Blue lines from the four nearest Taiwanese Falcons veered toward the Chinese jets, and four more lines came to life over runways, signaling the launch of ready alert aircraft. As minutes passed and the Taiwanese air defense shield faced the inbound invaders, Renard considered the attack impotent. He smelled a ruse.
He blinked, and as if queued by his suspicion, the scenario changed. The red lines reversed direction and new red triangles appeared from the southeast.
Recognizing the southern aircraft as decoys, Renard looked to a lone blue semicircle representing a secondhand American Kidd-class destroyer, defending its new Taiwanese owners as the Ma Kong. Stranded outside the minefield, the Ma Kong lent its arsenal of anti-air missiles to the island’s weak eastern air defense net.
Grasping the intent of the encroaching hostile aircraft, Renard’s tail bristled. Though miles upwind, his predatory instinct sniffed the movements of the hunt. He lifted his snout and barked a warning.
“I suspect their target,” he said.
Mandarin murmurs fell, and the admiral looked up.
“Speak, Renard,” he said.
“The Ma Kong.”
The air officer shrugged, cocked his head, and nodded, providing tepid support to Renard’s hypothesis.
“I acknowledge the possibility,” the admiral said. “I am vectoring the Falcon aircraft to intercept the incoming attack, but there are at least eight intruders. If the target is indeed the Ma Kong, it will face a formidable force.”
Renard calculated the munitions hail storm of eight attack jets against the twin dual-rail launchers and limited fire control radar systems of the Ma Kong. The numbers weighed upon him.
He teased himself with the fantasy that Taiwan owned an Aegis destroyer with ripple-launch ability from vertical missile cells and impregnable electronic tracking systems. Against an Aegis, the Chinese intruders would be on a suicide mission, but as reality reentered his mind, he lamented that the inbound aircraft would overrun the Ma Kong.
Officers, several picking crust from their tired eyes, flocked into the control center. Admiral Ye appeared beside the watch officer, who pointed at the chart while updating his leader.
While he spoke, two red triangles broke off from the Chinese squadron to engage the Taiwanese Falcons.
“Yes, of course!” Renard said. “Damn!”
As the alarms in the center subsided in response to being silenced, Admiral Ye shot the Frenchman a cold stare.
“Mister Renard, do you have insights?”
“They’ve sent two air-to-air fighters to engage your Falcons,” Renard said. “That they only sent two tells me the rest of the aircraft intend to attack surface targets. Their two fighters are standoffs against your Falcons, opening the way for the other aircraft, probably bombers, to attack.”
“Attack the Ma Kong?” Ye asked.
“As a first target only,” Renard said. “They will attack the Ma Kong and then continue to the patrol convoy.”
“The patrol convoy is their primary target?” Ye asked.
“Precisely,” Renard said.
Ye barked in Mandarin, and a commander stationed at a console turned and announced his obeying of the order. The commander exchanged words with a distant officer via a headset and updated Ye.
“I’ve alerted the patrol craft,” Ye said.
A hush overtook the circle of officers, followed by rapid fire exchanges as the red triangles split and multiplied like cells under a microscope. The Chinese raiders had doubled as the F-16 Falcons discriminated the radar signatures of the close-flying aircraft.
Renard realized he had expended his value in the air engagement, and his clients would have to prove the merit of their defense without his support.
He crept away from the navigation chart and escaped to the momentary refuge of his console to hail the Hai Ming.
Sliding his headset over his hair, he saw the crisp features of a young Taiwanese submarine officer.
“Lieutenant Pao, officer of the deck,” he said.
“Good morning, lieutenant,” Renard said. “How is the ship’s status?”
“No hostile submarines noted. No regain of the Song.”
“That is good,” Renard said. “Remain alert, though. They will return. How are the ship’s systems?”
“All systems normal. The battery is fully charged, and there are four drones deployed.”
“Four?” Renard asked. “Is that possible?”
“For the standard operator, no, sir. But Lieutenant Commander Jin is exceptional. He deployed the two additional drones before retiring last night.”
“Very well,” Renard said. “I will trust him.”
Renard let the thoughts of drones pass and considered the direct implications of the air attack on the Hai Ming submarine. There were none, but an indirect possibility of a coordinated air and undersea attack compelled him to roust the crew.
“Listen, lieutenant,” he said. “There is a major air attack taking place to the north. I see no direct threat to the ship, but you must alert the crew and man battle stations.”
The young officer raised his eyebrows and acknowledged the order. Renard fumbled for his cigarettes, teased himself with their scent under his nose, and admired his will power in returning them to his pocket.
Henri appeared in his camera’s view, fatigue and concern carving shadowed recesses into his face.
“An attack already, Pierre?”
“Yes, my friend,” Renard said. “For your sake, I trust there is nothing to fear, but you must be alert.”
“Of course, Pierre.”
“If you identify a hostile submarine within seven nautical miles, contact me,” Renard said. “If you suspect one within five miles, shoot it.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m shutting down communications until this air attack is over. Let us not risk that an attacking jet gets a lucky sniff of radio traffic giving a clue to your location.”
“I see,” Henri said. “I know what to do.”
Renard terminated the communications and noticed the prior evening’s translator standing beside him.
“I came when the alarms sounded in the quarters.”
“Good,” Renard said. “Can you verify that the fishing vessel has ceased transmitting? It must remain in emissions control until I say otherwise.”
The translator spoke with the navy commander seated at the console beside Renard. The officer nodded and verified the fishing ship’s status.
Renard slid the headset to the keyboard and swiveled his chair to examine the battle. But instead of taking in the chart’s tactical data, he looked up to a verbal exchange. Admiral Ye surprised him with the stern tone he directed towards one of his junior admirals.
Ye’s junior flag officer appeared broken to the verge of tears, and the somber faces surrounding the room’s solitary and one-way conversation reminded Renard of a dirge.
Ye finished his monologue and extended his arm toward the exit. The gesture struck Renard as a compassionate but irrefutable order as the junior admiral marched away.
Renard awaited a brief pause in the battle action to stalk Ye.
“May I be of service?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ye said. “We are preparing to defend the second target of the attack, which appears to be the patrol craft at Suao, as you anticipated. I commend your foresight in arming them with Stinger air defense missiles. I question the efficacy of the missiles, even the updated variants you insisted upon, but you’ve at least given them hope of fighting back. You’ve done all you can.”