It was then that the Captain would realize just how dangerous the American Air Force could be. Four more Strike Raptors had taken off from Muscat and then turned south before angling southeast behind the coastal range. They then crossed the rugged mountains and came at the Chinese fleet from the southwest, their weapons bays loaded with 24 GBU 53’s each. That would put 96 bombs in the air, a most uncomfortable attack, because it drained SAM’s at a terrible rate, even if these were not heavy ship killing bombs. Each one that hit would still do damage, so they had to be engaged and defeated, one by one.
The Arabian Sea TF was sitting with 160 HQ-9B’s in the VLS bays, between the two Type 055’s. The remaining SAM defense was 128 HQ-16’s, a medium range missile good out 21 miles. After that it was all short range HQ-10’s with 92 of those good out to 4 miles.
At 20:57, minutes before the hour, a massive red stain appeared on the Chinese radars as the Strike Raptors let those bombs fly. Every ship in the task force was targeted with at least a dozen bombs, and the Renhai Class ships got anything that was left over to pile on them even more. As it happened, the two dragons were screening the other TF ships, and now they looked over their shoulders, saw the attack coming, and prepared to roar.
The destroyers could put out a terrible volume of fire in need, the HQ-9’s having proved themselves as lethal defenders in many engagements over the last month. They would end up firing every HQ-9 they had, clouding up the night with a ghastly grey pall of missile smoke, but that shotgun of fire was enough. Some of the bombs got close, prompting gunfire that sent rending streams of 30mm rounds into that grey shroud. And then it was over, with all 96 bombs found and killed, and not one scratch on any of the Chinese ships. The damage done, however, was the loss of all that long range missile defense.
Captain Yu Han knew now that his wisest course was 15 degrees northeast, back to a safe harbor at Gwadar. There were several ships there that might sortie to help cover him, and now the J-20’s would fly like bats from their nests in the dark, and begin winging their way towards the war smoke on the sea.
“That did it,” said Lt Commander Fallon on the Bull Run. “Damn, the Air Force won this one. We didn’t have to fire a missile after we took down those two J-10’s”
“Those GBU’s really pull the SAM’s,” said Captain Duncan. “The report I read said the British used them to good effect early on, but then had to go defensive with their F-35’s. Looks like the Chinese are headed back to Gwadar. Report it to OMCOM, and tell them we’ll proceed as planned to clear the strait of Hormuz.”
“Aye sir, they’ll be glad to hear it. Say, these guys aren’t all that bad. They roughed up the Royal Navy, but they couldn’t lay a finger on us.”
“And we didn’t have to lift one either,” said Captain Duncan, but don’t think it will stay that way. There’s trouble here, Jim, deeper and wider than the Gulf of Oman, and that much trouble always finds a way onto your lap. This isn’t over.”
It certainly wasn’t…
Part VI
Arabian Nightmare
“They will smile, as they always do when they plan a major attack late in the night.”
Chapter 16
Sergeant James Stoker pulled off the side of the road, the big engine of his Humvee rumbling in the night. Part of an advance cadre of recon specialists, he and Lieutenant Michael Ives had been told to get forward and find out what was happening on the ground out near the northern border town of Halfar al Batin. It was actually 50 kilometers south of the Iraqi border, but there wasn’t much more than empty desert north of the city. They stopped there briefly, to liaison with officers commanding the Saudi 8th Mech Brigade, trying to ascertain their intentions, and where they might be planning to deploy. Then they took a secondary road north to the smaller settlement of As Sufayri, pulling in to the Rakan gas station just at the edge of town. They were going to need the fuel.
The two men were close comrades in arms, serving together in the 82nd Airborne for over eight years, and, having each other’s backs on more than one occasion in that time. On a first name basis, “Bram” Stoker would often call the Lieutenant by the handle the men in the battalion had given him, “Ivy Mike,” because he could have an explosive temper when things went FUBAR on his watch. Ivy Mike had been the name of a big thermonuclear test blast on the 1st of November, 1952, over ten megatons, and it seemed to fit Michael Ives well enough when he blew his lid.
“Topped off and growlin’,” said the Sergeant as he listened to the Hummer purr. They had driven through the small settlement, and out into the empty nothing of the desert night, all lights off and navigating with night vision goggles. The desert was laced with the thin tracks of other vehicles that had wandered about in this area. They passed some strange lines of earthen digs in the sand but saw nothing else in the black night. The moon was down, and it was very dark.
“Zero Dark Thirty tonight,” said the Lieutenant. “Can you believe there’s supposed to be a wildlife safari camp out here somewhere?”
“No shit?” said the Sergeant. “Camels humping it out here LT?”
“God only knows. Well, we passed Hill 1194 ten klicks north of that rat hole where we gassed up. I’m figuring that dark spot up ahead will be Hill 1178. Let’s get up there and have look see.”
“Roger that,” said Stoker, putting the hummer in gear and moving on to reach the hill about twenty minutes later. It was not a prominent rise, just an elevation in the land with ragged sides, so the Hummer was left below when the two men hiked up to get a look north. All seemed quiet and still, with no sign of any movement on the desolate terrain ahead. So they hiked back down taking the Humvee north of the hill until they came across a series of what looked like military dugouts, light prepared positions in small circles, spaced about two kilometers apart.
“LT, Kuwati troops maneuver out here? Those look like company defense positions.”
“More like platoon revetments,” said Ives, “probably made by troops of AFV’s. But there’s nobody here now. GPS has us just 37 klicks south of the border. There’s supposed to be a guard post out there somewhere near the wire.”
“Guarding what? There’s not a damn thing out here.”
“Guarding the border, Jimbo, what else. Hey, kill the engine for a minute, I want to listen up.”
Stoker complied, and the silence of that desert night fell heavily all around them. The night sky above was as clear as they had ever seen it, and the Milky Way rose prominently in a vivid display of stars and hazy gas. They got out of the hummer, walking a few yards into that empty silence, a feeling of awe settling on them. Then the Lieutenant touched Stokers arm, as if he heard something that suddenly put him on guard. They stood there, listening. A wind came up, and they could hear the sands simmering and whispering, but behind it, there came a distinctive pop, pop, pop, that their well-trained ears immediately knew as gunfire. The LT looked at the Sarge, nodding his head.
“Looks like the reports were good,” he said. “Sound travels a good long way in the desert. That has to be fighting out near the border.”
They didn’t know it at that moment, but they were listening to the Iraqi Samarra Brigade crossing the frontier, and getting after a Saudi border patrol. Back in the states at Bragg, they had followed the news of the naval fighting for some time, and the fighting in China. They were amazed at the balls the Siberians had when they decided to try and take on 1.4 billion Chinese. When things had flared up in the Med, they got orders to get ready to deploy. “Strike Hold” was the Ready Brigade, and they would be the first to go.