Dale Brown - Sky Masters

“A little mission planning with the PACER SKY processor, ” McLanahan said. “I fed the STRC attack route through the system to see what it might come up with, and it turns out if we attack this target here from the west instead of from the northeast, the MUTES in Powder River MOA site won’t see us for an extra twenty-one seconds. We’ve got to gain sixty seconds after the Baker bomb site to get the extra time to get around to the west, so we’ll lose a few points on timing, but if this works we’ll gain even more points on bomber defense.” He shook his head as he flipped through the computer-generated graphics on the big screen. “The rest of the crews in the Air Battle Force would kill me if they knew I had something like PACER SKY doing my mission planning.” “That reminds me, ” Ormack said. “General Elliott got a tasking for NIRTSat time for a Joint Chiefs surveillance operation. Something to do with what’s going on in the Philippines. You might get tapped to show your stuff for the J-staff.”

“Fine. I’ll water their eyes. “The guard said you’ve been up here for three hours working on this, ” Ormack said. “You spent three hours just to save twenty seconds on one bomb run?” “Twenty seconds-and maybe I take down a target without getting ‘shot’ at.” He motioned to the SMFD and issued a command, which caused the scene to go into motion. A B-2 symbol on the bottom of the screen began reading along an undulating ribbon over low hills and dry valleys. Dead ahead was a small pyramid symbol of a target complex-small “signposts’ on the ribbon marked off seconds and miles to go to weapon release. Off to the right of the screen, a yellow dome suddenly appeared. “There’s the threat site at one o’clock, but this hillock blocks me out from the west-whoever surveyed the site for positioning this MUTES site obviously didn’t think crews would deviate this far west.” The computerized mission “preview” continued as the yellow dome began to grow, eventually engulfing the B-2 bomber icon and turning red. McLanahan pointed to a countdown readout. “Bingo-I release weapons ten seconds after I come under lethal range of the MUTES site. If I carry antiradar missiles, I can pick him off right now, or I just turn westbound around the hillock to escape. Ormack nodded in fascination at the presentation, but he was more interested in studying McLanahan than watching the computer. “There’s quite a party at the 0-Club, Patrick, ” he said. “This is your last night of partying before the weekend, and a lot of your old cronies from Ford Air Force Base asked about you. Why don’t you knock off and join us?” McLanahan shrugged and began reconfiguring the SMFD for another replay. “Crew rest starts in about an hour . “One beer won’t hurt. I’ll buy.” McLanahan hesitated, then glanced at Ormack and shook his head. “I don’t think so, sir… “Something wrong, Patrick? Something you’re not telling me?”

“No . . . nothing’s wrong.” Patrick hesitated, then issued voice commands to the computer to shut down the system. “I just. . . I don’t really feel part of them, you know?” “No, I don’t.”

“These guys are the real crew dogs, the real aviators, ” Patrick said. “They’re young, they’re talented, they’re so cocky they think they can take on the whole world.”

“Just like you were when I first met you, ” Ormack said with a laugh. “We used to think you had an attitude, but that was before we knew how good you really were.” He looked at McLanahan with a hint of concern. “You were pretty excited about coming to the Strategic Warfare Center, about getting back to the ‘real world’ . “But I’m not back, ” Patrick said. “I’m farther from them than I ever thought I’d be. I feel like I’ve abandoned them. I feel like I should be out there pulling a crew or running a bomb-nav shop, but instead I’m.. .” He shrugged again, then concluded, “Like I’m playing around with gadgets that probably won’t have anything to do with the ‘real world’. “That’s not what you’re down about, ” Ormack said. “I know you better than that. You’re down because you somehow don’t think you deserve what you’ve got. I see you around your buddies out there: they’re old captains or majors, and you’re a lieutenant colonel; they’re still on line crews, flying dawn patrols and red eyes and pulling alert, doing the same thing they did ten years ago, while you’re flying starships that most of those guys will never see in their careers, let alone flythey’re talking about their last bomb-competition mission or their last Operational Readiness Inspection, while your job is so classified that you can’t talk about it at all. You’re down because you can’t share what you have with them, so you hole yourself up in here thinking that maybe you don’t really have what it takes to be a good crew dog. “Patrick, you’re where you are because you’re the best. You did more than be chosen for a job: you excelled, you never gave up, you survived, and you saved others. Then when we stuck you in Dreamland to keep you quiet, you didn’t just vegetate until completing your twenty years-you excelled again and made yourself invaluable to the organization. “You deserve what you have. You earned it. You should go out and enjoy it. And you should also buy your boss a beer before he drags your ass out of this cockpit. Now move it, Colonel.” NEAR PHU QUI ISLAND, IN THE SPRATLY ISLAND CHAIN SOUTH CHINA SEA THURSDAY, 22 SEPTEMBER 1994, 2344 HOURS LOCAL The number-two task force of Admiral Yin Po L’un’s Spratly Island flotilla was again cruising within radar range of Phu Qui Island, the large rock and coral formation in the disputed neutral zone between the Philippine-occupied islands to the north and the Chinese-held islands to the south. Unlike the more powerful ten-ship task force that surrounded Admiral Yin’s flagship, this one had only four ships-two Hainan-class patrol boats, a Lienyun-class minesweeper, and a Huangfen-class fast attack missile craft, the Chagda, which acted as the command vessel for this faster, shallow-draft patrol group. Commander Chow Ti U, skipper of the Chagda, felt uneasy with his latest series of orders. It had been over three months since the attack on the Philippine oil-drilling barge, and the tension in the region had been escalating on a weekly basis. Now it was so thick one could cut it with a knife-and much of the heightened tensions could be directly attributed to the way Admiral Yin had handled the entire affair. Despite what was originally and officially reported, Yin had departed the area after attacking the oil barges; his contention that the seas were too rough to begin rescue operations did not sit well with anyone. When the weather cleared, it was found that Yin had steamed back to the Chinese side of the neutral zone, well away from Phu Qui Island-again, his contention that he was concerned about retaliatory attacks from Philippine warships did not explain why he did not offer to assist in rescue operations. Chow would never say so to anyone, but Yin’s actions could be characterized as unprofessional, exhibiting a total disregard for the rules of naval warfare, international law, and common decency between sailors. Chow felt that the Admiral had every right to confront the illegally placed oil-drilling rig, and he was well within his responsibilities when he returned fire-even such devastating return fire as he used. But to sim ply slink away from the area without offering any help or without radioing for help was very suspicious. Since then, while there’d been no skirmishes, there had been a few close calls. Everyone was on edge, looking, waiting, wondering. … Chow and his fellow Chinese crewmen privately felt it was only a matter of time before something else happened, and after witnessing the way Admiral Yin had handled the first skirmish, everyone was skittish about how he would proceed in an escalated conflict. “Range to Phu Qui Island, navigator, ” Chow called out. His crewmen were obviously keeping very close track themselves, for the answer was almost instantaneous: “Sir… we are presently twenty-five kilometers southwest of Phu Qui Island. We will be in radar range within minutes.”