“Brad, I’ve got the missiles ready to fly — as soon as we get the order,” McLanahan insisted. “We’re not going to attack unless we’re given permission or we come under attack ourselves, and then it’ll just be to defend ourselves. Nose is cold”
The redeploying Chinese patrol boats looked like little ants crawling forward around their queen, McLanahan thought as he watched his God’s-eye tactical display being beamed to him by the NIRTSat reconnaissance satellites. “I’m showing eight small, fast patrol boats moving north, overtaking the lead destroyer,” he reported. “Looks like they’re getting into missile-firing position. I’ve got six… no, eight more going after the southeast Taiwanese vessel.”
“Checks,” Vikram said, watching the new threats as well. “India- band targeting radars up. The northern group is in maximum missilefiring range now; they’ll be in optimal missile-firing range in about ten minutes. The southeast group is closing fast and will be in optimal firing range in two minutes.”
Elliott was already on the satellite transceiver: “Hey, Buster, do you see what the hell’s happening? Give us permission to launch before it’s too late! How do you copy?”
“Hey, Buster, how do you copy?” Elliott repeated. “That Taiwanese frigate and its buddy are going to be blasted to hell any minute now. Give us permission to take them out! ”
“Why in hell doesn’t Elliott shut up?” Admiral William Allen, the dual-hatted commander in chief of U.S. Pacific Command and the U.S. Navy’s Pacific Fleet, asked of no one in particular. He, along with General Terrill Samson and a group of aides and technicians, were studying a large three-by-four-foot computer monitor that showed the tactical situation near the Taiwanese island of Quemoy, downloaded by Sky Masters, Inc.’s, NIRTSat “Martindale” synthetic aperture radar-imaging satellites. Allen called out, “Range from the closest Chinese patrol boat to the northern Taiwanese frigate.”
Before one of the Navy technicians could answer, Masters’s voice- recognition computer replied in a curiously seductive female voice, TWENTY-TWO KILOMETERS AND CLOSING AT FIVE HUNDRED METERS PER MINUTE.
“Goddamn gadgets,” Allen muttered, afraid to raise his voice lest the computer make a snide comment in return. “Shut that computer voice thing off. Combat, sing out with all further reports.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Range from PLAN patrol boats to southeast frigate.”
“Eight miles and steady.”
“Well, serves him right for not bugging out sooner,” Allen muttered. “Elliott doesn’t know squat about PLAN missile attack tactics. He’d better shut up and stay off the radio or I’ll recall his ass. Any word from Washington?”
“No, sir,” the tactical action officer (TAO), the senior officer in charge of the combat response teams in the command center, responded. “Repeating your priority request.”
“Where did those Taiwanese ships come from, anyway?” Allen asked rhetorically again — the Navy veteran was fond of thinking out loud, which he thought encouraged the officers around him to speak up. “My mission was not to baby-sit a Taiwanese warship while it launches a suicide attack on a Chinese carrier battle group. And I did not order Elliott to launch anything! I’m going to see to it that he’s thrown in jail for what he’s done!”
“He was responding to an attack by the PLAN destroyers,” Samson offered.
“That Taiwan precipitated!” Allen interjected. “My orders were to monitor the situation and prepare for the eventuality of hostile contact, not dog-pile on when some asshole wants to play hero to Mother Taiwan.
We are not at war with the People’s Republic of China, General Samson. But the Taiwanese frigate fired first, and Elliott launched right afterwards without getting permission. This is exactly what George Balboa warned me about: Elliott popping off and pulling the trigger before receiving proper authorization.” He slumped in his command chair and carefully studied the tactical display. “What in hell is the PLAN going to do now? Chase that frigate all the way to Formosa?”
Samson couldn’t argue with CINCPAC — but now wasn’t the time to just sit and fume over Elliott. “Sir, it looks like the northern Taiwanese frigate is bugging out,” Samson observed. “He can probably outrun the big ships and hold his distance against the smaller patrol boats, and the ‘Screamer’ decoy cruise missiles will be orbiting for another few minutes unless the PLAN manages a lucky shot and shoots them down.”
“So what?”
“The Megafortress crew needs to know if they have authority to counterattack if the PLAN starts to launch more missiles against the frigate,” Samson said. “They can help defend the frigate.”
“More decoys?”
“Yes, the Megafortress is carrying four more Screamer cruise missiles—”
“Who in hell came up with these comic-book names?” Allen interrupted. “Megafortress? Screamers? Sounds like Elliott’s warped mind at work.”
“—but they’re also carrying anti-radar cruise missiles,” Samson went on, “that can shut down a dozen emitters in use on the PLAN warships. They can also use their antiaircraft missiles to—”
“That B-52 is carrying antiaircraft missiles?” Allen exclaimed incredulously. “Sidewinders?”
“Scorpions, sir,” Samson responded. He had briefed all this information to Allen and his staff as recently as yesterday — and he was just as surprised then as he was now — but it didn’t hurt to tell it all again. “Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missiles, about thirty miles’ range, radar-guided, total of eight. They have to move in closer to the PLAN fleet, but the AMRAAMs are capable against ballistic missiles and antiship sea-skimmers too. The anti-radar cruise missiles will home in on radar transmissions; if the radar shuts down, it’ll orbit over the area for up to fifteen minutes until the radar comes back on. Also, the offensive Wolverine missiles can drop cluster munitions on three targets, then impact a fourth — the Megafortress carries six. If the smaller patrol boats try to attack the Taiwanese frigate, those’ll be the best weapons to use on them. The larger warships can be attacked by the Striker missiles— they’re small, supersonic, and lethal. If we can shut down the PLAN’s radars with the Tacit Rainbow missiles, the Striker missiles will have an excellent chance of hitting their targets.”.
Allen shook his head in exasperation. “You got more toys than Santa Claus, General,” he muttered. He studied the Gods-eye display carefully and fell silent.
“The helicopter that launched from the Taiwanese frigate has been shot down by antiaircraft fire,” one of the combat technicians reported. “Three guided-missile patrol boats closing quickly on the northern Taiwanese frigate. Should be in missile launch position in three minutes. Five more in pursuit, but they are not closing and remain at estimated max launch range. The lead PLAN destroyer has slowed to five knots; the carrier is overtaking.”
“Looks like Taiwan got one,” Allen said. “My guess is that the carrier will rendezvous with the destroyer.” He fell silent once again; then: “No, I don’t want that B-52—Megaplane, Megabomber, whatever you call it — launching any more missiles. Tell them to—”
“PLAN missile boats launching against the southeast Taiwanese vessel,” the combat technician reported. “Numerous missiles… two salvos… direct hit. The southeast Taiwanese vessel is dead in the water… direct hit by second salvo… lost contact with southeast Taiwanese vessel.”
The ferocity of that attack stunned even Allen, who watched the scene played out on the God’s-eye view in silence. “Jesus Christ,” Terrill Samson breathed. “That boat went down in less than a minute… it must’ve been hit by a dozen missiles.”