At the bottom, she stopped and adjusted the folder jammed inside her cammie shirt. The words “Top Secret” were facing forward. She pulled it out and turned it around to hide them, then buttoned her blouse.
Stepping away from the mobile offices, Norton walked rapidly aft, trading barbs with the group of merchant marines sitting on crates, sharing cigarettes in an unauthorized smoking area. She would have enjoyed staying and bantering with the grizzled men of the sea, but right now she had more important things to do. Grizzled men of the sea cut to the chase; no mincing of words or politically correct shit. With banter, humor, and an overabundance of flirting remarks, they knew how to make a woman feel like a woman. She enjoyed it occasionally, but would never want to live it on a continuous basis.
When she emerged on the main deck of the Antares, Petty Officer Taleb waited.
“Well?” he asked.
She nodded without replying and walked away.
“Damn! Too easy,” Taleb said, snapping his fingers as he fell in alongside her.
NINE
“Black Leader, this is Weasel; we are breaking off track at this time, heading east.”
“Weasel, be advised we can only follow you to the territorial limits of Taiwan and then must break off. His Majesty’s Government restricts us to international waters at this time.” “Roger, Commander; we understand and do appreciate your escort.”
“Weasel, Raptor Leader here; we are on our way. Fully armed and refueled.”
“Roger all. Black Leader, we are about two hundred miles from the coast. Estimate crossing the twelve-mile coastal line in forty minutes. Can you stay with us until then?”
“Of course, Weasel. The Royal Navy has never left an ally in its hundreds of years of tradition… unless, of course, they were French.”
Franklin looked at his heads-up display. They were one hundred miles from where the four British F-35 fighters escorted the American Rivet Joint reconnaissance aircraft. The torpedo attack on Sea Base had changed everything out here. It meant the Chinese were serious this time and not just pounding their chests.
“Raptor 10, Raptor Leader,” Johnson broadcast on their private channel.
Franklin rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Check your weapons systems.”
He reached over and touched an icon. The diagnostics cycled quickly.
“Captain Franklin, did you read me?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am checking system at this time.”
Motion caught his eye, drawing him to the heads-up display. He blinked. For a fraction of a second he thought he counted a fifth aircraft off to the west, nearer the RC-135 formation. Then, the blimp disappeared. Things such as that occurred sometimes when aircraft were maneuvering. A radar return takes a few hits, and the next thing you know the sky is filled with aircraft as radar smears dot the screen. But the F-22A technology was supposed to compensate for that phenomenon.
“Did you see that?” Major Johnson broadcast on their personal frequency.
“See what?”
“I thought I saw an unidentified aircraft near the Rivet Joint and the British. Didn’t you?”
Franklin bit his lip for a second before replying. “Yeah, I saw something on my heads-up. Don’t you think it could be a radar smear or some electromagnetic thing caused by them turning?”
A few seconds passed. “You could be right.”
“They should have seen it too.”
“They could have, but they’re in a right-hand turn toward Taiwan, so their radars aren’t pointed in that direction.”
“I thought the Rivet Joint radar was omnidirectional; could see 360 degrees regardless of its heading.” Franklin lifted his fingers off the throttle and stretched them. If Johnson hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t be worried right now. What if those were stealth bogies…. He shook his head. He hated what-ifs.
He looked at the heads-up radar display again. It amazed him how technology could take a radar picture or pictures of his instrument readings and project them onto his windshield below his line of vision. It took only a second or two to read them, and the whole time his eyes never left the front of the aircraft.
Another blimp popped up farther to the right of the first one. “Did you see that?” they both asked simultaneously, their broadcasts overriding each other. The shrill of the comms hurt Franklin’s ears.
“I said, did you see that one?” Johnson asked again.
“Yes, I did,” Franklin replied, reaching up and rubbing his right ear. “That one was farther south than the other one.”
“If that second one is heading east, it is going to get inside the turning pattern of the Rivet Joint. It’s going to cut the formation off before they get near Taiwan.”
Before Franklin could answer, Johnson hit the common tactical frequency. “Weasel, Black Leader; this is Raptor Leader. We have two unidentified bogies nearing your position. One is directly west on your six, Black Leader. The other is south and heading east.”
The original two blimps popped up again along with two others. The two new ones were near the originals.
“I have new data. I show minimum of two formations of two aircraft bracketing your location. Recommend you turn north. We are increasing speed and expect to be in your position in seventeen minutes.”
“Raptor Leader, Weasel; be advised we show no bogies. I am looking at your radar information being downloaded via data link. I don’t show—”
“Listen, Weasel, the data link won’t send sporadic or unconfirmed contacts. We’re seeing them here.”
“Maybe they are radar smears.”
Franklin’s lower lip pushed into his upper and he shook his head. That’s what he’d thought until Major Johnson questioned it. Maybe he and the Rivet Joint were right. Maybe the major was grandstanding. He rolled his eyes. God! He hoped not; he’d never hear the end of it.
“Weasel, you could be right. But what if you’re not and those so-called smears turn into Chinese J-12s? What you going to do then? What happened to them when they disappeared?”
“We decided they went home. Their fuel should have been getting low.”
“Do you know how much fuel they burn?”
Franklin’s eyes lifted. Be careful, Weasel, you’re pissing her off.
A couple of seconds passed. “No, we don’t have exact figures; it is just our analysis that the J-12s went home because they were getting low on fuel.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Johnson answered, irritation showing in her voice.
“Weasel, this is Black Leader. I recommend we err on the side of caution and turn left — head north. If the radar returns are smears, then you have not lost much time. If they are real, then it would be nice to outnumber them.”
Nearly a minute passed before the RC-135 Mission Commander spoke. “Roger, fighter formations; Weasel is turning left onto course zero-one-zero, maintaining angels thirty.” “Watch for those blimps again, Blackman. If they’re the Chinese J-12 stealth fighter and are trying to intercept the reconnaissance bird, then they’ll have to turn. When they turn, they’ll be standing on their wings, which will decrease their stealth capability for a few seconds. Our radars should get them—”
Before Johnson finished talking, across Franklin’s heads-up display eight radar returns emerged. Four formations of two aircraft each. They had been encircling the RC-135 and British fighters from the rear and from the south. The turn north had pulled the American and British aircraft out of the box being closed around them, but now the Chinese J-12 stealth fighters were in pursuit.