The Washington began launching more aircraft as the Hawkeye picked up the incoming flight. There was movement on the deck as some of those who had come on the Viking came onto the deck.
The Viking was slowing down and the bow doors slowly came open. The modified Springfield slipped out. But instead of heading toward Task Force 79, it took a different heading. Where the Springfield had been, the nanovirus began construction on a replica of the Springfield, which it had spent the last several hours studying.
“We’ve got bogeys,” the EA-2C reported. “How many?” CAG asked.
“Twenty-four.”
“Signature?”
“Looks like F-18, but—”
“But?”
“Something’s different.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, CAG. Just different.”
“Great.” CAG considered the situation. The bogies were most likely a defensive force sent up to stop the attack. “Checkmate Six,” he called for the leader of one of his flights of F-18s.
“Roger. This is Checkmate Six. Over.”
“CAG to Checkmate. You’ve got the bogies. Clear our way in. Over.”
“Roger.”
CAG watched as one of his squadrons of F-18s accelerated, firing their afterburners.
“Where’s that Hawkeye from the Washington?” CAG called back to the Stennis. “We have it west of your flight at high altitude, closing on our position,” the carrier reported.
A new voice cut in — Captain Robinette. “Concentrate on your attack, CAG. I’m sending one of the CAP F-18s to take out that Hawkeye.”
The pilot of the F-18 detailed to destroy the Hawkeye was flying with afterburners on toward the slower-moving plane headed directly toward the fleet. He wasn’t worried about the confrontation, since the Hawkeye was unarmed. He flipped the switch turning on his 20mm Gatling gun and slowed as he neared the other plane.
The Hawkeye made no attempt to maneuver, coming straight on. At one mile, closing rapidly, the pilot pressed the trigger and held it for two seconds before breaking right. As he passed he could see the tracers race toward the Hawkeye and hit. Chunks of the plane blew off as the 20mm rounds ripped through.
“What the hell?” the pilot muttered as he noticed the rotodome on top separate from the body of the plane and continue flying on its own as the plane nosed over and headed for the ocean. He turned hard, circling around. The rotodome was slowly disintegrating, changing from a solid into what appeared to be a black cloud that was spreading out.
The pilot keyed his radio, but there was nothing but static. He changed frequencies with the same result.
“We’ve lost all communications with Pearl.”
Robinette spun his chair around. “Say again?”
“We’ve lost all communications, sir. SATCOM. High frequency. Everything.”
Robinette turned back. There was a clear Plexiglas screen on one side. A sailor stood behind it, updating the position of the strike force and the enemy flight. The two were closing on each other at rapid speeds. A tremor of unease passed through the captain.
The leader of the forward F-18 squadron blinked as the incoming flight disappeared from his radar screen. “Anyone have a lock on bogeys? Over.”
“Negative. They’re gone. My radar is down!”
Without their radars, the F-18s from the Stennis were forced to find their targets visually. This was difficult flying at twelve hundred miles an hour, especially when their targets were approaching head-on at the same speed.
“There!” the squadron commander yelled as he fired his 20mm cannon at a blur he spotted coming at him.
The bogeys were past, F-18s passing each other at a combined speed of over two thousand miles an hour. The startled commander of the Checkmates whipped his head left and right, barely catching a glimpse of the enemy aircraft. They weren’t up to intercept. The path to the Washington was clear for the strike force.
Robinette pounded the arm of his chair in frustration. He was blind and cut off from both his strike force and his protective CAP. He could only hope his men’s training held true and both did their jobs.
CAG had taken over lead of the flight. Without communication among the planes, it boiled down to a simple tactic — everyone was to follow him and do as he did. He spotted two massive silhouettes on the horizon and knew he had the targets in sight. He armed his bombs as he searched the sky for a protective air cover, but the sky seemed to be clear.
In their abbreviated mission briefing before takeoff, CAG had divided the two targets among his planes. He pointed his nose toward the Washington and was relieved to see the planes designated for the Jahre Viking break left and head toward their target. Without his aiming radar, and not having to worry about air cover, CAG decided the best plan was to come in low and slow and drop his bomb when he was right on top of the target. He would use the plastic sight bolted to the front of the cockpit reserved for when the radar didn’t work.
He extended flaps and reduced throttle. He could make out more details about the Washington as he got closer. Planes lined the deck. Some adjustments had been made to the ship, particularly in the radar array and bridge island. Then he saw the people. Hundreds covering the forward part of the flight deck. Men, women, and children. Most of the adults were dressed in Navy uniforms.
CAG hesitated, and that was all it took for him to fly by the carrier, the rest of his strike force following without a single bomb being dropped. The same happened with the force at the Jahre Viking.
“Damn it!” CAG cursed as he banked and circled wide, coming around for another run. He steeled himself for what had to be done. With his squadrons right behind him, CAG came in for a second run. He lined up his sight on the center of the flight deck. Then he released the bomb. He banked hard and up, looking over his shoulder as the bomb arced toward the carrier.
Two hundred meters above the flight deck the bomb exploded. CAG cursed as he watched the rest of his planes drop their loads with the same result.
Inside the Washington’s cavernous hangar deck, a shield generator, similar but smaller than the ones inside Easter Island and Qian-Ling, spun, projecting a field completely around the carrier. Aboard the Jahre Viking was a twin generator, also protecting it.
Alarms clanged and Captain Robinette ran to the wing of his bridge, looking up in the sky. A group of small dots had appeared in the southern sky. He watched helplessly as his CAP reacted, going to intercept.
Unable to use their targeting radars, the F-18s flying CAP had to rely on their Gatling guns. Given that they were moving faster than Mach I, and the incoming bogeys were flying close to one thousand miles an hour, it was like being in a car going full speed and threading a needle held by someone on the side of the road. They had one pass as the bogeys came in, firing long bursts in the hope of hitting something.
Miraculously, one bogey F-18 was struck in the wing, huge holes torn out of it, but the damage was immediately repaired by nanotechs.