Jennifer punched buttons at her station. “Roughly thirty-eight miles away, but the probe isn’t sure. Very quiet, angled away — could be a submarine using only its battery. I’m guessing it’s the Indian sub.”
“Not one of ours?”
“Hang on.”
He could hear her pounding her keys.
“Doesn’t appear to match. We can check with PacCOm, though, see if the position would match. I think it’s the Indian. It’s got to be. Can you hold your position while I talk to the Piranha people and see if I can get more data?”
“The Chinese subs are trucking,” he told her.
“Well, hang back a little while I get Commander Delaford. They’re not using active sonar?”
“They haven’t since we came on.”
The probe’s nose began to oscillate; he’d moved it too fast. Zen gently applied pressure to get it into a wide circle, where it stabilized.
“The Indian sub is supposed to be further south and to the east,” said Jennifer. “Commander Delaford says it’s possible it is one of the American attack subs at a good distance, beyond what the probe is reading. He can go through the data later. Stay with the Chinese. We’re going to check in with PacCom.”
“We’re going to need that buoy soon,” Zen said, pushing up his speed.
It would not be an exaggeration to say things had gone in completely the opposite direction from what Chen Lo Fann had intended. Now that he had all of the data and weighed all of the evidence — the attack on his post, the interception of the missiles, the communications showing the American and Chinese pilots joked freely — it was clear a secret agreement had been reached between the two countries. They somehow saw India as a common enemy, and if they joined together against India so quickly after the animosity of a few months past — what would that mean for his Free China?
Annihilation, surely.
The course must be reversed. To do this, however, he would have to go well beyond his mandate. He would have to violate his orders. In a way that was most unambiguous.
There was no choice, though. He would use the robot planes; not to spy, but to provoke the Communists. They would think they were American U/MFs; they would attack in turn. The Americans would have to retaliate. It would be a replay of the events a few months before, but this time the Americans would have no reason to stop. This time, they would annihilate the Communists. China would once more be unified under a free government.
His own government would be displeased with his methods. Despite the outcome, he would be punished. But Chen had no choice. Disaster loomed, and he could not count on fortune reversing herself without his own action.
As he went to board the helicopter that would take him to the dragon ship, Fann told himself that this was the way it must be.
“Redtail One to Quicksilver. You reading us there, Air Force?”
Breanns clicked the talk button. “We have you, Redtail,” she said, acknowledging the communications from the S-3B, an ASW aircraft launched from the USS Independence. The two-engined Lockheed Viking was an incredibly versatile craft developed primarily for antisubmarine warfare. Packed with electronic equipment, it could launch and monitor up to sixty sonar buoys; it was also equipped with an inverse-synthetic-aperture radar for finding surfaced submarines at long range. When feeling aggressive, the S-3s could pack everything from antisub torpedoes to Harpoons and even Rockeye cluster bombs. They could also carry nuclear depth charges, though as a general rule these were not deployed.
Like all Vikings in the Navy, this one was scheduled to lose its ASW role in the next few months. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the conflict with China, it probably already would have changed roles. Orions and helicopters were set to take on the task, though as this plane’s presence showed, neither aircraft could quite completely take the versatile little Lockheed’s place.
This particular S-3B happened to be a member of a storied squadron, the oldest dedicated carrier ASW group in operation, the Fighting Redtails. While their planes and detection gear had changed dramatically since the squadron was first organized in 1945 (it didn’t gain its nickname until 1950), the pilots and crew members still showed the determination born in a period of worldwide strife.
They also liked to rag on the Air Force whenever possible.
“What the hell you doing out over water, Air Force?” mocked the Redtail pilot. His plane was roughly fifty miles to the southeast, approaching at about 320 knots. “You lost?”
“We hear you Navy boys needed your hands held,” replied Breanna.
“Hey, Air Force, either you’re a woman or real popular with the choir.”
“Want to hear me sing?”
“Only if it’s ‘Anchors Away.’ ”
“Sorry, my plane is programmed to self-destruct if I sing that. You want a fix on our contacts or what?”
“Roger that, good-lookin’.”
“My, what a charmer,” Bree said to Chris. “Give the joker what he’s looking for.”
“A punch in the mouth.”
“Just the coordinates for now,” she said. “You can protect my honor later.”
As Chris filled Redtail in on the submarine contacts, Torbin told Breanna the Chinese were scrambling a pair or fighters after the S-3.
“Redtail, be advised you have some tagalongs,” Bree told the Navy flight.
“We always dig a little faster and a little harder when people are watching,” answered the pilot.
“Come again?”
“Line from ‘Mike Mulligan,’ ” explained the Navy aviator. “You know, Maryanne and the Steam Shovel. Kids book.”
“You got me.”
“You don’t have kids?”
“Negative.”
“I’ll give you one of mine.”
Two Sukhois from one of the Chinese carriers rode out to shake hands with the S-3. Chris tracked them for the Viking, then helped Breanna get ready for the buoy drop, now less than five minutes away. After they opened the bay doors and started to nose downward, the radar picked up a new flight taking off from the T’ien, the Chinese carrier that had recently entered the arena.
“Sikorsky SH-3,” said Chris, his voice jumping an octave. “Wow. Where’d that come from?”
“Range?”
“One hundred miles. That’s a Sikorsky. The Chinese don’t have it,” added Chris. The venerable SH-3 had served with many countries, but wasn’t listed in the inventory of Chinese aircraft. “Those are ours.”
“Want me to tell them to give is back?”
“Captain, I have an active search radar off a Sea King AEW Mark 2 British helicopter,” reported Torbin. “Hey, this is pretty interesting stuff — the Chinese have a Sea King bag on that Sikorsky. Searchwater. Getting parameters.”
Torbin was using the slang term for the special airborne early warning system installed in Royal Navy Sea Kings. The British had pioneered the use of AEW systems on helicopters, installing what they called Searchwater radar with a data link to their Harrier aircraft. Mounted in what looked like a large spaghetti pot off the starboard side of the aircraft, the radar gave roughly a hundred-mile coverage when the helicopter reached ten thousand feet.
“Chinese don’t have this sucker,” added Torbin.
“Yeah, so you think the Queen defected?” asked Breanna.
“More like someone from Spain. They use this configuration. Wait, though. You know, it’s not exactly a Searchwater.”
“Does he have us?”
“Uh, negative on that. Our profile’s too small for him.”
“Okay, everybody take a breath,” said Breanna. “Let’s drop the buoy, then recheck your gear and make sure our Ids are right. Major Stockard, Ms. Gleason, we’re about thirty seconds away from the drop.”