At 300 miles, the B-1s opened their bomb bays, and, a minute later, each dropped a LRASM antiship missile. Like the air-launched decoys, the jet engines in each missile started, and the 2,500 pound weapons turned to their assigned headings.
PLA(AF) early warning aircraft saw the MALD tracks coming in from the northeast and detected ELINT hits east of Luzon. A Type 055 Renhai cruiser, a larger cousin of the Luyang III, was one of the ships targeted by the Americans. Chinese sensors picked up the formation of MALD inside 200 miles as the LRASM cruise missiles continued their shallow descent to the surface.
Fifteen minutes later, the Renhai picked up jamming from the MALD formation. Unaware these were decoys, the sensor operators worked to maintain the tracks. Two minutes later, the ship, now at battle stations and maneuvering hard at full speed, fired four H-9 missiles from two VLS cells. The fiery missile plumes illuminated the ship as they burst from their cells and climbed before turning northeast and flattening their trajectories to intercept.
Two minutes afterwards, the captain was handed urgent intelligence information via long-range radio. Three B-1 bombers had taken off from Guam from an American unit that had antiship cruise missile capability. He passed this vital information to his combat team who plotted a bearing and distance to Guam and calculated backwards to the reported launch time. The Tactical Officer realized the importance of this information and commanded his operators to look east for a pop-up threat. The radar displays were empty. That a Chinese reconnaissance aircraft had detected ELINT hits along the same bearing line was not communicated to him, or his ship.
As they concentrated on the MALD formation to the northeast, and determined that at least one was downed in the initial missile salvo, a terrified watchstander cried out that high-speed missiles were inbound from 110 degrees… with the range only 15 kilometers! The close-in weapons system was placed on auto, and frantic orders were barked to the bridge to place it in an optimum firing position. The cruiser heeled to port, and each bridge watchstander instinctively looked for a moving light against the eastern darkness.
Brace for impact!
Seconds after the starboard air defense cannon unleashed a tongue of flame and lead at the cruise missile, the LRASM flew into the ship at transonic speed. The detonation ripped a swath through the ship from the main deck down to the waterline. The cruiser rolled hard left, and all those not strapped in were lifted into the overheads and then slammed into bulkheads and furniture.
The forward engine room was turned into a molten hell, and electrical power was cut the length of the ship. With the ship in a high-speed turn, and now structurally weak at the center, the keel soon gave way. The forward half broke off at the uptakes as dazed watchstanders struggled to their feet and terrified sailors below decks screamed for deliverance. Amid rushing water and human fear, another LRASM slammed into the hulk just below the gun mount.
When the shafts locked up, the aft section coasted to a stop just as the sharp bow of the forward section pointed toward the stars and sank into the dark water. The aft section soon followed, and twenty-four dazed and wounded sailors jumped clear before it did. The forward half gave up only three survivors.
A similar scenario repeated itself with the Luyang III six miles south. The guided missile destroyer was able to down the first cruise missile, but the second one hit abeam the helo hangar and almost tore off the stern. Dead in the water, the crew made ready to abandon and broke the canister rafts free before the trailing LRASM caught the DDG in the bow. Dozens of sailors were thrown into the water — they were the lucky ones. The destroyer rested on its side, both ends open to the sea. With the sonar dome hanging only by shards of twisted steel, the mangled bow lifted itself clear before falling back into an apron of gurgling water accompanied by shouts of human terror.
Admiral Qin received the report from the Southern Sea task force commander. Two late-model combatants sunk—within minutes of one another — with hundreds dead and wounded. Though each ship was priceless, Qin knew he could spare them. He had others, and to take more of them out, the Americans would have to move closer. A decoy element… yes, his ships should have detected it as such. Deception. Sun Tzu emphasized it in his writings. No doubt, the Americans had read the master and learned this lesson well.
For Qin, the whole PLA(N) was a decoy, and he had to employ all his forces in concert to bag big game. He must be patient. First, he had to inform Beijing. Dong and his fawning acolytes probably already knew, but he’d call. When his aide walked up to him, he snapped out of his daydream.
“Comrade Admiral, Southern Command has detected another American thrust.”
“Where?” Qin growled, rising to his feet to return to the operations center.
“Over the Philippine Islands, sir, toward our outposts.”
Through her night vision goggles, Olive could make out the dark South China Sea beyond the western shore of Palawan Island.
She was leading a formation of Rhinos and Growlers to probe the defenses of the Spratly outposts. Stingray Reef was the closest, still hundreds of miles away, but the Chinese UCAV constellation known as Heaven’s Shield could reach into Palawan with air-to-air heat-seekers. Miles behind Olive were two JSFs from Solomon Islands. They — along with the Growlers in her formation and an ES-3 someplace over the Celebes Sea — were feeding Olive’s formation, call sign Jab, an outstanding link picture.
Minutes ahead were a dozen MALDs dropped by three Super Hornets from the Broncos. After release of the high-end decoys, which the aviators referred to as candygram, the Broncos had sliced down to return to Hancock while the Jabs followed the MALDs in toward the SCS. At 30,000 feet, they would be in Stingray’s S-400 range soon.
Olive and the Jabs cruised in a strike formation as they pushed west over the Philippine archipelago, dodging anvil-topped thunderstorms that flashed with constant lightning. They glided over the islands, which from altitude resembled green lily pads on a dark pond. Their radars were off; this strike was as much electronic intel collection for the Americans as it was to stimulate the PRC early warning defenses.
Having been strapped into the ejection seat for hours, Olive twisted her torso and rolled her shoulders to work the kinks out of her joints, craning her neck left and right. Her three wingmen were spread out as they maintained position on Olive’s FA-18E. The plan was to probe, stimulate, and bug out east from whence they came, after the UCAVs and maybe even the S-400 at Stingray Reef expended max-range shots at them. The missiles from the UCAVs were of the most concern. Hovering unseen on station at altitudes only rocket planes could attain, any PL-9s shot at them would arrive without warning: no radar warning and no plume. Olive scanned the horizon and the sky above her canopy bow to detect any rapid movement of light that could be a missile. Such eyes-out scanning helped, but all depended on the linked tracks and any real-time info the EW aircraft could provide. Olive preferred someone to scream her name and direct her if she and the Jabs were in extremis. Olive, break left! Now!