Strike Zone (43 page)

His grandfather had not wanted to blow up Shanghai; that was Professor Ai's doing.

The digits drained to 1:00, then 0:59.

It would blow up in less than a minute.

Should he let it? Ai's argument made some sense—two bombs would be impossible to ignore; the communists would have to respond.

But many innocent people would die.

Was Shanghai any different from Beijing?

Chen stared at the numbers.

:30

Bombing Shanghai was not his grandfather's will. Chen Lee had made no secret of where the bomb was to be exploded.

The plane veered sharply to the left, shuddering as it turned, losing altitude.

Chen reached for the control. One of the characters on the fifteen-button panel read “Abort.”

He thought of his dream, but it provided no answers.

:10

If his grandfather had wanted to destroy Shanghai, he would have said so clearly, as he had made clear Beijing was his desired target.

:03

Chen Lo Fann reached to the device, ignoring the pain roaring in his chest and shoulder as he pushed the button.

Aboard
Raven
0338

Z
EN HAD THE
Flighthawk closing on the right wing of the 767, his targeting screen blinking yellow. He could see shadows through the windows of the plane, people moving around.

God, he thought, I'm going to kill dozens if not a hundred.

God.

What if there isn't a bomb in that plane?

Zen had killed a fair share of people in combat, but this felt very, very different. He had no proof that there was a bomb in the airplane; Stoner had told him he thought Chen had enough material for two weapons, but that didn't mean one was aboard the plane in front of him, or even that they had been made.

The windows seemed to grow, though this was an optical illusion. Zen pushed his nose down, the pipper just turning red.

He had his orders, lawful orders. They had come from the President himself.

What justification was that if he killed innocent men and women and children?

The pipper blinked. Zen pressed the trigger.

Three seconds later, his stream of bullets ignited one of the wing tanks of the 767.

 

“B
OTH SCORPION AMRAAMS
missed,” said Delaney. “I'm having trouble picking him up—the Chinese are jamming us, or trying to.”

“Hang with it,” said Dog. He checked the sitrep; they were about thirty seconds from crossing into Chinese airspace; in fact,
Hawk Four
already had.

“Now that they know we're here, they're going to use our radar to home in on us,” said Delaney. “If we turn it off, they'll have a much harder time finding us.”

“Can we follow the UAV without the radar?” asked Dog.

“No. There's no signal coming from the ghost clone for us to follow,” said Delaney.

“Then we're going to have to leave the radar on.”

“Fan Song radar dead ahead,” said Deci Gordon. “We're going to fly right over it. They'll see us.”

“Jam it when it does,” said Dog.

“Flight identified as Island Flight A101 is on fire and descending toward the ocean,” reported Zen. His voice was as cold as the computer's synthesized tones.

“Can you get
Hawk Four
on the UAV?” asked Dog.

“Those F-8s are coming for us,” warned Delaney.

“Zen, you're going to have to shoot down the UAV,” repeated Dog.

“Roger that.”

Dreamland
1240

J
ENNIFER STARED AT
the large screen at the front of the room. The Megafortress and its two Flighthawks were crossing into Chinese Mainland territory.

They were already being targeted by ground radars, surface-to-air missiles, interceptors—even a Megafortress couldn't survive the onslaught.

God, she thought, let him live. Let him live.

She did love him. Even if he had failed her, she did love him.

“Jen, this is Dog,” he said to her.

“I love you,” she said, thinking it was a dream.

“The programming you uploaded earlier. Can we use it?”

It wasn't a dream—he was talking to her. Jennifer felt her face flush deep red.

But there was no time to be embarrassed.

“You have to be within twenty miles. No, wait.” Her mind wasn't clear. She shook her head, reached to pull her hair back behind her ear.

Nothing.

“The mother ship, you destroyed it. The UAV will be on its own. It'll default—we may not be able to take it over.”

“How close do we have to be?”

