The timing of the launches was calculated to bring all of the Harpoons to their final navigational waypoints at the exact same instant. Then, the missiles would simultaneously turn toward the targets and shift into terminal attack phase, their radar seekers going active as they homed in for the kill.
On the western side of the battle group, the USS Donald Gerrard would be carrying out a mirror image of the attack against the two frigates on her edge of the enemy formation.
The tactic was called simultaneous time-on-target. If it was executed properly, each Chinese escort ship would suddenly find itself with four incoming Harpoon missiles, all converging from different points of the compass.
The Jiangkai II multi-role frigates and the Luzhou air-defense destroyers were known to carry strong anti-ship cruise missile defenses. Faced with one (or even several) Harpoons coming in from the same general direction, there was an excellent chance that the Chinese ships could intercept most or all of them. But the odds that they could simultaneously engage four hostile missiles from widely-separated bearings were much lower.
If the latest tactical assessments were accurate, a simultaneous time-on-target attack should yield one or two successful hits on each of the enemy destroyers and frigates.
For Silva, time had somehow shifted into overdrive. The three minutes between missile salvos seemed to flash by in a few seconds, and then the deck was vibrating with the launch of the second set of Harpoons. Four new friendly weapons symbols popped up on the Aegis display screen, and instantly began vectoring toward their assigned waypoints.
The missiles had been in flight less than a minute when a report from the Electronic Warfare module broke over the net. “TAO — EW. I have two X-band emitters, bearing two-eight-zero. Signal characteristics and pulse repetition frequencies are consistent with fire control radars for Chengdu J-15 fighter aircraft.”
Before anyone had time to react to this message, it was followed by a report from the Air Warfare Supervisor. “TAO — Air. The data stream from NightEagle III just chopped off in mid-transmission.”
The TAO keyed his mike. “Air — TAO. Clarify your report. Have you lost the satellite downlink?”
“TAO — Air. That’s a negative, sir. We’ve still got a good latch on SATCOM 7, but the satellite has lost comms with the drone.”
Silva made eye contact with Bowie. “Captain, unless I miss my guess, a Chinese air patrol just blasted our UAV out of the sky.”
Her assessment was confirmed by the Officer of the Deck about two seconds later. “TAO — Bridge. Lookouts are reporting a fireball bearing two-seven-five. Position angle fifty-one.”
Bowie turned toward the TAO. “Stand by to go active on SPY. Our Chinese friends have just figured out that we’re in the neighborhood. I want to be ready to shift to full Aegis combat mode on a second’s notice.”
He raised his voice so that the entire CIC crew could hear him. “Listen up, people. It’s about to get hot around here. Let’s stay sharp, and be ready for anything.”
On the Aegis display, the Harpoon missile symbols were reaching their final waypoints and turning toward the enemy warships. The missiles were sea skimmers, hugging the wave tops to remain below the radar coverage of the target vessels until the last possible instant. In another ninety seconds or so, they would become visible to the Chinese radar operators.
Bowie had no intention of giving the enemy ships time to react properly to the incoming missiles. He nodded to the TAO. “Nail ‘em with the gun.”
The Tactical Action Officer relayed the order to Weapons Control, and the ship jerked as the 5-inch deck gun loosed its first round. The muzzle report reverberated through CIC like a clap of thunder, only partially muffled by the steel bulkheads and insulated lagging that separated the compartment from the gun deck.
The gun cycled into its auto-load sequence, pumping out another projectile every three seconds, with bone-jarring booms. When the first five rounds were in the air, the gun swung its aim toward the second Chinese destroyer, and pumped out another five shells. Then the gun shifted its attention back to the first destroyer, and fired another five-round salvo.
Moving at a half mile per second, the first round took just under 74 seconds to close the distance to the target. As the projectile neared the end of its trajectory, the canard control module near the nose took a fix from GPS and compared the result to the position estimate from its own inertial measurement unit. The control module adjusted the angle of the stubby canard fins, and the Vulcano round pitched over into its terminal descent phase.
The infrared sensor locked onto the largest heat source within its field of view. The canard control module made a final angular correction, and the self-guided artillery shell streaked down toward the target like a meteor.
The Luzhou class destroyer was powered by two steam turbines of indigenous Chinese design. When the first round of the artillery barrage began falling from the sky, the strongest thermal signature was a plume of superheated gas rising from the forward exhaust stack.
The first Vulcano round punched through the hottest part of the exhaust trail about six feet above the stack, missing the destroyer cleanly, striking the water about fifteen yards off the ship’s port quarter. It exploded on impact, sending out a shower of shrapnel that either fell into the sea or pinged harmlessly off the metal flanks of the warship.
Three seconds later, the next Vulcano round missed the Chinese vessel by an even wider margin. Then, the third shell arrived.
Junior Lieutenant Dong Jie swung his binoculars to the right, and frantically scanned the sky to the starboard side of the ship. The Watch Officer and Tactical Lookout were gathered at the port side bridge windows, trying to get a look at the points of impact for the two explosions that had occurred so suddenly off the port side of the ship.
But they were looking the wrong way. The rockets, or artillery shells, or whatever they were, had come from the east. Dong had heard them distinctly, a strange whistling noise so high-pitched that his ears could barely detect it. What was that sound? What was causing the explosions?
And then he was hearing the whistling noise again, coming from the east, just like the last two times. He turned toward the Watch Officer, and said, “ting!” (Listen!) But the Watch Officer wasn’t listening.
Dong moved swiftly to the watertight door at the starboard side of the bridge. He yanked up the dogging handle, pulled the door open, and stepped out onto the starboard catwalk under the stars. The cold night air hit him like a blow from a hammer, but he had to know where that sound was coming from.
Whatever it was must be too small to see on radar, because the scopes on the bridge were clear of any incoming contacts, and the radar operators were not reporting anything out of the ordinary.
He lifted his binoculars to his eyes and scanned the darkened sky. He saw nothing up there but stars. Who could be doing this? The Indians? The Americans? But they were all gone. Defeated, and chased from the field of battle…
Through the open bridge wing door, Dong could hear the buzz of the telephone. That would be the captain, demanding a report on the source of the unidentified explosions.
The whistling noise was increasing in volume. Dong thought he caught a glimpse of something for a fraction of an instant — a blurred flicker of motion as some small dark shape arced down from the black face of the heavens.