Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (72 page)

           
How the hell could Cobb stay so
calm? McLanahan wondered to himself. He sees everything that goes on, he
studies the Super Multi Function Display, he sees the threat warnings, yet he
sits as calmly as ever, staring straight ahead. He looks the same on training
flights as he does in combat.

           
“TACIT RAINBOW missiles are entering
their holding pattern until the radar comes up,” McLanahan added. “Go to
five-twenty on the airspeed and let’s get out of here before the radars come
back up.” Cobb clicked again and pushed power up to full military thrust—the
faster the B-2 could get past these ships, the better.

           
McLanahan’s B-2 Black Knight had a
few stings itself this time around—no more reconnaissance pods, now that the
NIRTSats appeared to be working again. The B-2 carried four AGM-136A TACIT
RAINBOW antiradar cruise missiles and four AGM-88C HARM antiradar missiles in
clip- in racks in its left bomb bay, plus a Common Strategic Rotary Launcher
with six AGM-84E SLAM TV-guided missiles in the right bomb bay. The TACIT
RAINBOW antiradar missiles homed in on radar transmissions, and they had
turbojet engines, wings, and autopilots that allowed them to stay aloft and, if
an enemy radar was turned off, orbit a suspected target area to wait for the
radar to be reactivated. The four TACIT RAINBOW missiles that McLanahan had
launched from thirty miles away would remain in their orbits for another ten
minutes within a few miles of the last-known position of the radars—this would
give all the strike aircraft the chance to get past the Chinese warships and
move into the target area.

Frigate YINGTAN, forty miles
south of destroyer JINAN

           
Several minutes had passed, and no
hits reported by any ships since
Kaifeng
.
If the carrier aircraft were the same speed
or a bit faster than the antiradar missiles, the carrier aircraft would be very
close by now. They had sailors with night-vision goggles and infrared scanners
looking for the missiles, but unless they heard it or got lucky there was
almost no chance of their finding a tiny loitering cruise missile up there
without radar. A few of the larger patrol boats had low-light TV cameras and
infrared fire-control sensors on their 57- and 37-millimeter guns, but their
field of view was very small, and getting a lock on a fast-moving target was
difficult.

           
The intercom clicked on: “Bridge,
CIC, request permission to activate search radar for two sweeps.”

           
There was a slight pause; then:
“Acknowledged.” To the radar operator, he said, “Two sweeps. Shut down
immediately if there’s a target within five miles. Call out bearings to
contacts for gun control.”

           
“Acknowledged. Radar coming on in
three, two, one . . . now.”

           
One sweep, twelve seconds, and they
knew the awful truth: “Bridge, CIC, multiple small targets within five miles,
all bearings. Additional air targets, two large targets in trail formation,
bearing two-seven-eight, range to closest target ten nautical miles. Radar
down.”

           
The commander of the frigate
Yingtan
was on the allstations call
intercom immediately. “CIC, all thirty-seven gun stations, all thirty-seven gun
stations, fire defensive pattern, multiple inbound missiles, all quadrants. Attempt
visual acquisition. Release radar decoys. Shut down all radars and verify.”

           
Almost immediately the frigate’s
four twin 37-millimeter antiaircraft guns began firing, sweeping the sky with
shells in predetermined patterns that would cover all but the ship’s centerline
area—fortunately the patrol boats were dispersed at least six kilometers away
to avoid being hit by the frigate’s barrage.

           
“Helm, forty degrees starboard. CIC,
ship turning starboard, shoot portside chaff rockets.”

           
From the sky, the barrage of gunfire
might have looked like a fireworks-show finale, with winks of muzzle flashes
and tracers shooting out in all directions. The frigate meanwhile began a
series of sharp turns and accelerations designed to get as far away as possible
from the last spot where the radar was turned on—they knew that was where the
loitering missile was headed.
Yingtan
also had mortars that fired radar-decoying chaff rockets into the air,
launching them on the side opposite the ship’s turn—they would act as decoys if
the missiles carried active radar seekers.

           
Yingtan
's
gunners were rewarded with several spectacular flashes as the guns found
targets, and missiles could be seen splashing down in their wake—a few
dangerously close, less than a dozen meters away—but none hit. Two missiles
went after the tiny radar-emitting decoy buoys dropped overboard by the
frigate, and the bridge crew was treated to a good-sized explosion just a
hundred meters aft as the missile impacted. In just a few seconds, all of the
antiradar missiles were defeated by the frigate
Yingtan.

           
But all that gunfire only saved them
from the small antiradar missiles—the aircraft that launched all those missiles
were getting away. “CIC, concentrate one hundred-millimeter guns at the last
position of that bomber. Maybe we will get lucky. Prepare to engage with HQ-61
missiles. Comm, radio to all patrol boats and to Fleet Master, suspected heavy
stealth bomber aircraft inbound to
Davao
Gulf
, number unknown.”

           
The sudden flurry of gunfire into
the night sky was spectacular and frightening at the same time. It looked like
a dome of sparklers had formed over the frigate in the distance, like some
unearthly glittering spaceship half-submerged in the ocean—except they both
knew that those pretty sparklers meant death to any aircraft that strayed too
close. Cobb instinctively banked farther west to avoid the area where most of
the gunfire was being concentrated, even though McLanahan estimated they were
at least ten miles abeam the closest ship. “Jesus Christ,” McLanahan muttered.
“Look at that . . .”

           
Cobb said nothing.

           
“And we’re only seeing about one
every twelve tracer rounds ...”

           
“It’s not the guns I’m worried
about,” Cobb said. “I’m waiting for the SAMs from that frigate.”

