Bai cracked open the door and assessed the dim hallway. Clear, he motioned for Liu. “Walk with me,” she pleaded, but Bai shook his head.
“I must prepare for battle,” he said in a low voice, deep and masculine.
Liu melted into his arms and kissed his neck. “Be safe, my love! You will bring glory and honor to the Party and to the People’s forces! I will be here when you return!”
“Be strong for the People and do your duty with conviction!” Bai said, all business.
“I will!” she said, smiling her adoration. “Are we safe, Bai?” she then asked.
“We are safe; the Americans must get by me first.”
Liu Qi swelled in joyous adulation and gratitude, threw her arms around him, and pressed herself close, never wanting to let go.
“Shhhh,” he admonished her, and, after another glance at the hallway, took her arm and led her though the doorway. “I’ll see you later. Now go,” he said.
Looking over her shoulder, Liu beamed at Bai as she walked down the hallway in her soft slippers. Then, as she walked alone under a beautiful tropical moon in the People’s paradise, she smiled knowing that the hottest fighter pilot under heaven was hers.
Bai dressed in his flight suit and ran a damp razor over his stubble. He laced his boots and looked out the window. Clear flying weather. After a stop at the cafeteria, he walked to the ops building to prepare for his dawn patrol defense. He hoped it would be eventful.
At that moment, off Palawan Island, crewmen aboard USS Long Beach pushed the mock crane off the flight deck fantail and maneuvered their MH-60 Romeo into position. No longer fooling vessels around it, Long Beach was now playing her hand. She was an American warship, at the moment the closest one to Blood Moon, and Wilson and the rest of Hancock’s strike aircraft were depending on her.
CHAPTER 60
Wilson pulled away from the water, feeling his two afterburning engines push on his spine as he climbed into the night. Above his canopy bow was the brilliant moon, and the horizon below was crisp with water shimmering. A subdued white wake marked an escort to his left — dependable Cape St. George riding shotgun — a cruiser that in three hours would consider Wilson a threat before he proved to them he was not.
He turned left and leveled off to find his tanker overhead the ship. White afterburner plumes of a jet shot off the bow revealed Hanna’s position on the dark surface. Slewing his FLIR on the carrier, he studied the flight deck: four jets left to launch.
Scanning the horizon, Wilson picked up a cluster of lights at his ten o’clock, moving to nine. He pulled into them and his FLIR showed a tanker with a Rhino in the basket and another waiting his turn. Glancing over his right side—clear—Wilson pulled into them again and got on bearing line. The tanker had steadied up west, and Wilson eased closer. Over his left shoulder he saw a Super Hornet maneuver to get on his wing line for its own turn on the tanker.
Wilson joined up next to Hutch who was in the basket. Breeder was complete and on the tanker’s right wing. Even on this clear night bathed in moonlight, armed jets taking fuel in close proximity required concentration, and 1,000 feet above and below were similar formations doing the same, all headed west. Radio silence was critical, and everyone had their radars in standby mode.
As Wilson waited his turn, he took glances around them. Other light clusters were nearby; almost overhead the silhouettes of five jets — a trailing division of Snakes on their own tanker — were easy to discern against the backlit sky. Hutch came off the basket and crossed under Breeder at the same time Wilson extended his refueling probe. The tanker pilot gave him a signal with his flashlight, and Wilson slid behind the basket. After stabilizing a few feet away, he goosed the power and flew his probe into the circular cage.
With the green status light showing good flow, Wilson thought about the strike. Success hinged on their covert ingress; if the SAMs could not acquire and track before the Americans overwhelmed them, they had a strong chance of getting everyone out of the target area. Ingressing low on the water meant all threats would come from above, and the timing of their feint and Les Aspin’s attack were also critical. As was the jamming plan from Gumby’s Growlers. All had to work to perfection for no losses.
Wilson saw it in the eyes of his tired 20-something lieutenants. Striking Blood Moon was major league. None of them in flight school had expected this, and the reality was a far cry from dreams of cloud chasing around the ship followed by liberty in some exotic port. The Chinese had bloodied them, and more than once. Many of them knew the dead and injured back on Hancock and aboard John Adams. It was personal now — all wanted payback — but flying into this heavily defended outpost was a lethal proposition, no matter the quality of the strike plan. In his late 40’s, Wilson was no less anxious than they were. More so; he was responsible.
The green light went out, and Wilson backed away with 2,500 pounds. He took his place on the right as Tails plugged for his 2.5K. Ahead of them the black landmass of Malaysia appeared, with lights along the coast and a thunderstorm in the mountains beyond. Wilson’s inertial navigation display showed them on track, and he decremented the moving map to reveal the Malay coast ahead. They would ingress between two coastal settlements, and Wilson could see the lights of them now. Below were scattered fishing vessels and ferries, and the Americans could not disguise the guttural rumble of their engines as they flew overhead.
The basket came off Tails’ probe with a little whip as he backed down and right. The tanker pilot signaled retract, and the hose was reeled into the store. In two hours, Wilson and the others would join on him or any tanker they could in what all knew would be a mad scramble for gas.
The E-2 established the link, and to the north the decoy element, call sign Pawn, was on timeline. The Pawns were transmitting and exposing themselves to searching PLA(N) sensors as they transited over Palawan in a familiar track. Wilson took note of the LCS Long Beach, on station in the Sulu Sea with a Fire Scout drone and an armed Romeo to run interference. The link provided the situational awareness they all craved, from Wilson down to the junior lieutenant…and to The Big Unit who was monitoring them from Hanna.
Behind them, the eastern horizon lightened as they continued into the western darkness. They were now in elements, with Wilson in the lead, and the wingmen flew a loose formation as they crossed over the coastline and into a heavily forested region of rugged mountains. They were above the highest peaks, and, to the south, bolts of lightning from the storm slammed into the uninhabited ridge.
At the briefed waypoint, Wilson check-turned them and noted the time. Sunrise was in 12 minutes, about the time they would coast out. Next to him, the other Super Hornets were now gray specters in the low light.
Miles to the north, the MH-60R crew picked up an ESM hit. Triangulating with the Fire Scout, a PLA(N) Type 052 DDG was detected on that bearing. Because the comms with Hancock were spotty, the Romeo crew did not know the Snakes’ track would take them well south of the bearing, allowing them to avoid early detection from the Luyang. The aviators fed the information they had back to Long Beach, and Sullivan authorized the launch of a Naval Strike Missile on the ESM bearing line.