“Damn it, we’ve been MIJIed!” MIJI stood for Meaconing, Interference, Jamming, and Intrusion, a common enemy tactic to disrupt communications or air traffic by playing havoc with radios and radar signals; oftentimes it was done just to confuse, but sometimes it was done to force a pilot into unintentionally violating enemy airspace. On the radio, Shen said excitedly, “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five, executing missed approach procedures, proceeding to holding point Tango, acknowledge.” No response. “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five, how do you copy? We are executing missed approach. We suspect enemy MlJIing in effect. Acknowledge! ”
“Transport One-Five, Matsu Tower, cancel missed approach, we have you on the glidepath. You are cleared to land, winds three-three- zero at seven knots, if you can hear me, ident, please.”
The copilot automatically hit his IDENT button, which would electronically draw a highlight box around the data block for his aircraft on the tower controller’s radarscope. “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five is executing a security missed approach, we are in the turn, acknowledge, over! ” The radio was still scratchy, as if they were still a long distance away from the base…
… and seconds later, the C-130 popped through the clouds — and the windscreen was filled with the lights of the city of Lang-Ch’i, just a few miles ahead, and farther ahead on the horizon was the mass of lights of the city of Fu-Chou, less than twenty miles away. Shen realized they were well within Chinese airspace — they were practically over Chinese soil!
“Transport One-Five, ident received,” the voice said. “Continue inbound, do not turn. Be advised, still clear to land. Acknowledge with an ident.”
The copilot was about to automatically hit the IDENT button again, but Shen hit his hand away. “Don’t touch that! Something is not right,” he said. “Set EMER in the IFF, get on GUARD channel, and notify someone that we are being MlJIed. We’re flying over Chinese airspace! ” “What in God’s name is happening?” the copilot breathed, as Shen started a steep right bank turn to the east.
“I do not know,” Shen said. “We can do nothing but the proper procedures. We shall go to point Tango and attempt to—”
Suddenly the entire aircraft shuddered and dropped several feet, as if it had hit a sudden wave of turbulence, sharp and hard enough to disengage the autopilot. “I have the aircraft!” Shen shouted, grasping the control yoke and rolling wings-level. “Check instruments! ”
The engineer quickly scanned the engine instruments. “All systems okay,” he responded.
“Everything looks okay,” the copilot agreed. “Clear to reengage the autopilot.”
“I will hand-fly it,” Shen said, “until we get everything straightened out. I will fly the mag compass until we get everything sorted out. Get on squadron common channel and—”
“Hey! ” the copilot shouted. He pointed out the windscreen in horror, then looked at his pilot. “Is that… is that Matsu?”
Shen stopped and stared out the window; his copilot followed his gaze, then gaped in amazement as well. Half of the island seemed to be on fire. Smoke billowed from hundreds of burning buildings, the northern half of the island was completely obscured in black smoke — even the ocean seemed to be on fire. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“They are attacking,” Shen said woodenly. “The Communists… this entire thing was a diversion. The Communists must’ve launched a rocket attack on the island, thinking that we were attacking them! Gear up! Let’s head back to Sungshan, fast! ”
The radios were a completely indecipherable babble of voices, so the crew forgot about reporting their position and prayed that their coded transponder would still be showing to Taiwanese air defense forces while they turned away from Matsu. Everyone on the flight deck was riveted to the left-side cockpit windows as they turned eastbound away from the air base. “Fighters are airborne,” Shen said. “At least we have fighter coverage. We should…” And then he froze, his mouth turning dust-dry: “Those are not Taiwanese fighters! Those are Communist fighter planes! ” Soon, those fighters were swarming over the C-130, and moments later it was sent crashing down into the sea.
It turned out to be a very well-coordinated attack — a missile bombardment from shore-based batteries from Lang-Ch’i Army Base on the mainland, followed moments later by a wave of fighter-bombers from Yixu Air Base. Captain Shen, his crew, and his aircraft were only a small part of the casualties of the Chinese attack on the entire Matsu island chain. Within hours, the Matsu Islands were completely defenseless.
“Headbanger Two reporting on station,” Nancy Cheshire radioed on the secure satellite net.
“James Daniel copies, Headbanger,” came the reply. Just ten miles north of the EB-52 Megafortress, flying 15,000 feet above the Formosa Strait, was a small task force of two American Oliver Hazard Perry-class guided missile frigates, the Duncan, a Naval Reserve Fleet ship with eighty Naval Reservists on board, and the lead vessel in this task force, the James Daniel; they had been moved into the area of the recent skirmish between the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy and the Quemoy flotilla of the Republic of Chinas navy. The American task forces nominal orders was to stand by and render any possible assistance if requested by both China and Taiwan, as salvage and recovery vessels from their respective countries tried to recover whatever was left of their stricken vessels; their actual mission was to show the American flag and try to prevent a re-eruption of hostilities between the two Chinas. But even though there was very little rescue or recovery work being done by anyone, the frigates — and now the EB-52 Megafortress — were on patrol, ready for action.
The crew of the Megafortress was very quiet, except for the intense but hushed coaching going on in the back of the crew cabin. Extra seats had been bolted into the deck beside the offensive and defensive operator’s consoles, and Patrick McLanahan and the crew DSO, Megafortress veteran Air Force officer Major Robert Atkins, were seated in the jump seats giving instruction on using the sophisticated electronic attack, surveillance, and defensive systems to newcomers Air Force Captain Jeff Denton in the OSO’s seat, and Navy Lieutenant Ashley Bruno in the DSO’s seat.
“There — is that Xiamen’s long-range surveillance radar?” Bruno asked, pointing at the large threat display.
“Don’t ask me — ask the computer,” Atkins said, acting his part as the patient but demanding instructor. “You’ve got a full-up system, so use it.” Atkins had joined the Megafortress program almost at its inception, recruited from the handful of 4.0-grade-point-average-or-better Air Force Academy graduates who had also graduated high in their Undergraduate Pilot Training classes. Atkins was the best of the best — a straight-A student in electrical engineering from the Zoo, in the top 20 percent of his UPT class, who had managed to earn a master’s degree in business administration while a FAIP (First Assignment Instructor Pilot). He had been recruited personally by Wendy Tork McLanahan, the director of the Megafortress’s advanced electronic warfare suite design team at HAWC, and he had remained there for several years, refining the high-tech electronic detection, analysis, countermeasure, and counterattack systems on the Megafortress “flying battleship.”
And, like Nancy Cheshire flying in the copilot’s seat, he had seen combat before in the Megafortress: over the Philippines, over Lithuania, and over the United States. Back then, actually flying the beast hadn’t been his strong point — he could design systems built perfectly for a crewdog, but he didn’t enjoy flying itself. But flying was part of the job, and besides, no one said “no” to the boss, Lieutenant-General Bradley James Elliott. Even after HAWC disbanded and Atkins set off to get his doctorate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology as part of a joint industry-Air Force program, he could not escape, or resist, Brad Elliott’s call to glory.