“It was a coordinated attack out of at least six bases, sir. J-11s out of Blood Moon and Stingray, with H-6s behind them, struck first. Our CAP did good work over the Sulu Sea, but some got through and got their missiles off. We lost one Rhino, but the pilot got out and we’ve got him. At the same time, a group of H-6s and Su-30s came down from the north, and most of them employed from over 100 miles. It was a gangbang of about fifty missiles, and we did our best, sir. Cape and Speicher knocked down a lot of them, but Earl Gallaher was on point and couldn’t handle them all.
“What hit it?” Clark asked.
“It was a YJ-12, sir, from one of the bombers — the only one that got through — but it just about cut the ship in half.”
“How many dead?”
“Over forty sir. I’m waiting for the exact number.”
“And Hancock? What’s the latest on her?” Clark asked as he rubbed tension in his neck. Across from him Casher scrawled notes as fast as he could.
“Sir, we lucked out. She took an Eagle Strike in her Sea Sparrow sponson aft. It cooked off her magazine, but the damage was limited. A Rhino parked next to the LSO platform got sprayed with shrapnel and is hard down. El 4 is now stuck in the up position and the number one wire is out of commission, but the damage to the ready rooms wasn’t as bad as it could have been. She reports about a dozen dead and more than that wounded but she’s still in the fight.”
“That’s luck?”
“Admiral, it could have been another YJ-12. If one of them hit her there, it probably would have buckled the aft end of the flight deck, damaged all the arresting gear, started fires in the hangar bay, and killed everyone in the three after ready rooms.”
From four thousand miles away, Clark nodded. He noted the time. Dawn would break over Oahu in an hour.
“Okay, John, what are you doing next?”
“We’re striking at Stingray, sir, hitting it in about an hour, and we’ll hit it hard. Once it is out of action, I’m going to Yawu Cay and Blood Moon. To the north I’m holding them, and we may get lucky and bag another Luyang, but Qin’s pulling back. I’m worried about his diesel boats, and, if we push too deep, he’s got air superiority.”
“What about Heaven’s Shield?”
“The cyber spooks and the jammers are able to degrade it, sir. We’ll continue to honor it, but it’s not a death ray.”
“How about Les Aspin? When can you get them in the fight?”
“The DFs hold her at risk… where I need her I can get two strikes a day, over Thailand and Vietnam. The Thais are reticent to give us overflight. Right now Hanna is our big stick. She’s cut but still swinging.”
“I’ll get overflight for you. What about your aviator in Palawan?” Clark said.
“Thanks, sir. Still nothing on Rip Van Winkle. I’ve tasked my operators to get him. Maybe a submarine rescue, maybe the Filipinos with bancas. Getting him is job two — after we knock out the outposts.”
Clark had to neutralize the Spratly outposts and rescue his aviator. On the wall he saw the cable news channel covering the Pentagon press conference about Earl Gallaher—and only a day after the loss of Tombigbee. He sensed the Secretary was going to call in minutes for another update and to give Clark the mood of the White House, and orders to defeat the Chinese ASAP.
“All right, John, you’ve got to hit them hard, now. Destroy, and, if you can’t destroy, then degrade everything of offensive value on the Spratlys. Ignore the mainland and Hainan, but take out the outposts and any of their ships you come across. I’ve told PACAF they work for you; bombers, tankers, stealth fighters, anything you want. Load ‘em up. Empty Hancock’s magazine, and get her out of there before her luck runs out.”
“Aye, aye, sir, and we’ll need to fuel her in 48 hours anyway.”
“Defend her, John. We are really hanging it out.”
“Will do, sir, but how much risk is acceptable? Without her sortie generation, I can’t knock out all the outposts in 48 hours. I don’t have the tankers, which themselves would be at risk orbiting over her, and the nearest place that will give me basing rights is Darwin.”
Clark considered the situation as both men waited for him to answer. McGill asked another question.
“Have you run the scenario through, sir? What if we lost Hanna? I think Qin has one more shot, maybe two, to get her with his regional airpower. And he can replace losses in hours. I can’t replace my losses for days or weeks.”
Clark exhaled so that McGill could hear. “That would be bad, John, just this side of end-of-the-world bad. That said, we have to fight her. Communicate that to The Big Unit and Flip Wilson. They need to have enough outer-air-battle defenses to attrite attackers before the Aegis and shipboard last-ditch stuff finishes them off. All hands on deck and expend all your precision silver bullets. When this is over, all Hancock should have left in her magazines are practice bombs.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“And like I said, support them with every manned and unmanned thing you’ve got.”
Casher got his attention, mouthing the words SECDEF in five minutes. Clark said his goodbye to McGill and got up to stretch. It had been a long night, and ahead were more long nights, but nothing compared to what his forces in the Celebes were facing.
“Ritchie, use the chain of command to get Thai overflight, and you’ve got five minutes to do it. If they give you the Heisman, get their names, and, when I’m done with SECDEF, get me on the phone with SECSTATE. Chop, chop.”
“Wilco, Admiral,” Casher answered.
Clark stepped to the window and, with hands behind his back, looked at the bright lights of predawn Honolulu. It was going to be a one-way conversation with SECDEF, who was probably in a foul mood after a morning of dealing with the press. Cactus, quit screwing around and defeat China, dammit! He’d handle it, he had dealt with worse, and he would take care of McGill and his 150,000 soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines.
The faint glow of twilight sharpened the ridgeline of Diamond Head: the beginning of another beautiful day in this island paradise. Navigation and anti-collision lights from a big jet, followed seconds later by another, took off from Hickam and Clark’s eyes followed them in their right turns to the west. It was too dark to tell what they were, but they were no doubt Air Force planes heading to help John McGill. As they receded from view, Clark returned his gaze to the emerging dawn. Casher watched his admiral contemplate the eastern horizon, knowing his thoughts were to the west.
How many more will I lose?
CHAPTER 57
Olive welcomed the dark.
High over the Sulu Sea, she was leading again, this time not as a probing jab, but as part of an uppercut heading for Stingray Reef.
Ten hours earlier, she had been helping her injured squadron mates evacuate Ready 7. Some were in sick bay, including her maintenance master chief who had hit his head when thrown from his chair. She willed herself to concentrate, to compartmentalize. Next door a young Marine was dead from the cruise missile strike, as were other sailors further aft. She thought about the bloody footprints in the passageways outside her ready room.
The VFA-152 Snipers had moved their operations to the ship’s intel spaces, her people reeling and off balance among the 5,000 “kids” aboard Hancock who suddenly realized they really were fighting a war. Now strapped into her comfortable Super Hornet cocoon, Olive turned her head from side to side to assess the positions of her wingmen. The tanking had gone well, and the fifty-minute transit to Stingray — with the stars above and the glittering lights of Filipino settlements and interisland ferries below — was almost relaxing on this clear night. Ahead was Palawan, lights blazing from several resort towns, and to the left was the darkened land mass of Malaysia and Indonesia. Past Palawan was the South China Sea, the scattered lights on the surface evidence of human — and enemy — activity. Olive wondered if they already knew she was coming. Once she crossed Palawan they would, and her thoughts turned to Rip.