“I just thought…”
“I know. Conventional wisdom and all that bull. If it doesn’t work, we’ll soon find out. Sea Base and those Navy things boring holes in the ocean will tell us. Better to find out now than when we’re in a hot situation.”
“I thought we were in a hot situation.”
“We’re not going to fight the Chinese,” she said.
He watched her shake her head.
“But I thought that was why we were out here,” he replied, mentally kicking himself for continuing the conversation.
“We are here to convince the Chinese we are prepared to fight if pushed to it. They no more want to fight us than we do them.”
He started to ask why when the bagpipe synchronization of another secure channel broke into their ears, saving Franklin. Over his headset and Johnson’s came the voice of the Sea Base Air Traffic Controller.
“Raptor Leader, Raptor Haven ATC; level out at angels two two. The RJ is entering the northern edge of their track at this time. Come to course zero-one-zero; range fifty. Rivet Joint is at angels three zero. You copy?”
“Roger, Raptor Haven; we copy.”
“Switch to Bravo channel at this time. Air Intercept Controller will take over. Have a good flight, Raptor Formation.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the AIC talked Raptor Formation toward the rendezvous with the Air Force RC-135 Rivet Joint bird. The Rivet Joint was a vintage reconnaissance aircraft of the Air Force. With the Navy self-destructing its cryptologic and airborne reconnaissance capabilities, the Air Force had the only tactical and strategic assets to support a large-scale military operation. The sensors of the aircraft were state-of-the-art, while the avionics of the RC-135 were twentieth century. Regardless, the Rivet Joint could fly anywhere on a moment’s notice, conduct its mission, and with an air-to-air refueling capability stay on station longer than any other country’s reconnaissance aircraft. It carried up to thirty-five crew members and could detect, identify, and locate anything in the electromagnetic spectrum. With a superior communications suite on board the four-engine jet aircraft, the Air Force team could send information anywhere in the world to commanders it thought would be interested in what they were discovering.
The mission of today’s flight was to see if the Chinese had deployed any additional warships in the Taiwan Strait. They would fly down the middle of the strait that separated Taiwan and Mainland China. China had warned against any foreign aircraft or warships entering the volatile strait.
Raptor Formation was the fighter escort for the northern half of the track. The British battle group operating at the mouth of the Taiwan Strait would provide the fighter escort for the southern leg of the track. Commander Lester Tyler-Cole from the British 801st Naval Squadron, embarked on the Royal Navy carrier Elizabeth, and his F-35 Joint Fighter wingman would relieve them about one hundred miles inside the strait. Raptor Formation would turn escort of the unarmed reconnaissance aircraft over to the British while the Raptors refueled.
“Raptor Haven, we have the RJ in sight,” Johnson broadcast.
Franklin glanced at his radar, saw the return, and looked in that direction. The huge four-engine jet aircraft was flying straight and level above them. He imagined every radar along the Chinese coast was reflecting the Rivet Joint. The RJ was so humongous, radar was unneeded. A contrail stretched for miles leading directly to the tail section of the aircraft. The Chinese should be able to see it from the coast once they reached the center of the Taiwan Strait.
“Raptor Leader, Weasel here. We have you on radar.” “Weasel, Major Johnson here. We are your escort. Do you have us on radar?”
“Major, nothing escapes the Rivet Joint.”
“Except oil,” Franklin said into the private line. What are you thinking? This isn’t Walters. Keep your ad libs to yourself. “And hydraulic fluid,” Johnson agreed.
Was that a bonding attempt? Wow! He’d have to watch himself. What Pickles said sounded too much like something Fast Pace would have said.
“Raptor Leader, I have you left and right sides. Be aware of the jet wash directly behind me. For escort duties, we’ll remain on secure communications. Okay?”
“Roger, Weasel; secure comms. We’re going up another couple of thousand feet to ride escort. I will be on your right side and Raptor 10 to your left.”
“Roger. Be advised the British fighters will join our circuit in approximately three-zero minutes.”
“Weasel, Raptor Leader; copy all. We will remain with you until ten miles of rendezvous with 801st, and then we will break off to refuel. Unless needed, we’ll orbit around breakoff point for your return.”
“Roger, Raptor Leader; our electromagnetic calculations balanced against today’s weather, Raptor Leader, show that if you two stay above me, it should present only one radar reflection as a target.”
Target! Franklin glanced both ways. The Chinese would be very surprised if they thought they could come out and shoot down an RC-135. The surprise would be stupendous when one radar return turns into multiple missiles. He smiled. He enjoyed surprises when they were his to give. Unfortunately, they would be late arrivals, because the British were going to do the bulk of the fighter-escort duties for today’s mission.
“Roger, Weasel; we will station ourselves above and slightly to the rear,” Johnson replied
“Oh, by the way, Raptor Leader, would you secure your air-search radar? It’s interfering with our onboard radars and reconnaissance equipment.”
No way! Franklin thought, pushing the talk button for a second, before releasing it. They’d be blind without their radar, depending on maintaining visual on Rivet Joint to keep them on course.
“We’ll data-link our picture to you in receive mode, Commander. You two will see the same thing we do. We also have data link with our Navy ships and the British task force integrated into the overall picture. Should provide you more information than your onboard is doing.”
Franklin switched to their private line. “Ma’am, we ought…”
“Weasel, Raptor Leader; will do.”
He let go of the button. She didn’t even discuss the idea with him. Walters and he would have at least argued a few seconds over opening their kimono.
“Stand by.”
“Raptor 10, Raptor Leader; secure radars.”
“What if we need our fire control?” Franklin asked, not trying to hide his displeasure.
“Then, I would suspect, Captain, that if we need our fire-control radar, the RJ will suddenly discover its mission is over and neither it nor us will be in proximity to each other.” “Roger,” he replied, unconvinced. She was going to get both of them killed.
“Secure air-search radar,” Johnson ordered.
Franklin reached forward and put the radar in standby. No way was he going to turn it completely off. If he needed it, he wanted it to go back online instantly, not wait for the electronics to cycle through a diagnostic or to warm up.
“Raptor Formation, Weasel; you should have the data link now.”
Franklin touched the icon. On the heads-up display where previously only the RC-135 was reflected, multiple contacts appeared. Some were hundreds of miles away flying along the coasts of China and Taiwan. Wow! was all he could think. Multiple targets, even if most were commercial. A fighter pilot’s cataclysmic orgasm of opportunities. Like a payday Saturday night at the Officers’ Club. Like a…
“Raptor 10, your data link working?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the awe in his voice.
A light chuckle came over the private circuit. “I know. I’ve worked with them on missions over Iraq during the invasion of Iran.”