Denton had jumped at the opportunity — never expecting to be suddenly flying a hybrid B-52/B-1B/B-2 monster over the Formosa Strait in Asia, near where a nuclear war had almost broken out just a few days earlier.
“Identify this return,” Denton ordered the computer, being careful to make the command short and sweet, lest he bring down the wrath of the legendary General Brad Elliott on himself.
IDENTIFICATION UNKNOWN, the computer responded, SEARCHING…
TARGET IDENTIFIED AS SLAVA-CLASS CRUISER… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS KIROV–CLASS CRUISER… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS FEARLESS-CLASS ASSAULT SHIP… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS TYPE 82-CLASS ACCOMMODATIONS SHIP…
“You got a cruiser, Muck?” Nancy Cheshire, flying as copilot, asked. A warship of that size always got a lot of attention from every member of the crew, especially the ones who had once faced those fearsome vessels. “Where is it?”
“Cancel the report,” McLanahan said. Denton double-clicked the voice command switch. “Looks like the computer’s a little confused— either there’s not enough radar data, or the data quality isn’t good enough. It’s a big sucker, though, and it’s moving pretty good — over twenty knots, and crossing in front of the frigates’ course. After what’s happened in this area recently, I might not call that a friendly move. So what do you do now?”
“Ask the DSO if they got any idea what it is, based on electronic emissions,” Denton replied.
“Excellent,” McLanahan said. “The attack computer system is supposed to get that information from the defensive computer suite automatically, but sometimes it won’t make the connection. Try it.”
“Way ahead of you,” Bruno responded. She had briefly looked at the God’s-eye view and matched the signals received by her system with the computerized charts. “Nothing but a commercial nav radar from that contact — looks like a Furuno or Oki system — and wide-spectrum radio transmissions, everything from HF single sideband to UHF. I get an occasional IFF interrogator, too, maybe a Square Head.” The old Soviet IFF interrogator code-named “Square Head” sent radio triggering signals out to another vessel or aircraft, asking for a coded radio response to help identification — of course, the EB-52 Megafortress or the U.S. Navy ships in the area would never respond to a foreign IFF, so all they would get would be silence.
“Not much help there,” McLanahan said. “What else, Jeff?”
“Test the system, see if it’s working okay?”
McLanahan shrugged. “In a combat situation, I wouldn’t waste time on that. But now, with things quiet, press on.” Denton rolled the cursor onto one of the nearby U.S. Navy frigates, and the system quickly and correctly identified it as a Perry-class frigate; he tried IDing one of the previously classified “noncombatants”—it again reported as a trawler. “What else, Jeff? Times running out.”
“Call the Navy and ask if they can get an eyeball on it,” Denton suggested.
“Excellent suggestion,” McLanahan said. “Never forget to ask someone else in your formation or task force to help out.”
“Fat lot of good asking the Navy for anything does,” Elliott grumbled.
McLanahan ignored him. “Do it. Think about what you need to give the Navy pukes first, get the data together, then call.”
“Rog,” Denton nodded, pleased at himself for keeping up with the almost legendary Patrick McLanahan. He measured out a quick range and bearing from the prebriefed target reference point, called the “bull’s-eye,” then keyed the mike: “Crew, OSO is going out over Fleet SATCOM.” He waited for any negative replies, then switched over to the secure satellite frequency. “]ames Daniel' this is Headbanger. ”
A sailor with a very impatient voice that sounded as if he were sixteen years old responded, “Calling ]ames Daniel on FLTSATCOM, go ahead.” The voice sounded as if it didn’t recognize the call sign “Headbanger,” although it was the one briefed to all participants and the one they had been using since the beginning.
“Headbanger requesting a visual or optical ID on radar target bearing two-four-three at fifty-seven bull’s-eye, over.”
The answer came back almost immediately from a different and far more annoyed operator: “Headbanger, unable at this time due to weather.” The weather was marginal, but it certainly wouldn’t keep a Navy helicopter from its patrol under normal circumstances, McLanahan thought. “Keep this channel clear. Out.”
“Told you,” Elliott said. “The squids hardly know we exist, and they sure as hell don’t care.”
McLanahan ignored that remark, too, but he was starting to get a little exasperated. “Okay,” he said, turning his attention back to Denton. “Anything else you can try?”
“We could launch a Striker or Wolverine at it and take a look on the datalink,” Denton deadpanned.
“That sounds like an expensive suggestion,” McLanahan said, “not to mention the fact that it could cause an international incident — or worse. You might have to just go with incomplete information. If you had time, you could go through all of the computer’s guesses and try to get a feel for the analysis; in less hostile or non-stealth situations, you could turn on the attack radar and get an ID from the inverse synthetic aperture radar. ”
“But Td assume at this point that it was hostile,” Denton interjected. “The computer guessed at two Russian cruisers; that sounded like the worst-case analysis, so I’d go with that — either the Russians decided in the past couple days to send a cruiser down the Strait to see what all the excitement was about, or the Chinese have a really big destroyer or cruiser patrolling the area.”
“I’d buy that,” McLanahan said. “So give us the rundown on your worst-case scenario. Remember, you’re the surveillance and intelligence officer on the Megafortress, along with the DSO, as well as the weapons officer — you’ve got to be ready to sing out with important information the rest of the crew might need to make decisions on how to press the attack.”
“Rog.” He opened a small window on his supercockpit display and hit the voice command switch: “Display and read order of battle on Slava-class cruiser.”
SLAVA-CLASS CRUISER, VERTICAL LAUNCH SA-N-6 ANTIAIRCRAFT MISSILES, MAX RANGE 60 MILES, X-BAND TOP DOME DIRECTOR, the computer began, reading the information as well as diagramming the weapons and radar information on the supercockpit display. TWO TWIN SA-N-4 ANTIAIRCRAFT MISSILES, MAX RANGE FIVE MILES, FOXTROT, HOTEL, AND INDIA- BAND POP GROUP TARGET TRACKING WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; ONE TWIN 130-MILLIMETER DUAL-PURPOSE GUN, MAX RANGE FIFTEEN MILES, X-BAND FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC AND MANUAL BACKUP; SIX 30-MILLIMETER ANTIAIRCRAFT GUNS, MAX RANGE THREE MILES, X-BAND BASS TILT FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; SIXTEEN SS-N-12 ANTI-SHIP MISSILES, MAX RANGE THREE HUNDRED MILES, JULIETT-BAND TARGET TRACKING…”
“That’s good enough,” McLanahan said, and Denton stopped the computerized report. “The computer always reads the antiaircraft order of battle first, and now you know the reason — that SA-N-6 system can eat our lunch right now, if they ever got a lock on us. You should also know that the SA-N-6 is a very devastating anti-ship weapon, too. You might want to scan through the ship’s radar fit, too — it’s unlikely that a cruiser has a commercial Furuno or Oki nav radar, but sometimes the military radars will look like commercial or civilian sets at long range or low power—”