Taiwan’s first line of defense against the PLA missiles was the Patriot. The trouble with the Patriot was that its typical intercept range put it perilously close to friendly soil. With a clean hit on the incoming target, the debris from both missiles sometimes did as much damage as an unintercepted missile.
Taipei was taking the brunt of it.
Being tied to a pier or even moored to a buoy in the harbor made Lei’s frigate an easy target. Worse, he was sure enemy submarines were stationed at the entrance to every harbor and channel around Taiwan.
Win or lose, the Kai Yang would spend the war at sea.
If we just had the Aegis system, he thought bitterly. Aegis was the highly advanced American naval missile defense system. The heart of the Aegis system was the AN/SPY-l, a multi-function, phased-array radar that detected and tracked all incoming threats. A mix of on-board missiles protected the Aegis vessel, and weapons like the Tomahawk cruise missile gave it offensive clout.
The U.S. had decided not to sell the Aegis system to Taiwan.
Lei had to laugh when he thought of the so-called logic behind it. The U.S. had stopped recognizing Taiwan — the Republic of China — as a sovereign nation soon after it granted such recognition to mainland China — the People’s Republic of China. That had been on Richard Nixon’s watch, and every administration since then had gone a bit further to sweeten relations with China and to distance itself from Taiwan.
But America was still Taiwan’s ally, at least in spirit. Whenever China huffed and puffed about forcibly absorbing Taiwan into the PRC, the U.S. had cast its heavy shadow over the strait — usually in the form of a carrier strike group.
So far it had worked. The U.S.’s policy toward Taiwan was maddeningly ambiguous. Taiwan was no longer a country. But Taiwan could not be taken over by China. Not yet, at least. Not as long as China’s communist government continued its repressive ways against its own people.
Taiwan was a pawn in a power play between giants. It was neither independent nor subservient, and that was the way the American politicians wanted it. It made Lei snicker when he imagined how President Soong’s pre-emptive war was upsetting those politician’s visions of a perpetual stalemate between the Chinas.
Lei’s thoughts were interrupted by the OOD. “Course, Captain?”
“Steer 265 degrees. We’re heading back into the strait.” He turned to the executive officer. “Order the crew to battle stations.”
Colonel Zhang sipped at his tea as he reclined behind his desk. His hand still trembled from the closeness of the encounter with the Americans. That damned Lo.
It occurred to Zhang that he might have been too peremptory when he ordered the execution of Lieutenant Lo. Trained systems officers were in short supply. But this was war. Executing a bungler like Lo was necessary, not so much as a punishment but as an example. The other officers of the Dong-jin project had to understand the consequences of their blunders.
It was a task that Colonel Zhang understood well. His own rapid ascent through the ranks of the PLA he owed to his success in purifying the Air Force. He had been assigned the task of ferreting out the politically untrustworthy members of the PLA — dissidents, collaborators, rumor-mongers. His methods were harsh, meant to discourage others from breaking ranks.
As a reward for his diligence, his mentor and patron, General Tsin, Chief of Staff of the PLA, had given him command of the vital Dong-jin project.
Zhang set down his tea cup. His hand had stopped shaking, and he felt once again in command of his emotions. He lifted the telephone that linked his office to that of his superior.
“This is Tsin,” answered the general. “I’ve been waiting for your report.”
“I am very sorry, General. I first had to deal with a matter of military incompetence.”
Zhang told him about the encounter with the unmanned decoy and the Hornets.
“What is the disposition of this systems officer who mistook the decoy?” asked Tsin.
“He is dead.”
Zhang heard a grunt of approval. Tsin said, “But this means the Americans know about the Dong-jin.”
“So it would seem, General.”
“And they know it was the Dong-jin that destroyed Li’s aircraft?”
“Most probably.”
“What else did they learn?”
“Not much, I think. Only that it exists.”
A moment of silence passed. Zhang could imagine the grizzled general lighting another of his endless chain of aromatic cigarettes, eyes squinting against the smoke. Finally Tsin said, “It is of no importance. It will be a short war. What they know, or think they know, will have no effect. For the moment, the Dong-jin is invincible. Is that not what you have assured me, Zhang?”
To such a question there was only one answer. Zhang felt his hand tremble again. “Yes, General, you may be certain. The Dong-jin is invincible.”
That sonofabitch.
Raymond Lutz felt a pounding in his temples as he stared at the photograph in the magazine. Even before he read the caption beneath the photograph, he recognized the smirking face in the picture, that cocky, glory-hound test pilot posture.
Maxwell.
It was five in the evening at Groom Lake, and Lutz was alone in his research lab. He had just picked up the new issue of The Hook, the journal of Navy carrier aviation. He hated the magazine, but he always felt compelled to read it from cover to cover. In each issue he’d see the smiling cocky face of someone he knew from the old days. Commander Somebody bagging his thousandth carrier landing. Captain Somebody Else grinning from the cockpit of his Super Hornet like it was his personal sports car. Some other hotshot aviator taking command of his own fighter squadron.
This time it was Maxwell. The sonofabitch kept reappearing in Lutz’s life like a bad dream.
An entire page of photos was devoted to the USS Ronald Reagan. In the center of the page was a pilot in a flight suit standing in front of a Super Hornet. Another officer wearing a flight jacket and two stars on his collar was handing him a plaque.
With his jaw muscles knotting, Lutz read the caption:
Reagan Strike Group Commander RADM John Hightree presents VFA-36 skipper Brick Maxwell this year’s Battle “E.” Maxwell led his Roadrunners to a clean sweep over all Pacific Fleet strike fighter squadrons to capture the coveted award for battle efficiency.
As he stared at the photo, the bad memories came flooding back like the pain of an old wound. Maxwell. How did the glory hound keep doing it?
He remembered exactly when his loathing for Maxwell began. They were in the same preflight class at Pensacola. Though Lutz finished number one in the class and Maxwell second, Lutz’s 30/40 eyes disqualified him for a pilot’s slot. Instead he went to naval flight officer training, which meant the back seat of a Navy jet. He was along for the ride.
Maxwell sailed through Navy flight training, graduating with a slot in F/A-18 Hornets. Meanwhile Lutz was denied his first choice — a radar intercept officer seat in the F-14 Tomcat— and became an electronics warfare officer strapped into the back of a blunt-nosed, slow-moving EA-6B Prowler.
The next time he encountered Maxwell was at the U.S. Naval Test Pilot School at Patuxent River, Maryland. Maxwell was training to be a test pilot, while Lutz was at Pax River to become a flight test engineer.