“We’re good,” a somber Weed answered.
“You know what happened?” Wilson asked.
“Yeah, Lookout told us. They were all together…”
Wilson nodded. “We’ll get your account. You have your tapes?”
When Weed didn’t answer right away, Wilson knew. Oh, shit.
“Yes,” Weed murmured, “but, neither one of us had them on before our shots.”
Wilson nodded. “Okay, we’ll glean what we can. No worries.”
He led them to Flag Plot and was not surprised to see The Big Unit waiting for them.
His aide had glasses of water for each pilot.
“Weed, we’re under the gun here. What happened?” Johnson asked.
“Admiral, we were doing armed recon down the Northern Marianas chain. We found three fishermen in the open between Farallon and Maug and reported them to Lookout. Then we checked out Maug Island, and I saw two boats anchored alongside each other in the bay. Lookout asked me to get a better look, so I got down to about 2,000 feet, and suddenly, I saw a flash from the southern island shoreline where another boat was anchored. Killer calls out a missile, and after I broke into it, it went stupid.”
“Do you know what it was?” Johnson asked.
“It was hand-held, sir, don’t know what kind, but probably not too modern. Another guy on the same boat shot me, and with the airspeed I had, I broke and jinked away, throwing out expendables. That one guided on a flare.”
Johnson then turned to Killer. “Anything to add, lieutenant?”
“No, sir. After DCAG got out of there I was able to run in and shoot it with my IR Mav. Never took my eyes off it, and it was the only other boat in the bay.”
“Show me.”
On a chart of Maug Island, Killer pointed to where the boat was and the direction from which he had attacked.
Both aviators showed the approximate position of the other two boats anchored further off the shore. Wilson and the admiral studied the chart and formed a mental picture. Johnson had to get the picture right and contact McGill in minutes.
“Okay, you hit the guy that shot DCAG. Do you have video?”
Killer swallowed. “Only of my shot, sir. Nothing leading up to it.”
The room was silent for a moment as it sank in. The Big Unit then turned to Weed.
“What happened to the two other boats?”
“Sir… a boat shot us and two boats were next to it. After Killer hit it, one of the other two got underway fast, and I rolled in on it with my LGB. That was positive ID for me.”
“Did it shoot you or your wingman?”
“No, sir,” a grim-faced Weed answered.
“The other boat… I guess the last boat… did it shoot or act in a hostile manner?”
“No, sir.” Weed knew better than to make excuses.
“You thought it was hostile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you shoot it with your Maverick first? To stand off, away from the threat?”
Weed pursed his lips. “I wanted the hitting power of a 500-pounder to put it out of action. I had plenty of knots, and Killer covered me, as I did for him.”
Johnson turned back to the lieutenant, his face moist with perspiration.
“Why did you drop your bomb?”
“Because DCAG did, sir, to take out the other guy. The three of them were in close proximity. After DCAG came off, he covered me and I came in about thirty, forty seconds after he did.”
Johnson nodded and turned back to Weed. “Do you have your tape?”
A dejected Weed looked at his boots. “Yes, sir, but same thing. We didn’t have them on during the action. It will have my hit, and I haven’t seen them yet,” he said as he raised his eyes to the admiral, owning it.
Weed was beyond humiliated. Any one of his transgressions was bad enough — hitting a target without a positive ID, forgetting to turn on his videotape, the judgment error of leading with a bomb instead of a missile — but especially egregious was killing innocents. And now he had to admit all this in front of the admiral, his staff, his friend Wilson, and the petrified lieutenant.
Johnson nodded his understanding. “Okay, let’s see what you guys have.”
They moved to the operations space and found a tape machine. They looked at Weed’s first, and it showed a lone fishing boat moving slow on the water before Weed’s bomb destroyed it. Freezing frames, they tried to discern a flag from the mast but could not. Killer’s Maverick tape showed Weed’s burning target at the picture edge before the missile came off on the other boat. When Killer pulled up, the picture was lost.
Across the table, Johnson fought to remain calm. This was bad; his Deputy CAG rolled in on innocent fishing boats in a deliberate attack with only recordings of the hits. Clark is going to go through the overhead… after McGill goes through the overhead.
“You thought they were Chinese?” he pressed.
“There was no doubt in my mind, sir, given the proximity. Given what these boats have done to us already, I wasn’t going to check them further.”
Johnson nodded. “Okay, guys, thanks, you can go debrief. CAG you stay. Everyone else is dismissed.”
With bowed heads, the shaken aviators shuffled out into the passageway as the staff left via an interior door. Alone with Wilson, Johnson’s face betrayed his concern.
“Thoughts?”
Wilson frowned. “Sir, there’s no way to paper this over. We did it; we admit it. However, this is wartime. Maybe it’s World War III, and we don’t know it yet. Shit like this happens, and they took out the first boat per ROE. We’ve already lost a pilot to an ‘innocent’ fishing boat with a directed energy weapon, and who’s to say you or I wouldn’t have done as they did after getting shot at. I need Weed and that JO in this fight.”
“Agreed on the JO, put him on the next launch, but the Deputy Wing Commander was the flight lead and responsible. I love Weed, but what do I tell Admiral McGill in four minutes?”
“Sir, tell him this is the fog of war. We are fighting out here, and we are taking and returning fire from everything under, on, and above the surface. Visual ID of every fishing boat is going to get our people killed.”
“That’s what I’d say, too, but I won’t. How can I ensure the heavies we won’t do this again?”
“Admiral, I’m going to get on closed-circuit TV in fifteen minutes and address the ready rooms: Positive ID is vital; unless it is a PLA(N) vessel wait before you attack. Give them some stand-off and report, and then wait for positive clearance before attacking a merchant or fisherman. Then I’m going to visit the ready rooms and ensure every CO is on board. I own this, sir.”
Johnson nodded, resigned to the blast he would receive from McGill via radio relay. Wilson was right though; his guys were fighting a war and mistakes happen in war.
McGill would give Johnson the wire brush and tell Clark and the ambassador that he did. McGill was a warrior who understood, as was Cactus Clark.
That the Chinese had made mistakes was little solace; the Americans had to be perfect.
Part III
He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.
CHAPTER 43
With the Americans back on their heels, Qin drew more blood to bait them into premature action. Bai Quon was one of his instruments.
Bound for Jebel Ali, the 930-foot Liberian-flagged containership MV OSL Courage was found far from normal sea lanes, fleeing south along the Palawan passage. Located west of Scarborough Shoal when the conflict erupted, it had altered course to avoid the waters off Vietnam and, through skillful seamanship, had maneuvered through the many vessels that clogged the long and narrow passage. It was now coming out of the passage and into open seas at the bottom of the Spratly group. Before it could escape to Singapore or duck into Brunei, Qin wanted it to serve him by giving his pilots big-ship target practice and by luring the Americans into his Southern Seas before they were ready.