JS-7 pilot
shouted. “Turn those bastards around! Liang-Two flight of six, reverse course,
descend to three thousand meters, prepare to engage!”

           
There was a scratchy reply on the
radio—they heard him, although they probably wished they did not. If they
turned around, there was no chance they’d land back at Zamboanga—but ditching
in the
Celebes Sea
or landing at Cotabato was better than
allowing this B-52 or whatever it was to head in toward the fleet unopposed.

           
He had one more chance before he had
to return to base— throttles to max afterburner, close in fast, two PL-2
heatseeking missile shots, a gun pass with his 23-millimeter cannon, then
abort. The JS-7 pilot pushed his throttle to max afterburner, watched the range
quickly decrease to less than fifteen kilometers, got a seeker lock-on from his
two remaining PL-2 missiles, then launched them both at once. . . .

           
“Bandit at
six o’clock
, crew, descending behind us,” Karbayjal
called out, carefully watching the Chinese fighter on his tail radar. The
Chinese fighter was sending out jamming signals, but at this range even the
Megafortress’s smaller tail radar burned through it easily. “Bandit’s
accelerating . . . Jesus, stand by for missile attack . . . E-dub, stand by for
flares on the right ...”

           
The infrared tail warning receiver’s
“Missile Warning” light in all crew stations, which detected the heat of a
fighter in the rear quadrant and locked onto it, was immediately replaced by a
high-pitched tone in everyone’s headset and a “Missile Launch” warning light.
“IR missile attack!” Atkins shouted. “Break left!” Atkins immediately released
four bundles of flares simultaneously from the right ejector.

           
But Karbayjal had seen the missile
launch and was ready. Careful not to aim the Stinger airmine rockets at the
flares, he waited until the missiles tracked, then ejected the flares and
re-acquired the Megafortress’s hot engine exhausts, then opened fire with a
stream of missiles. He launched six Stingers, then watched for any sign of
pursuit. When he saw at least one Chinese missile survive, he shouted on interphone,
“Reverse! Climb if possible!”

           
When Karbayjal made his call, Atkins
had switched ejector racks, selecting the left ejector, and pumped out four
more flares. Simultaneously, Carter immediately threw the Megafortress into a
screaming right bank and held it until the stall-warning horn came on. “Can’t
climb, guns!” Carter shouted.

           
“Disregard,” the gunner said as the
last missile disappeared from his radarscope. “Fighter’s coming in, four miles
... three miles ... Stingers firing...” The Megafortress crew could hear the
heavy
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
and
a rumble throughout the bomber as Karbayjal fired four more missiles at the
fighter closing in. . . .

           
It had to be a fighter, the JS-7
pilot thought, since only a fighter could possibly move that
fast.
The flares that the target was
ejecting seemed as bright as the sun in the complete darkness of the
Celebes Sea
. His PL-2 missiles obvi-

           
ously thought so, because they
tracked and destroyed the flares with ease. He was now weaponless except for
his twin- barreled 23-millimeter cannon.

           
But the stream of flares pointed to
the target’s location, even if it wasn’t apparent on radar, so the pilot kept
his throttle at min afterburner and closed in to cannon range. . .

           
Suddenly four bright bursts of light
erupted right in front of his fighter, stretching from his left wingtip all the
way across the nose. His JS-7 fighter began to shudder, as if shivering with
fear, and the shudder continued right into a full-blown stall.

           
“Fayling, Fayling, Liang-Two, Mayday,
Mayday, Mayday, I’m hit, I’m hit . . .” He saw the “Engine Overspeed” and
“Hydraulic Press” lights illuminate and pulled his ejection handle seconds
before his controls locked and his fighter began a death spiral to the sea.

Destroyer
JINAN

           
“Sir! Destroyer
Zunyi
reports he is under attack by antiship missiles from the
east,” another report suddenly came in.
“Zunyi
is engaging. Sichuan-Ten flight of two Q-5 fighters are engaging suspected B-52
bombers at low altitude.”

           
“Where’s
Zunyi?”
Jhijun shouted. The answer came a few moments later—only
one hundred nautical miles east of
Jinan
.
Zunyi
was an older
Luda-class destroyer, part of the
Philippine Sea
cordon; it carried no surface-to-air missile system because it was
designed to engage surface ships and submarines, not aircraft. “Get a feed from
ZunyCs
CIC and integrate their plots
on our—”

           
“Sir!
Incoming missiles!
Bearing two-six-five, high altitude, range twenty
nautical miles, speed subsonic, multiple inbounds, intercept course!”

           
“What?”
Jhijun resisted the urge to swivel around in his seat and look at the west—it
was pitch black outside, with a light overcast sky, and he knew he wouldn’t see
a thing. “How the hell could missiles get that close? Radar, get your heads out
of your asses or I will have you on deck when those missiles hit! Report on
fire-control status—immediately!”

           
“Fire control reports fully
operational, good track on all inbounds, intercept confidence is high.” Jhijun
wished he could be more confident himself—first contact at twenty miles was
far, far too close.

           
“Targets maneuvering slightly,” the
CIC officer reported. “Range to air targets, mark, fifteen nautical miles,
bearing two-six-five, speed five hundred ...”

           
The targets weren’t maneuvering . .
. offset range was decreasing . . . bearing was constant . . . “Antiradar
missiles!” Jhijun suddenly shouted. He knew all about the Americans’
radar-homing missiles, especially the loitering cruise missiles—this was
probably a flight of them coming in now. But how in hell did those missiles get
so close before being detected . . . ?

