He took her hand in his.
“Zhi. Know, that whatever I say or know, whatever you find out, I’m with you. Your wellbeing is my wellbeing.”
“Paul?”
He held his hand up. “I know you’re MSS. The FBI is closing in on you. They know you’re somewhere around here, maybe exactly where.”
“The FBI? What? How do you know?”
“I know, because I’m not Department of Energy. I’m with the CIA.”
Her face was a mask of shock. “CIA? You?”
“Look, Zhi. I want to help you. Our Governments may not agree, but we have something. I don’t want to lose it.”
Zhi thought through her options, it was a conflict. But going along with him was her only chance. Was it? Was she thinking straight? She didn’t have much option, he was CIA.
“What do we do Paul?”
“There’s a chain of hunting lodges, log cabins. I’ve put a deposit on one, under a false name. I’ll pay cash. You could hole up there.”
She held her head in her hands, CIA, he was proving more complex then she thought. Zhi looked up at the celling and tried not to shake her head. Finally, she knew it had to be done, she reached out and stroked his hand, smiling faintly. “Ok Paul, let’s do that. Thanks.”
“I’m going to get help.”
She looked up quickly.
“What? Help?”
“A CIA protection team. They’ll stay nearby.”
“Paul!” she said shocked.
“It’s OK, I have the rank. It won’t be questioned.”
“When do we go?”
“Now Zhi, as soon as you’re ready.”
Zhi shook her head and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She gave herself a searching look. “Who could have thought it?” She’d need to be especially careful now. Her fate now rested largely on one man; and a CIA man at that.
They packed, left and drove to the log cabin rental business. He asked her to stay in the car out of sight, while he sorted out the booking and paid. ID trace, he’d said. They picked up a propane cylinder and got food at Saul’s and made their way to the cabin. It was simple functional and cozy. Later that day Paul sat up at the edge of the bed and dressed. He leaned back to kiss the sweet naked beauty.
“I’ll be back in the day after tomorrow, the protection team will be here soon, they won’t disturb you.
“Ok thanks Paul. I appreciate it. See you.” She let the bed clothes slip away and hugged him. Once he’d left she got dressed and went out for a walk, to get to know the area she found herself in.
That evening she called the Chinese takeout delivery, Great Wok in Harrisonburg, speaking poor English.
“Hi, I wan hot soup, sour. Spicy Mussels. Dragon and Phoenix. Ju-long to bring. Only Ju-long. I pay him good dollar. Me speak to Ju-long.” She described the directions to him.
An hour or so later Ju-long arrived, knocked on the door, he smiled and handed over the delivery. She paid him in cash, dollar bills.
“Xiexie.”
She ate her food, it was quite good, not quite the real thing she knew, but still good. She took the bottom sheet away from the box and pulled out the document.
She smiled. At the top was the logo of the MSS. Zhi read the contents; good, good. It was building up. And now the CIA had her under protection. Zhi grinned at the irony.
THE CHINESE STEALTH fighter was out there and hunting for him. Zinney searched the sky through his head up display and flicked his eyes down to the scope. He desperately rolled the aircraft, trying not to bleed too much speed off. In air to air combat energy is power; it hadn’t changed much since World War II. There, yes; there it was, an undulating scream started. He pickled the stick. “Fox two, said Zinny. The 9X fell and sped away towards its prey.
“Warning, missile launch.” Bleating Betty, was doing her job, warning him.“PL-12 acquired. ADS engaged.” The PL-12, Thunderbolt 12, was the Chinese equivalent of the AIM120. The aircraft’s countermeasures were under the control of the Automatic Defense System.
“PL-12 inbound, inbound red.”
“Ok, Betty.” Zinny rolled and pulled to the right; if he needed to release another bird he’d be in the right place. He saw the enemy bird flash by. “Bird has taken the bait.” Zinny smiled. He saw the fireball explode three miles away.
Zinny saw another Chinese J20, and he dived after him and pulled hard to the right, feeling the G force. The warbling turned into an undulating scream. “9X has contact. Buzzard one, fox two.” The missile flew after the J20, like a polecat with a rocket up its ass. The missile flew into a rear engine exhaust; there was a flash, followed by black smoke. The bogie rolled inverted and dived into the sea. The pilot must have frozen.
“Buzzard one, splash one bogie.”
“Rooster flight, the bogies are down.”
“Rooster one. Thanks Buzzard.”
ROOSTER FLIGHT DROPPED towards the sea on their final approach to Subi Reef, northwest Spratly Islands.
“Roosters three and four go east for Tango two. Rooster two on me for Tango one.”
The Bone did what the Bone did best; it came in high-speed, low level.
“Razor. Come right 15. Engaging Tango one, target objective Bronze.”
“Copy Razor,” replied Lieutenant Kip ‘Slippy’ Clay, who was on the flight controls.
“Fangs. Mud spike, mud spike. Scrum half G/H band radar, source is HQ-17 SAM. The HQ-17 is a local version of the Russian Tor-M1, a lethal killer with a range of seven and a half miles and a speed of 1,900mph.”
“Streaming the tail,” called Fangs.
The B1-B was equipped with the ALE-55 towed repeater jammer, millions of dollars’ worth of sophisticated electronics, and capable of emitting signals to confuse enemy radar. It also acted as a missile countermeasures decoy, known by crews as ‘Little Buddy’. On the B1-B Lancer, it was integrated into the ALQ-184/9 Electronic Counter Measures pod. The two together formed an integrated threat protection system.
“Rooster two. Engaging Tango two, target objective Zinc.”
Through his night vision goggles, Slippy became aware of the long three kilometre runway to his right. His objective was a large boomerang shaped spur of reclaimed land on the north side of the reef. He knew it was all built up areas, ammunition stores, fuel dumps, radar sites and a known SAM site. The HQ-17 SAM lifted off, but the electronic fog emitted by the tail was just too much, it flew vertically upwards and off into the night.
“Bomb doors open, selecting, 83s,” said Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer.
The B1-B flew along the spur at four hundred knots, dropping Ballute, balloon and parachute, retarded Mk 83 1,000 pound bombs. These flashed off into the night sky, objective Bronze was a carpet of smoke, death and destruction. Slippy flew off over the sea and entered a right turn. He lined up for another pass, sighting with his goggles.
Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi laid in the target line. “Roll up Joe Chinaman, get your plates at the ready, second helpings are here.” More retarded bombs blasted the northern installation.
At the south end of the reef Rooster two powered in, blasting a path with 82s across a built up area. He turned left over the sea for a second pass.
“No pushing, stand in line there, get your ass handed to you on a plate.”
Fire, smoke and debris blew off, and a fuel dump went up in a cloud of smoke and flame. Rooster one lifted up off the deck, up to 1,000 feet off the south of the reef. Secondary explosions kicked off. “Razor’s” hands flew across the controls on her weapons console.
“Selecting JSOW; sorry about your runway, boys.” JSOW C was a GPS Infra-red guided glide bomb, and would fly down the runway blasting the surface open with a BROACH two stage warhead. Two more JSOW Bs would follow, carrying six BLU-108/B sub munitions, each of which carried four explosively formed penetrator warheads. Twenty four per missile.