“Interceptor One is ready to launch, sir.” Yi looked out toward the flight deck. They had modified the takeoff positions on the carrier to allow up to three fighters to take off nearly simultaneously: the first fighter started at the holdback position farthest to port on the 195-meter launch point; another waited at the number two holdback launch position on the 210-meter spot at the port fantail; and a third fighter was being steered into position at the number three launch position at the starboard fantail position. The first Su-33 ran its engines up to full afterburner power, the steel wheel chocks retracted into the deck, and the fighter accelerated down the flight deck, then up onto the “ski jump” and into the sky. Once the first fighter cleared the bow, the second fighter began its takeoff run. The first fighter disappeared from view for a few moments as its momentum carried it down, but seconds later it could be seen gracefully arcing through the sky. Ten seconds later, the second Sukhoi-33 was airborne, chasing its leader.
“Get Interceptor Two up on deck and ready to go as soon as Interceptor One finds that American bomber,” Yi ordered. “Find that American stealth bomber! ”
The NIRTSat radar satellite reconnaissance system used six low-orbiting satellites, with as many as three taking high-resolution “snapshots” of the desired target area simultaneously, then combining them electronically into a three-dimensional picture. But taking and processing these high-tech snapshots took time, sometimes as long as two minutes. McLanahan s supercockpit display system could predict the movement of ships and aircraft based on their previous position, heading, and speed, but in the heat of battle, two minutes was a very long time to be without up-to- date information.
As soon as the newest hi-res photo came in, McLanahan was on the interphone. “The carrier is launching fighters,” he reported excitedly. “I’m picking up two heading north and climbing fast, passing five thousand feet. And I’ve got several small escorts overtaking the northern destroyer. Looks like they might be geting into launch position. Stand by, crew, radar coming on.” He moved the cursor on the supercockpit display, designated all of the vessels closest to the Taiwanese frigate, then hit the computer command button: “Identify.”
WARNING, ATTACK RADAR SWITCHING TO RADIATE… WARNING, ATTACK RADAR RADIATING… ATTACK RADAR SWITCHING TO STANDBY, the computer reported. In three seconds, the powerful Inverse Synthetic Aperture Radar on the EB-52 Megafortress measured each vessel in three dimensions with six-inch accuracy. It took another twenty seconds for the computer to compare each ship’s measurements to the data in its memory files and identify each ship, along with its primary weapon and electronic fit.
The computer read off its search results: TARGET SIX IS JIANGWEI–CLASS FRIGATE, it announced in a very human-sounding female voice. ANTIAIR HQ-61 FOG LAMP, 100-MILLIMETER RICE LAMP DIRECTOR, 30-MILLIMETER ROUND BALL. ANTI-SHIP EIGHT EACH YJ-1 SQUARE TIE, 100-MILLIMETER SUN VISOR, 30-MILLIMETER SUN VISOR. TARGETS THREE, FOUR, SEVEN, NINE, HUANGFENG-CLASS GUIDED-MISSILE BOATS. ANTIAIR, 30-MILLIMETER, ROUND BALL FIRE-CONTROL RADAR. ANTI-SHIP FOUR EACH HY-1, 30-MILLIMETER, TARGET FIVE AND EIGHT, HOUKU-CLASS MISSILE BOATS, ANTIAIR 25-MILLIMETER. ANTI-SHIP, TWO EACH HY-1.
“That middle frigate is a real threat for us,” McLanahan said. “We could easily be within range of that HQ-61.”
“The range of a Hong Qian-61 is only six miles, sir,” Vikram said. “I heard of an improved version with triple that range,” McLanahan offered. “That frigate might be carrying it.”
“An improved HQ-61? I never heard about that.”
“And what if it’s really a Crotale SAM system?”
“Crotale has a max range of eight miles,” Vikram said. “We’re twenty- six miles from the PLAN fleet.”
“Emitter, if you ever want to make captain someday,” Cheshire suggested, “just nod and say, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”
“Yes, sir,” Vikram complied.
“Good boy,” Cheshire said. McLanahan gave his DSO a thumbs-up.
“I don’t think the Tacit Rainbow attack deterred them,” Elliott said, with a smile. “I think we’re still an item of interest. Let ’em have the Wolverines.”
“Agreed,” McLanahan said. “Stand by for pylon missile launch, crew.” His fingers were flying over his touch-screen supercockpit display, designating nine vessels as targets. He then armed four of the attack- configured AGM-177 cruise missiles and programmed all four with all nine possible targets. The cruise missiles would attack the target list in order. If a target was not destroyed, it would attack; if missed, it would reattack; if destroyed, it v/ould move to the next target in the list. “Stand by for pylon missile launch, crew. Wings level.” McLanahan then hit the voice command button: “Launch commit Wolverines.”
WARNING, LAUNCH COMMIT PYLON LAUNCH ATTACK WOLVERINE MISSILES, the computer responded on interphone, then entered an automatic launch hold.
“Launch,” McLanahan ordered, canceling the launch hold. The Megafortress crew felt a slight shudder as the tiny bomb bays on the wing pylon weapons pods opened and four missiles were ejected into the slipstream. “Center up on the steering bug, pilot, heading zero-two-five to the refueling anchor point, and let’s get out of here.”
Admiral Sun Ji Guoming’s executive officer did not wait for a reply before hastily knocking on his superior’s office door and rushing in. The first deputy chief of staff was studying a large map of Taiwan and the east coast of China that had updated positions of several Chinese and Taiwanese military units depicted on it, including intelligence estimates of their size and strength. The aide bowed as Sun turned angrily toward him and said, “Sir!”
“I asked not to be disturbed!”
“Message sent here directly from East Fleet headquarters for the chief of staff,” the aide went on. “The commander of the carrier Mao is requesting assistance.”
“Assistance? Where is it? What’s happening?”
“In the Formosa Strait, fifty kilometers south of Quemoy Island. The admiral informs us that the Mao and its escorts have been ordered to halt and submit to an inspection by a frigate of the Taiwanese navy…”
“What?” Sun shouted, leaping to his feet in absolute shock and surprise. The carrier battle group was still at least a day from its attack staging position near the Nationalist-held island of Quemoy — it should still be well inside Chinese waters. The attack on Quemoy was not supposed to start for another week at the earliest! “You say they are being confronted by the Nationalist navy?”
“… and they are being supported by what they believe is an American stealth bomber firing cruise missiles! ”
Sun’s head snapped back to his aide as if he had heard a gunshot right behind him. “A stealth bomber? How do they know? Have they seen it?” “Intermittent radar contacts, but shortly thereafter a series of devastating anti-radar missile attacks,” the aide replied. “The weather is clear, their radars are operational, but they cannot detect the aircraft attacking them. The captain said he had no choice but to shut down all radar systems after he and one of his escorts, the Kang, were hit by antiradar cruise missiles that came out of nowhere.”
“Follow me,” Sun ordered, and he and his aide ran out of the office and onto the private elevator that took them down to the chief of staff’s underground command center. The command center was little more than a large radio shack, manned around the clock with communications specialists broken into four sections, representing the army, navy, air forces, and Second Artillery Corps, which controlled the land-based nuclear ballistic missiles. Except for exercises, it was rarely visited by anyone much above field grade rank, so it created quite a stir when Deputy Chief of Staff Admiral Sun Ji Guoming burst into the chamber and over to the chief of staff’s seat. “Senior controller! ” Sun shouted, as he put on his headset.