“It’s OK, Captain. I called ahead to General Liang, letting him know we’ve been delayed. I would much rather be late to a meeting and stuck in traffic then risk being shot down by an Allied fighter,” he asserted. Everyone instinctively looked up at the ceiling of the armored Mercedes-Benz vehicle.
They had two other vehicles in their little convoy, one in front of them and one behind. Despite having their flashing lights and the occasional siren on, they still found themselves stuck in the tail end of the Beijing morning rush hour.
Of course, the air raid on several military buildings across the city had caused another wave of panic in the metropolis. This was the third such raid on the downtown part of the capital in the last two months. The Allies were clearly tightening the noose on the communist government as the remnants of the Chinese Air Force continued to be hunted down and destroyed.
Sitting in the backseat of the armored luxury sedan, Yang felt nauseous. “What have I done?” he thought.
The urge to vomit became uncontrollable, and Yang lurched forward, grabbing at the door handle. Despite the protests of his security detail, he pushed the door open. He only made it one step out of the vehicle before doubling over and puking all over the pavement. His body retched uncontrollably several times until he had fully emptied his stomach of what little contents it had had.
Captain Cho handed him a handkerchief, which he took. He wiped at the spittle and vomit on his chin. He blew his nose, and then he suddenly felt a tremor. The ground shook like a mini-earthquake. A sudden BOOM broke through the noise of honking horns and angry shouts of commuters stuck on the road. The sharp crack through the air was then replaced with a low, deep rumbling sound before the noise quickly faded.
Before anyone could react to what they had just heard and felt, a second, louder BOOM ripped through the city, nearly knocking them to the ground as the earth beneath them shook violently. As they attempted to steady themselves, a loud rumbling noise grew. A large ominous-looking plume from a blast several kilometers away began to rise into the morning sky.
Yang suddenly felt a pull on his shoulder and a voice shouting at him. He couldn’t quite make out what was being shouted or who was shouting it because everywhere he looked, he saw people pointing and screaming, then running. A fraction of a second later, he was pulled into the back of the sedan.
Captain Cho started yelling at the driver. “I don’t care if you have to ram the cars in front of you — find a way out of this traffic jam! Head back to the August First Building immediately!”
Colonel Rob “Pappi” Fortney slowly began to go through the arming procedure to release their B61 Mod-12 earth-penetrating nuclear bomb. Twenty-seven years in the Air Force had prepared him for the technical aspect of this task. After all, the B-2 stealth bomber was originally designed to penetrate Soviet airspace to deliver a nuclear first strike or counterstrike against the Russians. What all his military training had not prepared him for was the moral argument raging in his mind over what his superiors had ordered him to do.
Having completed the arming process for the first nuclear bomb, Pappi moved to preparing the second bomb. Technically, he could have prepared both bombs at the same time — the targeting computer and onboard weapons system did allow it — but he felt he had a duty to ensure that each bomb was made individually ready. As the flight leader for his two bomber raids, he didn’t want the other crew to be burdened with the responsibility of using a nuclear weapon. No, he and Double D would do their best to bear that burden for them.
Breaking the silence, Double D turned to look at Pappi. “Are we really doing this?” she asked. “Dropping not one but two nuclear bombs on Beijing?”
A brief moment of silence ensued as Pappi thought about his response. It should have been automatic, but he hesitated, which caused him to feel both anger for allowing his emotions and thoughts to override his trained response, and shame that he felt anger for not responding right away. It was a valid question, a moral question. But he also knew the answer, and he accepted and understood the justification for why they were doing what they were doing.
“Yeah, Daniels, we are. We’re going to do our jobs to end this damn war once and for all,” he said.
In that instant, he suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline, of strength, resolve, duty and honor he hadn’t felt a few minutes earlier. “Maybe I just needed to utter the words aloud,” he thought.
For her part, Daniels just nodded in acceptance. “You really think this will end the war?”
“If we’re successful, I think it will. If we fail, well, then I guess we’ll probably be dropping a few more of these bad boys before the war is over.”
“How do you stay so calm on a mission like this?” asked Daniels. “I feel sick to my stomach. I mean, I know we train for these types of missions, but really — when’s the last time a bomber crew dropped a nuclear bomb?”
Pappi chuckled at the question, eliciting a dirty look from his copilot. “I’m sorry. I forgot this is your first airframe you’ve flown in combat. The last time we dropped a nuke was the first day of the Second Korean War, remember?”
“Oh man, I completely forgot about that. Now I feel like an idiot,” she exclaimed. Her cheeks flushed red, and it was obvious she was grateful that only the two of them had heard her question.
“It’s OK, Daniels,” Pappi assured. “I was still recovering at Walter Reed when it happened, but I knew the crews. That was a tough day, but they got through it, just like we will. As to how I stay calm…who says I’m calm? I’m still nervous, Daniels, I’ve just been doing this longer than you.”
The two of them rode a little while longer in silence, the soft hum of the engines and the electronic sounds of the aircraft the only noise present.
“Why did you name our bomber Black Death?” asked Daniels. It seemed like she’d been saving that question up for some time.
“It’s actually pretty simple when you think about it. I named it after the color of our bomber and the fact that wherever we travel, death follows. From the day this bomber was ready to fly, we’ve been test-flying it over enemy skies, dropping bombs. Unlike my previous bomber, this airframe has never known peace. It’s been an instrument of destruction from its very first mission,” he replied.
Before either of them could say anything further, several warning systems began to blare a danger signal.
“I’m showing dozens of enemy radars lighting up across the city,” Daniels said nervously.
“It’s OK. They’re going after the Viper pilots. Let them do their job; they’ll suppress the radars before they become a possible problem for us,” he gently reassured her.
Leading the charge ahead of them were three dozen F-16Vs or Vipers, specially equipped to go after the enemy’s air defense systems. Attacking Beijing was always a risky venture, since it boasted the most layered and integrated air defense system in the world. Following the Vipers were fifty F-35s, which were slated to target dozens of government and defense buildings throughout the city. The large raid prior to their nuclear attack was part of the elaborate ruse that would ensure General Yang would be late in arriving at the Xiang Shan Command Center. It was imperative for him to have a valid reason in being delayed so his cover would hold, and so he wouldn’t be exposed to this elaborate and desperate gamble to end the war.
“Crap, that’s a lot of enemy SAMs,” Daniels commented. They watched their radar screen light up with enemy missiles being firing at the raiding party.
“Yeah, they’re really throwing the kitchen sink at them, aren’t they?” asked Pappi.