“Broncos from Sniper lead. Do you have the trawler?”
“Affirm, on our nose for ten.”
“Roger, that trawler is hostile. Sniper one-two’s datum is to the west of it about two miles. You are cleared to engage the trawler, and we suspect it has an energy weapon. Keep it off Sniper one-two.”
“Flip, Olive. I can roll in from here—”
“Negative, let’s RTB. Bronco lead, you’ve got the on-scene command and Lookout is coordinating assets.”
“Roger, sir. Lethal force?”
Wilson knew this was his last chance to be right. The Super Hornets could all hold away from it, but the boat was a threat to Mullet, and to the helo that Lookout was vectoring to him. Bronco lead also knew he was talking to the Air Wing Commander, who had just taken responsibility.
“A-firm, Bronco. You are cleared hot on the trawler approaching the datum. Snipers, join up, switches safe. Lookout, Snipers RTB.”
“Roger, Snipers, your initial vector is east.”
Wilson slowed so Olive and Size could join. Olive brought them in on Wilson’s right wing, and, via hand signals, they exchanged fuel states. Size was lowest state, and, with the ship some 200 miles away, they’d need fuel once they got there or come into the break for a low-state trap.
Wilson put Olive into cruise formation and signaled for an acceleration and climb. He could tell by her body language she was upset.
He listened on the radio as the Broncos hit the trawler, stopping it with two bombs, and, fifteen minutes later, heard a helo from one of the Solomon Islands escorts arrive on scene. Lookout vectored Wilson again, and he led his two wingmen on the return-to-force profile. After ten more minutes, he saw a big wake in the distance and slewed his FLIR on it: Hancock. Wilson dropped his tailhook, and his two wingmen matched him.
In a fuel-conserving descent, he entered low holding. Scanning for jets over the ship, he saw none. Drawing closer, he noted the angle was clear and soon detected the lens was on, enough evidence for him that the ship was expecting them.
Wilson shuffled the formation so Size could be number two and lined up aft of the ship. A Rhino tanker appeared overhead — welcome insurance — and, at the bow, Wilson kissed them off and broke left into a clear landing pattern.
Wilson trapped aboard and rolled to the end of the angle. He got out of the landing area fast and was relieved to see Size trap behind him. Wilson was taxied up the bow and heard Olive trap. Good, all safe on deck.
His thoughts went back to Mullet and the trawler. How did it end?
He shut down and jumped out, wanting to get to flag plot in a hurry. He waved at Size who was deplaning next to him and was surprised to see Olive already out of her jet and waiting for him to approach. Despite their concern about Mullet, Olive had her first air-to-air kill. Wilson extended his hand as he approached.
“Congratulations, Olive! Well done! Let’s go below and check on Mullet.”
She shook his hand but said nothing, her unsmiling lips visible under her visor. She then leaned in and spoke.
“I could have nailed that bitch, CAG!” She stood before him, furious.
Wilson was taken aback, never having witnessed such emotion from Olive.
CHAPTER 47
Bai Quon swallowed a bite of fish and pointed to the east. “The Americans massacred The People’s fighters from Guangzhou who encountered them in the far seas — even a defenseless Y-8, all aboard lost. Then they strafed one of our fellows as he floated helplessly in his chute. They are savage killers who do not have a soul.”
Bai continued. “Our mates were not in proper fighting spirit! Holding on to a fat Y-8 thinking that electronic hocus-pocus will save them. More like children holding on to their mother’s hem.”
The other J-11 pilots seated at the cafeteria table said nothing and waited for the cocky bastard to continue. He did not disappoint.
“The two-seat Su-30s are not prepared for close combat; they are rearguard missile and bomb trucks. Outpost squadrons like ours are frontline and prepared to fight. They should send us next time!”
“Bai, our countrymen were 2,000 kilometers from Guangzhou! Far from ground control, at the edge of their range… no missile umbrella.”
“You cower like old women,” Bai shot back. “With the People’s tankers we should be able to fly to Hawaii and kill them there. Send up their Raptors, their Hornets! They are overrated. Their F-16s can’t touch us, and their Eagles depend on intercept control.” The others sat dumbfounded at Bai’s reckless bravado, eyeing him with contempt.
“Bai Quon, you are the biggest ass on this wretched sand bar!” a veteran Shao Xiao smiled back at him. “Take a squadron of J-11s, even our heroical 904 squadron to Hawaii, shoot down the American Air Force, and then what? Drink Mai Tais on Waikiki Beach with Baywatch girls? What’s next? Rule the world? You are drunk.” The others laughed at the sarcasm.
Bai flared, on edge and ready to avenge this humiliation.
“We sit as the Americans encircle us and you joke? If High Command would allow us, we could catch their tankers and AWACS unawares while they are still at range. Without tankers, only a limited number of their bombers could threaten us, and we would make short work.”
The smiling lieutenant commander shook his head at Bai as the others give imperceptible and contemptuous nods. “Your fighting spirit is commendable, Bai Quon, but how do you propose to find the American formations, even their nuclear carriers, on the vast far seas?”
“By flying routine patrols, Comrade Lieutenant Commander—”
The skeptical Shao Xiao interrupted him. “Isn’t that what the Y-8 and People’s fighters were doing?” Bai stood his ground.
“They were not prepared for an engagement with the Americans! We bring enough fighters to do the job, and, when we find them, we engage. If we can go around their fighter sweep and down a big-wing support aircraft, we do. Then we finish off their fighters with longer range missiles and sound visual tactics. We attrite them, and they withdraw. Who do the Americans fight anyway? Clueless third-rate air forces. We are much more than they bargained for, they are not ready for us, and if we do not meet them in the far seas they will surround us and break our supply lines as they did to the Japanese dogs in the last century. This is not hard to understand.” When Bai did not get the nods of approval he sought, his breathing revealed he was about to lose it, which only emboldened his mates, one of whom imitated an American reaction.
“Yes, the People’s pilots are no match for us Yankees… but here comes Bai Quon in his J-11! I fear I breathe my last!”
Amid hoots of laughter, Bai stormed off, failing, as he often did, to keep his cool. One of the pilots, watching in sardonic satisfaction, said, “As of right now, it is the wingmen of Bai Quon who breathe their last.”
Liu Qi, sitting with her girlfriends on the other side of the cafeteria, saw a scowling Bai move through the tables at a quick pace. She noted his fellows laughing at him as he left and knew this could get ugly. She excused herself and tried to intercept him as he made his way to the door in long strides, people giving way as he did. One of her girlfriends shrugged and said to the others, “A mother must comfort a crying baby.” The young women giggled their agreement.