“Twenty miles,” said Jennifer. “But listen, if it's on default—it probably won't deviate from its course once it's set. But you can try it.”

“Understood. Thanks,” said Dog. “And I love you too.”

Aboard
Raven
0342

Z
EN HAD TWO
tasks—protect the Megafortress from the F-8s, and overtake the ghost clone.

Fortunately, he had two planes.

He let the computer take
Hawk Four
in pursuit of the UAV, using the information piped down to the computer from
Raven
's sensors. In the meantime, he put
Hawk Three
on the noses of the two communist interceptors. They were swinging east to set up a rear-quarter attack, obviously planning on using their superior speed to close the gap behind the big American plane. Zen had to hang back and wait for them to get closer, his need to stay tethered to the Megafortress limiting his options. The Chinese defenses were handicapped by
Raven
's near-stealth profile, but its need to use the powerful search radar to find the UAV, and the fact that it had to fly a more or less straight line, nearly canceled that advantage completely. Once they were in the general area of the Megafortress, the F-8s could use
Raven
's radar as a beacon to show them where the plane was.

“Missiles!” said Delaney as the Chinese planes began to close in. A pair of radar homers had been kicked off from the lead F-8 at about thirty miles—probably too far to hit them, but they couldn't take a chance.

The Megafortress's ECM blared, not only killing the guidance systems in the missiles but giving the Shenyang pilots fits as well. Zen started an intercept that would allow him to slap the lead bandit with a cannon burst, then dip his wing and take on the wingmate.

The lead F-8 came on faster than he expected, its
Liyang turbojet obviously feeling its oats. Zen got a shot, but just barely. The computer helped him put the bullets out in front of the Mainlander—in effect, the Chinese pilot ran into them. He got a hit, but it wasn't enough to stop the plane.

It was too late to worry about it. He tucked his wing, the targeting screen going yellow as the second F-8 flew into range.

 

“L
EAD
F
-8 CLOSING
. He's setting for heat-seekers,” warned Delaney.

“Stinger,” said Dog calmly, referring to the airmine unit in the Megafortress's tail. A replacement for the tail cannon that had graced the original B-52, the Stinger spit out cylinders of tungsten-wrapped explosive. When the fuse in the airmines sensed a proximate object, they ignited their charges, sending a spray of hot metal into the air. The metal would shred a jet turbine as easily as a screwdriver puncturing a Dixie cup.

“Coming at us. Missile.”

Dog hit his flares and jinked left, then right. Meanwhile, Delaney worked the Stinger. The combination of the F-8's speed and
Raven
's evasive maneuvers kept the Mainlander from serious harm; on the other hand, his missile missed and his evasive actions took him temporarily out of the game.

“We have two AMRAAMs,” said Delaney.

“Save 'em in case we need them to get the clone.”

“Shit,” said the copilot. “We've lost the UAV from the radar.”

 

Z
EN'S TARGETING CUE
framed the cockpit of the F-8. He saw the outline of his opponent and thought of the
people in the civilian jet he had just been ordered to shoot down.

He pressed his trigger, but he'd already blown the shot.

Zen kicked himself mentally, then checked the sitrep to line up for another shot.

He didn't have to—the Taiwanese Mirages were now in range of the F-8s. There was a whole lot of chatter in the air—two missiles were launched, then a third and a fourth. The Mainlanders decided the prudent thing to do was select afterburner and live for another day. They rode north, pursued by the ROC missiles.

 

A
GROUND MISSILE
battery—a Chinese HQ-9, roughly the equivalent of the long-range Russian SA-10 on which it was based—came on-line as
Raven
crossed over Chinese territory south of Shanghai.

“We're spiked,” said Delaney, meaning that the ground radar had found and locked on the aircraft. It could launch a missile at any time.

“Break it,” said Dog.

“Broke it,” said Delaney. The copilot's voice had become hoarse.

“Good,” said Dog. “You have the UAV?”

“Not on the scope. Negative.”

“Wes?”

