Dale Brown - Sky Masters

“Unknown, sir, ” his officer of the deck replied. “Analyzing radar signals at this time, but nothing definite.”

“Where did those helicopters come from?” Chow shouted, puzzled and more than a bit afraid. “How did they get out here so fast without being detected? We’re over five hundred kilometers from a Philippine base.”

“They either staged their attack helicopters on barges or oil platforms, or “Or there’s a ship out there large enough to land a helicopter on board, ” Chow interjected. “The Philippines have only one vessel large enough to land a helicopter and load antiship weapons on board-Rizal-class corvette. But that still doesn’t explain that gunfire we saw on the horizon. What other-” And it was then that Commander Chow realized what it was-the largest, most powerful vessel in the Philippine inventory, the PF-class destroyer escort frigate. The ex-U.S. Navy Cannon-class frigate, another World War II relic, had no fewer than twenty large-caliber radar-guided guns on board, along with two 76-millimeter guns and a four-shot Mk- 141 Harpoon antiship missile launcher. That was no oil-drilling rig on Phu Qui Island-it was a major Philippine combat fleet, with at least three of its largest class of warships lying in wait. “Signal Dragon that we believe there is at least one PS-class corvette and one, possibly two PF-class frigates in the area of Phu Qui Island, ” Chow ordered. “Direct Yaan to assist Baoji, and I want the task force to turn south away from Phu Qui Island. I need Admiral Yin to signal.”

“Missile launch detected!” the Combat officer cried out. “Ku-band radar! Harpoon missile in the air!” That was the last coherent sentence Commander Chow Ti U was to hear. He ordered electronic countermeasures, expendables, and his guns to open fire on the attacking missiles, but the electronic jamming was too strong; the Ckagda did not pick up the missile until the Philippine ships ceased jamming, which was moments before the Harpoon’s active radar seeker would be programmed to activate and search for its target, about twenty seconds from impact. By that time the Harpoon missile had begun a series of random jinks, punctuated by a high, looping terminal “pop-up maneuver, a feint that was all but impossible for the Chagda ‘s defensive guns to follow. The missile slammed into the Chinese patrol craft traveling close to the speed of sound, pierced the main superstructure, and drove down several decks before its four-hundred-andeighty-pound warhead detonated. A second Harpoon missile followed seconds later, adding to the swift destruction of Chagda by exploding in the engine room, creating a blossom of fire so huge that it created shadows on the water for five miles in all directions. ABOARD THE SPRATLY ISLAND FLOTILLA FLAGSHIP H0NG LUNG “Lost contact with Chugdu, sir, ” the Combat Information Center officer reported to Admiral Yin. “Last report was of a PF-class frigate and a PS-class corvette near Phu Qui Island. No other details.” “Attack helicopters, jammers, now a possible Philippine strike fleet, ” Admiral Yin muttered. He had been in his command chair in the center of the Hong Lung’s small Combat Information Center, trying to piece together the situation as bits of radio messages were slowly merged with long-range radar data. Were the Filipinos out of their minds? Yin wondered. To attack the Chinese naval forces after the events of just a few months ago wasn’t merely outrageous, it was, in Yin’s mind, idiotic. Certainly they didn’t think they had a chance at defeating a force the strength of his. Or did they? What did they know that he didn’t? He mulled this over for the briefest minute. He would have to play this very, very carefully. “Bridge to Admiral Yin, ” Captain Lubu’s voice reported over a loudspeaker. “We are overtaking Wenshan.” The Hong Lung was at flank speed, which was at least six to ten knots faster than any of his flotilla’s other vessels except for two of his small Hegu-class fast attack missile craft, Fuzhou and Chukou. That would mean that Hong Lung would have no antimine or antimissile protection other than its own 37-millimeter guns and its phalanx Gatling-gun system. “Shall we pass to port or join up?” After giving the facts-and his own fears-careful consideration, Yin radioed back: “Pull ahead of Wenshan, reduce speed to twenty until Xingyi catches up, then resume thirty knots until within radar range of Chagda ‘s last known position.” Xingyi was his Huangfen-class fast attack missile boat, which also carried the supersonic Fei Lung-7 antiship missile as did Hong Lung. “Have the rest of the task force extend and follow. Have Fuzhou and Chukou continue at flank speed towards Chagda ‘s last-known position.” Yin wasn’t about to storm into a hostile region alone, with only a few lightly armed twenty-seven-meter boats as protection-he was going to send the two small boats to “beat the bushes” and find the Filipino bastards who were doing the shooting. “Yes, sir, ” Lubu replied crisply. “Expect Xingyi to rendezvous in thirty minutes.”

