By the time the NSM came off and roared away in search of its target, the Romeo was on the other side of the Palawan passage and near Stingray Reef, which was still smoking from the American attack. The pilots rolled left and pulled collective to accelerate back to safety and away from any rock or banca boat they encountered on the South China Sea.
With baby-blue haze ahead, Wilson led his flight down to the mirror-like water as the sun rose behind the green ridges they had just flown over. His wingmen maneuvered themselves in combat spread as they overflew a bevy of bancas heading out for the morning catch. They were seen, of course, and now it was a race against time to get to Blood Moon before word of their sighting did. Wilson accelerated as he eased down to the surface, veering away from an island to stay clear. Behind him, Gumby transmitted one word—Armstrong—and over 20 hands lifted the guards to their MASTER ARM switches and armed up.
The Luyang the NSM was targeting was tracking the Pawns and at max range fired two SAMs at them. Then, the terrified radar operators detected a cruise missile coming at them. Their fire control system was now tracking it as the radar scanned the area around it and detected more tracks to the south, multiple tracks that behaved like airplanes.
With the ship at battle stations, word was radioed clear voice to Blood Moon: “ENEMY AIRCRAFT SOUTH OF ME HEADING WEST.”
This transmission was picked up by the ES-3 and then relayed to Wilson and the strikers.
“Snakes, they know you’re inbound.”
As Bai took the left side of the runway, his wingman Wu took the right. On schedule, he saw the green light from the control tower, got a thumbs up from Wu, and, after returning the signal, he released the brakes and shoved the throttles to maximum power.
The Flanker leapt forward as Bai steered it along the runway. It soon accelerated to flying speed, and he felt lift under the wings as he eased back on the stick. As Bai’s J-11 rotated off the runway, Wu began his roll and, once airborne, cut to the inside of Bai’s turn as they both climbed out to the east. While still on tower frequency a frantic voice transmitted; “American attack! Bearing due east!”
Bai’s radar searched as he switched them to the GCI freq. “Southern Control, flight seven-seven airborne for vectors!”
“Flight seven-seven! American strike formation zero-nine-five for 280 kilometers! Altitude is Flight Level two-nine-zero. Cleared to attack!”
Too far to employ missiles, Bai ignored the controller, knowing that PRC outposts to the east were in better position to attack. East, however, was where the action was, and his fighter burst through Mach 1 as Wu hung on. Good.
Listening to the calls, left target aspect increased. Where are the Americans going? He maintained course as his radar searched ahead. GCI called again.
“Enemy formation west-southwest, 300 kilometers!”
Bai was confused. The Americans are west? Was the initial vector a mistake?
“Southern Control from seven-seven. Reconfirm!”
“Fight seven-seven, two groups! On your nose for 200, and west-southwest for 300!”
There were two groups! Already committed on the eastern group, which was closer anyway, Bai and Wu continued. Bai heard the hysterical controller scramble interceptors for the western threat. How many? What kind? Blood Moon had only a small complement of J-11s ready, and Yawu a squadron of J-10s. Were they airborne? On the same frequency? Confusion reigned.
On his link display, Wilson noted the Pawns flowing north, and PRC interceptors running on them. A PLA(N) warship also appeared on his display, one that was 20 miles north of track. The Les Aspin group was on time. The wild card was the warship. Have they detected us? Wilson nudged the stick left to buy a few more degrees — and miles.
Bai was maneuvering on the Americans, but target aspect was building, and, if it continued, Bai would be in a long tail-chase. If these Americans were attacking Stingray again, Bai should return and defend Blood Moon from the Americans in the west. Off his right nose, he saw a missile lift from the surface and watched the bright torch climb and accelerate. The People’s ships are defending our territory!
The Americans were still turning away from the outposts. Bai and Wu could not catch them without running themselves out of fuel, and reports were that the runway at Stingray was disabled. Bai strained to see them, but the Yankees were invisible in the northeastern sky.
“American fighters bearing one-three-zero!” the controller cried.
Bai knew this was a mistake. Idiots!
“The Americans are northeast, retreating!” Bai transmitted. “Flight seven-seven returning to station!” Bai yanked his jet around to the left as Wu followed a mile away.
“Flight seven-seven, new threat, one-three-zero! Intercept and destroy!”
Bai was halfway through his turn. What? Southeast, too? And from the west? Regardless of what was true, Bai and Wu needed help, and Bai barked at the controller to get more fighters airborne. After almost 270 degrees, he pointed his nose 130, but the blinding sun on the horizon and gray sea below made for poor visibility. This is a goose chase! Bai fumed, condemning the controllers who had fallen for American electronic trickery.
“I can see nothing on radar. And nothing visually!” Bai growled, impatient at the incompetence coming from the other end of the transmission.
“Americans are south! Flight seven-seven, look south. Low altitude!”
Bai scanned the surface: nothing but graceful cays and surf brushing over low reefs and atolls. He held his eyes on one patch of water, and then moved to another, then another. No movement. Chasing the cowardly Americans is no better than playing blindman’s bluff!
“Vectors to the enemy!” Bai shouted at the hapless controller who had never experienced anything like this.
When he did not receive an answer, Bai Quon wanted to explode. Companion J-11s were now airborne out of Blood Moon and racing west to the threat. No one had an accurate raid count in the three groups, if there even was a third, and American feints and decoys had made the Chinese jump too many times. But the People’s ship had fired at something, and Bai wanted to fire at something, too.
The Americans to the northeast were no longer hot, but, unknown to Bai and the controllers on Blood Moon, the Pawns had launched AARGMs toward the Luyang that, using integrated techniques, the E-2 had guided to the PLA(N) destroyer. No one was focused on the NSM until it showed up on the horizon.
The excited bridge team swung their DDG left to unmask all their defenses, but it was too much for the overloaded fire control technicians. The captain gritted his teeth through the terrifying chain saw roar of the rotating antiaircraft guns. He watched the missile pitch up, then reverse down before he threw himself behind the bulkhead in a human instinct to survive.
The missile knifed through the ship’s hull plates and exploded in a blast that blew through the beam of the ship and broke the keel amidships, killing dozens and knocking out power. Inertia and residual power from the twin screws twisted the hull, and the forward section took a heavy right list as sailors scrambled on deck and released life rafts into the water. The gallant captain, injured from the blast, made no effort to escape the bridge, and in minutes the forward section rolled over and sank bow first. The stern section floated, and sailors in the water lashed their rafts to it as they awaited rescue.