“No transmissions,” said the specialist, who was monitoring the airwaves. “Chinese know we're here, though. About a million people gunning for us. Battery of FT-2000s antirad missiles trying to find us. Uh, some command problems there.”

The FT-2000 homed in on ECMs and other electromagnetic radiation; it was a real threat to
Raven
since
the best and possibly only way to defeat it would be to turn off the countermeasures and other gear. They had no decoys aboard.

“Is it up?” Dog asked.

“Doesn't appear to be.”

“UAV?”

“They don't seem to see it. They think we're the threat.”

“Do we have it?”

“Negative,” said Wes.

“If it's going to Beijing, it's got a good distance to travel,” said Delaney.

Dog remembered what Jennifer had said about the UAV—more than likely it would fly straight to its target, no fancy stuff in between. He plotted a line to Beijing on his multiuse display.

“If that's the way we're going, we'll never make it,” said Delaney looking at the course he'd laid in.

“We better,” said Dog.

Pentagon, Washington, D.C.
1545

J
ED
B
ARCLAY LOOKED
at the table as the debate continued on whether to alert the Chinese government to what exactly was going on.
Raven
had just crossed over land, so the incursion itself was evident, but the President's advisors weren't sure precisely what if anything to tell the Chinese.

The secretary of state argued that admitting the bomb existed would scuttle the summit before it started. The
President asked if the UAV could be shot down without Chinese help.

Probably, thought Jed—but sooner or later the communists would take out
Raven
. If that happened first, and the UAV got away, they'd be blamed.

And that would undoubtedly lead to a full-scale nuclear exchange.

One of the Air Force experts was describing the radar and missile defenses in the corridor
Raven
had entered. He told the President that the Chinese ground defenses were not advanced enough to find, let alone track, the UAV or the Flighthawks.
Raven
's onboard ECMs, however, should protect it from most of the missile systems.

Balboa wanted to declare
Raven
a renegade unit. It wasn't far from the truth, he argued.

Jed tried to speak but the words died in a mumbled stutter on his tongue.

“What do you think, Jed?” asked the President.

“I-I—”

“I think we can give them a few minutes more,” interrupted the secretary of state. “They've never failed us before. This is Dreamland we're talking about.”

“No!” His voice was so loud it echoed against the paneled walls of the sit room. Everyone around him stopped and looked at him.

“I'm sorry, but not even a Megafortress can survive the gauntlet around Beijing. The multilayered defenses, the f-fact they're flying in a straight line, and they're also low on fuel. It's not going to work. And the Taiwanese UAV—it's not as fast as the Flighthawk or the Megafortress but it has a good lead. It may take
another twenty minutes to catch. We don't know what onb-b-board defenses it m-might have.”

“What's your advice, Jed?” asked the President.

“Um, uh—”

Jed clenched his fist, trying to get the stutter to go away. “We have to tell the Chinese what's g-going on.”

“That won't remove the risk to our people,” said Chastain. “They still may be targeted.”

“We have to tell them everything,” said Jed. “They'll think we set this up otherwise.”

He looked at the screen, trying to see his boss. What did he think?

Probably that Jed was a stuttering jerk.

“Jed's right,” said Freeman.

“Make the connection,” said the President.

Aboard
Raven
0350

F
ROM THIRTY THOUSAND
feet, with no clouds and a starlit night sky, the Chinese countryside looked remarkably peaceful. By day, the heavily populated eastern portions of the country bustled with a booming, rapidly changing economy, but at night the country still looked as it had fifty or sixty years before, largely rural though well populated.

But Zen wasn't relying merely on the optical feed. His screen was littered with purple blobs showing antiair radars, fingers grabbing for the stealthy little plane. The U/MF could zip right by them for the most part, its body too sleek to be picked up. Raven, however, had to fly a line directly through several of the
blobs. It was making full use of its countermeasures to boink the radars. As of yet, no one had fired at them, but Zen knew that was only a matter of time.