           
“He hit us with a radar sweep powerful
enough to paint us,” McLanahan said. “He must know we’re out here.” McLanahan
used the tracer rounds to find the frigate with his forward-looking infrared
scanner, and the imaging heatseeking telescope locked on easily to the huge
vessel. “I got a lock on the big mother ship. That must be the frigate. Laser
rangefinder on . . . laser firing . . .” Immediately the laser rangefinder
computed the precise distance to the target, completed the firing solution for
the B-2’s complement of weapons. McLanahan touched the right-bomb-bay icon on
the bottom of his Super Multi Function Display, and the weapons computer picked
a SLAM TV-guided missile, automatically reducing the SMFD screen in half and
using the right side of the big screen to display SLAM seeker video
transmission. “The shit’s going to hit the fan as soon as this puppy goes,”
McLanahan reminded Cobb, then he moved the Bombing System Switch from “Manual”
to “Auto.” “Missile Counting down . . . missile one away ...”

           
The right bomb-bay doors slid open,
and the single CSRL launcher ejected a SLAM guided missile into the slipstream.
The missile fell about fifty feet as its gyroscope stabilization system
steadied the fifteen-hundred-pound missile; then, when the air data probes
detected the proper airflow and deceleration parameters indicating a clean
release from the Black Knight bomber, the powerful turbojet engine kicked in.
Following the initial heading from the B-2’s master computer, it descended to
less than one hundred feet in the blink of an eye and steered immediately on
course for the frigate, taking it on an “over-the-shoulder” trajectory as the
B-2 sped away. Seven seconds later, the launcher had rotated and ejected a
second missile.

           
The radar operator on
Yingtan
had just reactivated the Sea Eagle
air-search radar at that precise moment—and what he saw caused stars to shoot
through his head. “Two aircraft, bearing two-eight-one, altitude two hundred
meters, speed . . .
incoming missiles,
incoming missiles,
bearing two-eight-one, range fifteen miles, speed six
hundred twenty knots, altitude twenty meters!”

           
And then he made a fateful
mistake—he shut down his radar a second time, thinking they were under attack
by antiradar missiles again.

           
The CIC officer in charge realized
tfre
Sea
Eagle radar was down again, but hesitated a
few seconds before ordering it reactivated so the antiaircraft guns could train
on the supersonic targets. There were other supersonic antiradar missiles in
the American arsenal, such as the HARM missile—this could be one of them.
“Deploy decoys. Bridge, CIC, incoming missiles, evasive action, radar down.” He
waited a few seconds for the antiradar-missile decoys to be ejected, then
ordered the Sea Eagle radar reactivated and the antiaircraft guns brought
on-line.

           
But at almost Mach one, it took only
sixty seconds for the

           
first SLAM missile to reach its
target. With less than thirty seconds left in the first missile’s flight, they
had just enough time to acquire the missile and let the Sea Eagle search radar
slave the I-band “Rice Lamp” fire-control radars on the incoming missiles. The
37-millimeter guns on the
Yingtan
were
just as accurate as on the TACIT RAINBOW missiles, but only the two starboard
mounts were committed this time. . . .

           
The left half of the Super Multi
Function Display was displaying video transmitted from the.imaging infrared
camera on the first SLAM missile, and even Henry Cobb, who normally sat with
eyes caged straight ahead on his instrument panel, couldn’t help but take a few
glances at the picture as the missile bore into its target. The image was
incredible—the sea, seen as shimmering green streaks along the bottom of the
picture, whizzed past like some sort of early sci-fi warp drive; and, in the
center, the hot dot slowly enlarged and took the shape of a huge warship. The
missile was right on course.

           
Suddenly, several flashes of light
could be seen popping from the warship. “They got a lock on the SLAM,”
McLanahan said. On the right side of the SMFD, he touched the spinning circular
cursor on the 3-D image of the destroyer, spoke “Change target,” then slid his
finger to the left. The SLAM missile veered left in response. Just as the video
image of the destroyer was about to disappear off the screen, McLanahan slid
the cursor to the right, and the missile followed. A few seconds later,
McLanahan replaced the cursor on the destroyer. “Thirty seconds to impact,” he
told Cobb. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. . .”

           
But his efforts were useless. As
soon as the missile settled back on course to the destroyer, another large
flash erupted, and the video went dark. “Dammit! Lost the first SLAM.” The
words
SLAM
1
NO CONTACT
flashed three times on the left half of the SMFD, then
the video from the second missile filled the screen.

           
“You’re not getting this one,”
Patrick said. Using the touch-screen, he pre-programmed a zigzag course for the
second SLAM. “Hit
that,
you
peckerheads . . .”

           
The ship’s defensive guns
successfully hit the first SLAM seconds before it hit them, but the second
missile was impossible to hit—it was all over the sky, skimming just a few
meters above the water, and the guns could not keep up with it. The missile
finally plowed into the starboard gunwale just below the number six
37-millimeter gun turret.

           
The penetrating warhead cap, propelled
by the missile’s powerful rocket motor, drove the missile through the
number-twelve lifeboat on its davits and barely managed to pierce the heavy
armor of the number-six gun turret before detonating the five-hundred-pound
high-explosive. The blast ripped a gaping hole in the side of the frigate,
killing the gun turret’s ten-man crew and instantly knocking the gun out of
commission.

           
“Good hit!” Patrick McLanahan cried
out. “One impact ... only minor secondaries, good hit but no kill.” The Super
Multi Function Display automatically switched back to full integrated
“God’s-eye” view, and Patrick scanned the area. “Search radars down ... cancel
that, search radars back up. Everybody’s transmitting . . . I’ve got air-search
radars at
five o’clock
and a new one at
two o’clock
.
India-band missile radar’s still up at
five o’clock
. Damn ... we didn’t knock out that frigate
yet. So he can still launch missiles ...”