           
Pushing the big Megafortress bomber
to descend at over twelve thousand feet per minute, it took less than three
minutes to descend to two hundred feet—yet with Chinese warships all around
them, it felt like an eternity.

           
“Golf-band search radar at eleven
o’clock . . .” Atkins shouted on interphone; “India-band gun fire control radar
now at one to two o’clock position . . . Christ, Golf-band radar changing to
Charlie-band missile director ... another India-band fire control radar at
two-thirty . . . dammit, are we in range of that destroyer yet? We’re going to
get nailed . . . ! I’ve got a possible fighter GCI signal from that destroyer
now, he might be vectoring in more fighters.”

           
“Ready in range with the first TACIT
RAINBOW missile,” Kellerman called out after checking the information on the
side-looking radar display once again and updating her map of all the ships in
the area. “Right turn thirty degrees to escape, next target will be off the
nose at twenty miles.”

           
Atkins rechecked the weapon
indications one more time— missile engine, guidance, autopilot, data link,
warhead continuity all reporting ready. “Doors coming open . . . missile one
away . . . missile two away ...”

           
As the Megafortress banked away to
the right, the AGM- 136A TACIT RAINBOW missiles sped off to the left and
descended to less than one hundred feet above the sea, then continued their
left turn until they were aiming directly at the Chinese destroyer. At the same
time, Atkins programmed another missile on the next target, what ISAR reported
as a Huangfeng-class guided-missile patrol boat transmitting with an India-band
gun fire control radar. “Missile three reporting ready.”

           
“Left turn ten degrees to escape,”
Kellerman called out. “I’ll take us within ten miles of that patrol boat unless
a missile radar comes up.” In which case, Kellerman thought, Atkins better hold
it together long enough to warn the crew. She knew it was a big mistake to send
that scrawny little BB-stacker on this mission—Atkins might have an IQ larger
than the national debt and could modify a wristwatch to jam half of Cleveland,
and he seemed to do OK with Karbayjal holding his hand, but he simply wasn’t
cut out for combat. “Pilots copy,” Carter acknowledged.

           
“Missile three counting down . . .
missile three away . . . doors closed, clear left turn.”

Destroyer
JINAN

           
“Sir, destroyer
Kaifeng
reports their patrol boats are engaging
inbound cruise missiles. Admiral Feng is recommending frigate
Yingtan
move east to help cover the
southeast approaches.”

           
“Negative,” Captain Jhijun shot
back. “My vessels are under attack by antiradar missiles—they are right on top
of us.
Yingtan
will remain where it
is until—”

           
And then he realized that if
antiradar missiles were appearing out of nowhere—it had to be a stealth bomber
attack. The stealth bomber itself would not show on radar right away, but the
antiradar missiles would show once they were launched—the missiles would have a
smaller radar cross-section than the bombers that launched them. . . . “Radio
to all task force vessels, suspect stealth bomber attack, number unknown,”
Captain Jhijun cried. “CIC, directed search for carrier aircraft by visual and
infrared scanners. Find that damned bomber! Find it!”

           
“Sir,
Kaifeng
reports B-52 bomber is launching subsonic
missiles ... no successful hit on any Tomahawk missiles because of heavy radar
jamming. B-52 bomber closing to within thirty miles of
Kaifeng
...”

           
“Sir, destroyer
Kaifeng
reports one hit by a Tomahawk cruise
missile.”

           
No one spoke on the combat bridge.
They couldn’t believe it. What was going on?
“
Kaifeng
radioing for assistance. Task force group
commander dispatching frigate
Yingtan
to assist. . .
Kaifeng
reports additional hits by antiradar
missiles from the B-52, sir! Destroyer
Zunyi
now reports under attack by sea-skimming antiship missiles . . . patrol boat
6114 hit by Harpoon antiship missile, extensive damage . . . lost contact with
patrol boat. . .
Zunyi
reports
contact with B-52 bombers east of their position, number unknown ...”

           
Damn them! With
Yingtan
moving out of position and
Kaifeng
damaged,
Jinan
was now the southernmost warship guarding
Davao
Gulf
. Ships as large as destroyers needed a
frigate for heavy close-in air support, and Jhijun was losing his! Well, he was
not going to suffer the same fate as
Kaifeng
.
“Emitters in standby!” the commander of the
destroyer
Jinan
shouted. “Turn the radars off! Use all
available personnel with infrared and electro-optical spotters, but
find those bombers!”

           
The nightmare was back.

           
Only two days since first stirring
up the hornet’s nest with their reconnaissance overflight, McLanahan and Cobb
were back at it again in their B-2 Black Knight stealth bomber— only this time
they not only had to examine and count the hornets coming out of the hive, they
had to swat at them. To make things worse, there appeared to be more hornets
than ever out here, and they seemed mad as hell and ready to inflict some
serious stings.

           
“Radar down on that destroyer . . .
fire-control radars going down on all area vessels,” Patrick McLanahan reported
to Henry Cobb. “Fourteen miles before impact— they figured it out pretty fast.
Most operators won’t figure out their radars are under attack until the first
few hit.” He expanded the God’s-eye view on the Super Multi Function Display
before him, inundating his screen with NIRTSat satellite data received only a
few minutes earlier. “I’ve got a few fire-control radars still up from those
patrol boats, but most don’t have anything but surface-search radars.” Cobb
clicked his mike in reply, still seated in his usual frozen position—hands on
stick and throttles, eyes straight ahead, unmoving.