"What about a carrier?"
"The Kitty Hawk, after the crew finishes recovering aircraft, will be on its way to a rendezvous with us. I have their current position and they have ours. It looks like we should be overhead the carrier when they're approximately seventy miles north-northeast of Taipei."
Scott reached for a chart. "We're going to be cutting it mighty close. Is there anything closer — another carrier or a ship we could ditch beside?"
"No, the Kitty Hawk is our only option in the next couple of hours — if we can stretch the fuel that far."
"Well," Scott said, calculating the fuel burn, "we still have to make our way to the coast without being shot down."
"They're sending fighters to escort us from Songcheng."
"Songcheng?"
"It's on the coast just north of our route." Jackie checked the fuel. "We'll be in contact with a Hawkeye — call sign Liberty Bell — in about forty-five minutes."
"That's good news."
"Yeah, but they don't want me to use the radio — a female voice could set off alarms."
"Makes sense. What's our call sign?"
"Kilo Hotel Zero One."
"Kitty Hawk?"
She nodded. "We're the number-one priority at the moment — actually, the hard drives are number one."
The satcom in the back chimed. Jackie stepped into the cabin and sat down. After a brief conversation with Hartwell, she entered the cockpit. "Not good news."
"What?"
"The seas are very heavy and they — the skipper of the carrier and the admiral — recommend that you not ditch the plane. They know you're a tailhooker and they want to 'barricade' you."
Scott allowed himself a brief glance at Jackie. "If the seas are rough, the last thing you want to do is ditch a plane in those conditions. You're taking a much bigger risk than landing in the barricade — plus you don't get wet."
"What's the reason for a barricade?"
"If you have a battle-damaged plane or can't get the landing gear or tailhook down — and you can't make it to a divert field, and airborne refueling isn't an option — then the barricade is better than jumping out or dumping your ride in the water."
"Ah, yes," she said with a smile. "There's just one minor difference in our situation — this airplane wasn't designed to fly from carriers."
He deselected the autopilot and made a heading change. "That's why it's so much more interesting."
Jackie shook her head and began computing time and fuel to reach the carrier. Scott hand-flew the airplane low over the mountains, skimming through shallow passes and hugging the high ground.
"What do your numbers say?" he finally asked. "Are we going to make it to the boat?"
She looked at her calculations for a few moments. "We can probably make it about a hundred twenty, maybe a hundred thirty, miles offshore, but that still leaves us short of the carrier by fifteen to twenty miles."
Scott's curiosity was piqued. "You figured from where the carrier was — the coordinates that Hartwell gave you?"
"Yes." She rechecked her numbers. "I figured the carrier's speed at twenty knots — if the seas are rough."
Scott made another minor heading change to fly directly toward Songcheng and the waiting navy fighter planes. The time dragged on as the fuel steadily declined. Trying to ease her anxiety, Jackie recomputed their relative position to the carrier every few minutes. It was clear that the situation wasn't getting any better.
The Learjet was passing close to a mountain peak when one of the Hawkeye's mission-systems operators finally contacted Jackie and Scott.
"Kilo Hotel Zero One, Liberty Bell — how copy?"
Scott turned the volume up on the cockpit speakers and keyed his radio. "Liberty Bell, Kilo Hotel Zero One reads you loud and clear."
"Roger that, squawk three-seven-five-two and ident."
"Thirty-seven, fifty-two, and ident, Kilo Hotel," Scott said. Jackie assigned the code to the transponder, energized it, and hit the identification button.
"There you go," Scott said.
A few seconds passed before the E-2C systems operator made contact with the Lear again. "Kilo Hotel, we have a lock — stop squawk."
"Copy stop squawk, Kilo Hotel."
"Keep truckin'," the Hawkeye operator said. "Your course to Mother looks good for right now."
"Kilo Hotel."
A Chinese AWACS, a modified version of the four-engine Russian Ilyushin 11–76, orbited high above the sea near the coastline. Assigned to the 13th Air Division in Hubei Province in south-central China, the aircraft was monitoring the Taiwan Strait and the activities of the Kitty Hawk battle group. The AWACS was also waiting for a flight of four Chinese navy fighter planes to check in.
Equipped with an Israeli-designed Phalcon early warning and airborne control system, the Chinese AWACS had detected the evasive Learjet when the E-2C Hawkeye identified the plane.
Fifteen miles west of the AWACS, four of the Chinese navy's new F-8-II fighters finished refueling from an airborne tanker. The flight leader checked in with the AWACS for a vector to the airplane carrying the American spies.
Based on Hainan Island between the Gulf of Tonkin and the South China Sea, the highly touted planes had been sent to Fuzhou to patrol the Taiwan Strait during the ongoing conflict with the United States.
The message for the Chinese squadron commander and his three talented and experienced pilots was very clear. Whatever it takes, shoot the Learjet down — or ram it — before it reaches safety.
"Kilo Hotel, Liberty Bell." The voice was very tense.
"Kilo Hotel," Scott said.
"Ah… you have — I'm seeing multiple bandits at your one o'clock, seventy-five miles and rapidly closing."
Scott and Jackie had a sinking feeling.
"Well, that's just dandy," Scott said to Jackie, and keyed the radio. "What about our fighters — can they engage them?"
"Stand by."
Dalton's frustration suddenly flared. "Hey, we're gonna be confetti if we don't have some help — like immediately."
Another voice, calmer and steadier, came over the radio. "Your original escorts are refueling. Two of the BARCAP Hornets are on their way and the Hawk is launching the Alert Five birds as we speak."
"Tell 'em to buster every chance they get!" Scott said, easing the Learjet closer to the terrain. He checked to make sure their exterior lights were off.
"They're in burner," the mission systems operator said, and talked to someone else on another radio. "We suggest that you get down in the grass and try to make yourselves invisible."
"We're workin' on it," Scott said, and looked at Jackie. "The barricade idea looks better all the time."
"Say hallelujah!"
"Kilo Hotel, bandits still at one o'clock," the Hawkeye operator said, checking his scope. "Now sixty miles."
"Where are my heroes?" Scott asked.
"Twelve o'clock, seventy miles — goin' at the speed of heat." Scott keyed the radio. "I just hope the cavalry gets here before we're turned into chop suey."
"Kilo Hotel, our Hornets — your original escorts — have just this moment engaged the Chinese fighters, but two of the Gomers have slipped away to hunt for you."
"What about the other fighters — ours?"
"We have two more Hornets headed toward you and a tanker to support them — just hang in."
"We're running out of time."
"Kilo Hotel, Liberty Bell," a new voice said. "Our fighters should be getting close to you — should be with you in a matter of seconds."
"I hope so."
While the E-4B National Airborne Operations Center taxied for takeoff, President Macklin, Hartwell Prost, Brett Shannon, and Pete Adair conferred with various people from NORAD, the State Department, the Pentagon, the Joint Data Exchange Center in Moscow, and various civilian and military authorities. General Chalmers was at the Pentagon with the other joint chiefs.