“Is that enough time?”
The Marine shrugged. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. The last time there was a battle even somewhat resembling this was in 1944. My grandfather wasn't even born at that point.”
“Can the Chinese fighters stop our fighters?”
“Maybe. From what the Taiwanese have told us, the Chinese J-20 fighters are a little better at this sort of thing than the F-35. But there are only fifty J-20's, and we're sending up about triple that.”
“Jesus. This is going to be some show…”
The Marine tore his eyes from the displays and looked over at me. “You don't know the half of it, sir.”
The minutes ticked by, and I found myself wondering what was going through the minds of the pilots. Both sides were flying stealth fighters, but every pilot in the sky knew that the other was coming, knew that a fight was approaching at a combined speed of Mach 3.
They had trained and trained, never really expecting that a battle like this would ever happen. The last two superpowers on Earth had poured mountains of treasure into developing some of the most technologically sophisticated devices in human history. And now they were at the focal point in a clash between two nations, two ideologies, two civilizations jousting for the future of the planet.
“LAUNCH!” An excited lieutenant shouted the word as the F-35’s loosed their first volley of missiles. With the Chinese bombers still a hundred miles distant, the F-35’s were clearly shooting at the wave of Chinese escort fighters, which must have been out in front. Seconds later, the Chinese J-20’s fired their own shots in response, and planes on both sides began dramatic evasive maneuvers to spoof the other sides’ missiles.
Radio chatter burst over loudspeakers set up in the command center.
“Red Lead, that’s a kill, that’s a—”
“Red-2 down, say again—”
“Scratch two J-20’s—”
In thirty seconds, half the Chinese escort fighters were down, along with twenty J-20’s. The remaining Chinese escort fighters rapidly closed the distance to the American planes and a massive dogfight ensued.
Admiral Accomando's voice came over the loudspeakers, notably calm despite the importance of the moment. “Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie groups push through to the bombers. Delta, take out the remaining escort fighters.”
Fighters from three of the four carriers — some seventy aircraft — lit afterburners and sped off to attack the Tu-160 Blackjack bombers. The F-35 fighters from the last carrier continued the turning, shooting scrum with the last of the J-20's.
The Marine muttered, “God, it's going to be close…”
Seconds ticked away as the American fighters halfway across the world sped toward their targets.
Finally, the F-35's were fifty miles out, right at the edge of their missile range. The air commander said, “Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, let 'em have it!”
Scores of missiles filled the air, scoring dozens hits on the Chinese bombers. A thoughtful technician had a display project the number of missile launches and hits. Seventy missiles had found their targets, destroying fifty-six Chinese bombers.
The Marine whispered, “Still a hundred-twenty in the air.”
Bainbridge's face went white. He asked no one in particular, “Did we take out enough?”
No one answered. Finally someone croaked out, “We'll find out.”
“The bombers are launching cruise missiles! Looks like they're carrying two per plane, call it 240 total missiles incoming.”
The remaining Chinese bombers and fighters turned for home with an angry swarm of American missiles chasing them. Another ten Chinese aircraft were downed, but the F-35’s had to turn for home, running low on fuel.
And the 240 cruise missiles would precede them.
The missiles were incredibly fast, screaming along at Mach 4, 3,000 miles per hour. I did the math in my head, figuring that the missiles would cover the distance to Task Force 61 in five minutes.
“And now we find out if ASPIS really works.” Bainbridge’s voice was tight. The U.S. Navy as a fighting force in the Pacific would effectively cease to exist in five minutes if ASPIS failed.
Minutes ticked by again as anxiety wrenched the stomach of every person in the command center.
I asked the Marine, “How far out can the ASPIS missiles engage?”
As if in answer, the six ASPIS ships flashed a bright blue on the main display. “That means they're firing their missiles now, sir.”
The ASPIS missiles streaked out immediately, dozens of them. Their sonic booms must have made the ocean around the Task Force thunder with noise for fifty miles in any direction.
But they were working! On the display, I could see that the Chinese missiles were being shot down in droves. Where there had been 240, there were only 100 after the first wave of ASPIS missiles, which had been designed for just this situation. There were hundreds of the tiny, super-maneuverable missiles on each of the six ASPIS ships.
Then, suddenly, one of the ASPIS ship indicators blinked out. Then another.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” Bainbridge’s voice had lost all semblance of calm.
A technician screamed, anguish evident in his shrill voice. “Sonar contacts, multiple sonar contacts!”
New red symbols blinked into life on the wall display. I counted as quickly as I could, finding a dozen of the new markers.
“Those are submarines,” the Marine whispered, fear intruding on his voice. “They're all within torpedo range of Task Force 61.”
“How the hell did they sneak up on the Task Force?!” I asked too loudly.
“I don't know. They must have been lying in wait, running silent, just waiting for our ships to be in the right place at the right time.”
As the noise from the ASPIS missiles died off with the two sunk ships, the sonars of the task force began pinging away rapidly, detecting twenty torpedoes racing inbound.
Bainbridge shouted, “Where the hell are our escort destroyers?” As if in response, the submarine escort destroyers, caught off-guard, fired their own torpedoes at the Chinese submarines. I watched on the display as tendril trails reached out from the Task Force ships to the Chinese submarines on all sides of the fleet.
The Chinese submarines took evasive action, but they were too close to the Task Force to have any real hope of getting away. The submarine escorts' first wave of torpedoes destroyed every one of the Chinese submarines, killing over a thousand Chinese sailors.
But the twenty Chinese torpedoes continued inbound, every single one targeted on the four remaining ASPIS ships.
“Jesus Christ.” I couldn't tell who said it, but the sentiment captured the moment precisely.
The ASPIS ships, alerted to the danger, instantly began to accelerate. “Can they dodge the torpedoes?” I asked the Marine.
He looked like he'd be sick. “No.”
Heroically, the ASPIS ships continued to fire at the incoming cruise missiles right up until the Chinese torpedoes slammed into their hulls. Within seconds, the symbols marking the ASPIS ships winked out as tens of thousands of pounds of explosives detonated under their waterlines.
“The ASPIS ships are gone, Admiral.”
Task Force 61 had lost its shield. And the enemy’s sword was coming in.
Fifty Chinese cruise missiles were still in the air when the last of the ASPIS ships died.
I asked, “Is there anything else left to stop those damn missiles?”
“The remaining escort ships and the carriers themselves have automatic Gatling guns for close-in missile defense. But… I don't think they can cope with so many targets coming in so fast.”