Michael, on the Social Committee at a nearby Poconos Resort named Woodloch Pines, was all about family. Michael organized old-school fun backyard games in a resort-style atmosphere, ranging from potato sack races to trivia contests to a capstone event called the Family Olympics. Rated the number-one family resort in the United States by many travel organizations, the lakefront property had Michael to thank for guest fun.
“Well, Rex, that’s the dial to tune in the frequency. This is an amateur radio. Also known as a ham radio. We can talk to people all around the world with this radio gear,” replied Michael.
Sitting on their basement table pushed up against the cement foundation wall was their transceiver, connected to the home’s electricity via a plug, complete with an antenna in the attic, a microphone, and a frequency logbook.
“This is cool, Dad. Tell me more. I want to talk to someone far away. Please?” an enthusiastic Rex asked.
“OK, OK. Hang on. I figured it was time to share with you my hobby. Let’s see,” Michael replied, tuning up his $150 starter radio.
The ham radio industry had boomed lately thanks to doomsday preppers and hobby fans around the world. It enabled nearly anyone with one of three licenses in the United States to communicate around the globe at nearly anytime. Easy entry to the hobby field allowed citizens to relay news and weather and communicate as far as one hundred miles away with a technician license, or across the earth with a general license.
“Rex, listen in. Put this headset on over your ears.” Michael showed his son how to wear the headset, adjusting it to his ten-year-old head. “This is the Radio Society of Great Britain right now. They are located at the National Radio Centre in London. That’s in England. Look over there at the wall map there and point that out for us.”
“Wow. We can talk across the whole Atlantic Ocean with this radio?” a wide-eyed Rex asked.
There was no immediate reason for Chen to land his Su-35 at the same base as the Black Scorpion, so Chen returned to the Xishuangbanna Airport in Yunnan. The Black Scorpion crew, keeping operational security on their front burner, continued forward to their next scheduled location for the night at Xi’an Airport.
Copilot Chung Kang put his head down and punched in XXIA for the four-letter airport identifier code. It came up immediately on the display screen in between their seats in the Flight Management System database. He then verified the latitude/longitude at 34°26′49″N, 108°45′05″E, and punched in the key labeled “Direct.” Direction lines that resembled Google Maps appeared on the flat-panel screens in front of them, from the aircraft icon to the destination. If they just flew the line or used autopilot, the aircraft would go direct to Xi’an Airport. It worked the same way as modern car navigation systems, plotting a route to an address.
Looking at the newly built runway on the cockpit display, Runway 05 Right, built in 2012 to handle the gigantic commercial Airbus 380, aircraft commander Dai was tempted to bring Black Scorpion in because of the fantastic 12,400-foot length. Unfortunately for them, they needed to park and hide Black Scorpion for the next twenty hours or so in the large white hangar at the end of Runway 05 Left, located on the other side of the airfield. Even though it was night and there were not many people around to see them, the risk was too great to taxi across such a distance. They would have to land on Runway 05 Left, the shorter of the two runways.
Kang slowed her down and ran the descent checklists up at altitude, ensuring the aircraft was safe since they just finished their weapon test. Dai made some notes on his kneeboard-size card with a pencil, with his head down inside the cockpit. He wrote some of the aircraft performance parameters and switch settings and copied the atmospheric conditions like outside air temperature and humidity, which engineering would care about. In order to adjust the laser for maximum firepower and lethality, a whole list of items would need to be fine-tuned.
Their next test tomorrow would be to take her down to the South China Sea, Woody Islands, to do a surface-to-air missile (SAM) battery test with some military radar equipment. Along the northwestern coast of the island were a deployment of these SAM units, along with a single HT-233 target engagement radar, supported by a target acquisition radar. Four pairs of vehicles carrying these missiles, known as transporter-erector-launchers were there, too, totaling thirty-two surface-to-air missiles. This was well publicized in the open international news, but Chen wanted to fly down there anyway.
Woody Island was located in the Spratly Islands, the oil- and gas-rich real estate claimed by multiple countries, which made headlines on a daily basis. The islands were located between Vietnam and the Philippines, while the actual boundaries were heated points of tension that had the potential to spark into a major conflict one day. The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, which was a country’s Exclusive Economic Zone, stated that it “shall not extend beyond two hundred nautical miles from the baselines from which the breadth of the territorial sea is measured.” In the Exclusive Economic Zone, each country can use natural resources, fish, construct artificial islands, and lay undersea cable. China was pushing the limits, literally, politically and militarily.
Testing had been going on down there since 2005, and Chen recently had some J-11BH and J-H7 fighters sent down to warm up the military radar controllers. His vision of these deployments allowed ground crews to operate in conditions that looked like other areas of the world. Chen also deviously wanted to test military radar against Black Scorpion.
“Let’s run the before-landing checklists,” Dai commanded, and Chung gave a thumbs up as he turned the page in his pilot’s checklist.
“OK, before-landing checklist. Seats and harnesses?” Chung said out loud.
“I’m lock—”
BAAAM! BAAAM! BOOMP!
The jet shuddered, and impacts to her external skin were felt inside the cockpit.
“What the hell was that?” Dai said over the intercom. “We hit something.”
“Whoa! We just hit a flock of birds. Bird strike. Bird strike,” Chung said.
“WHOOP. WHOOP. ENGINE NUMBER ONE FAILURE. ENGINE NUMBER ONE FAILURE,” the Black Scorpion on-board flight computer, in a female voice, announced over the intercom of the aircraft issue.
“We sucked in a bird into engine number one. She’s failed. Damn. Shut her down. Shut her down,” Dai said.
The jet yawed to the left slightly because of the loss of power on that side. Since engine number one was on the left side of the aircraft, the right side produced more thrust at that instant and the jet over compensated. For a solid few moments, the aircraft’s turn and bank indicator was not centered, and the small ball that demonstrated balanced flight was way off to the side. Not a good situation, as the aircraft was slicing sideways through the air and losing some altitude. Since Dai was flying manually, he stomped on the rudder pedal to balance the aircraft again. He also had the control stick banked to the right so he could maintain straight and level flight.
“Chung, verify I have my hand on throttle number one?” Dai asked.
“Yes, yes, number one. Confirmed.”
The cockpit lights were already all lighting up because of the loss of oil and fuel pressure, generator power, and turbine speed. Hydraulics were shared by other engines, so assisted power to the flight controls were not affected. The aircraft’s engine could easily be eating itself, literally spinning and disintegrating metal in the air and on fire. For all they knew, the jet could be shooting flames out the back and littering the countryside with aircraft fan blades and engine parts.
“WHOOP WHOOP. WHOOP WHOOP. EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY.”