The order came from a nervous ground controller who obviously had brass standing behind him. “I am directed to tell you to disengage two flights of fighters from the first wave and prosecute the treasonous Chinese vessel Marshall P’eng located just to the north of the main battle group. You will use all means at your disposal to ensure that the frigate is destroyed.”
All means — the pilot knew what that meant. If necessary, he was required to make a suicidal dive on her, if he could not reach her with his antisurface missiles.
“Acknowledged,” he said, and clicked over to the short range channel with his wingman. “You are ready?”
“Of course.”
The two aircraft turned in unison, breaking apart slightly for loose formation as they headed for the Taiwanese frigate.
The pilot studied the display, and saw that the rest of their wing was now heavily engaged in a fur ball to the south. It was ranging over a wide area of ocean, but drifting gradually to the east, bringing it to the edge of the area that the cruiser was designated to handle with its missiles. It was always a risk, making sure you’re outside the missile engagement sound. Even though the sensitive Aegis missile system would not attack target radiating friendly IFF, there was not a single pilot he’d ever talked to who was willing to bet his life on it.
“We’re way out of it,” his wingman groused. “Just burning fuel and wasting time when we could be—”
“Knock it off,” the lead pilot ordered. “We got our orders, we follow them. You understand?”
“Yeah, I got it. But they’re not coming up here — that would be crazy. Even the Chinese aren’t stupid enough to take on the Aegis cruiser.”
Something shifted on the pilot’s HUD and adrenaline rushed into his system. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Yeah. About time.”
As he watched, two Chinese fighters broke off from the pack, and headed directly for them. “Go high,” the pilot ordered. “And make sure the E-2 has a handle on what’s going on.” He stroked his stick, his fingers playing over the weapon selection toggle. “You got it yet, RIO?”
“Got it, sir,” the RIO answered.
“Your dot.”
The first missile dropped off the Tomcat’s wing, and shot unerringly for the lead of the two Chinese fighters.
In short succession, lead and his wing fired off another three missiles. If that didn’t do it, they were prepared to get serious.
“You see?” Goforth shouted, almost jumping up and down to get Chang Tso-Lin’s attention. “They’re taking on the Chinese fighters — not you! They turned as soon as the fighters were inbound!” He stepped two respectful paces back, kept his eyes lowered, trying desperately to sound like a respectful officer conscious of the power of his captain. “Captain, I’m simply asking permission to contact my admiral. He has inadvertently created a misunderstanding that I know he would be most sorrowful about. He said, watch what we do, not what we say.” He pointed to the screen. “That’s who we are, sir. And that’s how we value our alliance with your nation.”
“Break right! break right!” the lead howled, throwing his own aircraft to the left in a nose-down attitude. His altimeter wound down as he peeled off altitude.
The missile zoomed between them, traveling too fast to make a turn and come back on them. When it tried to search the area for another target, it confronted a snowstorm of chaff and decoys in the air, including two infrared flares. It paused, unable to find the sweet hot target it had been following before, then picked the most probable location and detonated. Its bundle of expanding rods ripped through the air, shredding the chaff into even smaller pieces and further confusing the second missile coming.
“Get by the chaff, get by the chaff!” the lead shouted, doing just that as he snapped the aircraft back up into a hard drive, kicking in the afterburners. The afterburners were a risk, providing an enticingly clear target should the Americans fire the heat seeker, but it was a risk he had to take. It was more dangerous to remain alone in the air without the sheltering fog of chaff.
His wingman, however, was not so lucky. As the second missile turned, catching a glimpse of them with its seeker head, he panicked. He turned away from it and ran, kicking in full afterburners, making it an even more attractive target. The missile had no doubt about what it should do. It homed in unerringly, and, moving at twice the maximum speed of the aircraft, caught it within seconds. The result was a blinding fireball of orange, red, and metal sparking off into the air.
The lead felt a rush of pain, as his wingman was an old friend, but there was no time for sentiment, not if he was going to get out of this alive. He pumped out more chaff, making a trail back to where the fireball was, hoping that would distract the subsequent missile. He jockeyed to stay behind it as long as it was burning, and popped up more chaff and flares to create an additional distraction. On his heads-up display, he saw two more missiles inbound.
All measures — they said all measures. He screwed up his courage, shot up above the sheltering cloud of chaff, and bore directly down on the missiles.
“What’s that crazy bastard doing?” the RIO asked. “He’s heading right for us. Doesn’t he know he’s outnumbered?”
“He couldn’t miss his wing going down,” the pilot answered. “He’s a gutsy bastard, I’ll give him that.”
As they watched, the Chinese fighter headed directly for the two missiles. Then the pilot felt a creeping sensation of uneasiness. “Head-to-head — the closure rate of Mach 5. If he—”
Just then, his HUD anticipated his next words. The Chinese pilot let the missiles get so close he could almost touch them, then jerked violently upward, then down, porpoising around them. The missiles tried to make the turn, but the first one nicked the second, and both exploded.
“Okay, we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the pilot said. He punched in the afterburners, and headed for the MiG.
The wingman circled around, coming in at an angle, and intended to trap the Chinese fighter and take him out with guns. But before he could get in position, the Chinese fighter took a shot at him, and a missile found its mark.
The wingman saw the missile inbound and did his best to avoid it. But in the last seconds, he could see that it was in vain. Just before the missile reached them, his hand closed on the ejection seat, and he and the RIO left the aircraft to the mercy of the missile.
TWENTY-THREE
Without a word, Captain Chang reached up and turned the speaker to tactical back on as well as the circuit he shared with Ho on board the carrier. Combat was immediately flooded with a babble of American voices, which sounded particularly like music to Goforth’s ears.
But one voice booming out over both circuits cut through everything else. Captain Chang recognized it as that of Coyote.
“Marshall P’eng, Marshall P’eng, this is the United States. Over.” The call up was repeated three times, then the circuit cleared for the battle group to take care of other business.