“Message from patrol craft Yaan, ” the CIC officer reported. “Chagda in sight and on fire. Reports from crewmen say they were hit by sea-skimming missiles. Patrol craft Baoji heavily damaged but under way, moving southwest at five knots. No contact with minesweeper Guangzou. Yaan requests permission to assist Chagda.”

“Permission granted, ” Admiral Yin replied crisply. “I want a report on the Philippine vessels. Direction, speed-I want it right now.”

“Yes, sir, ” the CIC acknowledged. Other crewmen in the Combat Information Center were turning to look at Yin, to see the anger and frustration spilling out. Many of them had angry questioning looks on their faces when Yin ordered the reduction in speed-shouldn’t they get over there as fast as possible to help their comrades? “Report from Yaan, sir, ” the CIC officer said a few minutes later. “Commander Ko reports three, possibly four vessels moving away from Phu Qui Island, heading east at twenty knots. Surface-search radars only. Acquisition radars not detected. Helicopters appear to be rendezvousing with the vessels.” Inwardly, Yin breathed a sigh of relief. At least this wasn’t more complicated than he’d first feared. Apparently the Filipinos had no stomach for a real fight. And obviously they weren’t seeking to consolidate their gains, refortify Phu Qui Island, or take any other islands in the neutral zone. It was a simple retaliatory battle-swift, decisive, and over with. Cut and run. They probably could have stayed and continued to bombard Yaan and Baoji, board Chagdo, take prisoners-that was what Yin would have done-or set up an ambush for Hong Lung, using the crippled ships, but they were doing nothing more than escaping. It put the onus right back on the Chinese-escalate the conflict or end it. Yin had no desire to drive his beautiful ship right into an ambush or into a battle-ready Filipino fleet of unknown size, but neither did he want any appearance of backing away from a fight. And so he became a picture of triumph. He turned to his men, who had turned to look at him with querying expressions. “They’re idiots. You see how they run? They steal out of the night, attack us like frightened children throwing rocks, then run in the face of something far more powerful. I loathe such spinelessness.” He clicked open the microphone and said in a loud voice, so everyone in CIC could hear him: “Captain Lubu, open a satellite channel to Dongdao Airfield immediately.” Dongdao was the new Chinese Air Force airfield in the Paracel Islands; it was almost seven hundred kilometers north of their present location, but it was the closest Chinese airfield with any sort of strike capability. Although there was an Air Force general on the island in charge of the base, most of the air-strike assets at Dongdao belonged to the Chinese Army Navy, and to Yin. “I want a Shuihong-5 patrol craft fully armed for surface combat to rendezvous on this flagship immediately, and another standing by to relieve the first. The patrol had better be airborne in thirty minutes or else.. .” That got the CIC operator’s attention-they all concentrated hard on their consoles, praying their Admiral would not turn on them. Yin considered radioing the South China Sea Fleet Headquarters at Zhanjiang directly, but so far Admiral Yin had not really done anything noteworthy except get one-sixth of his flotilla destroyed or damaged; he needed to show some initiative, some decisive action, before informing his headquarters of the disaster and awaiting instructions. The Shuihong-5 was a large turboprop flying boat used primarily for antisubmarine warfare and maritime patrol, but the ten aircraft assigned fulltime to his Nansha Island flotilla were fitted for antiship duties, with French-made Heracles II sea surveillance and targeting radar, two C-101 supersonic antiship missiles hung under the wings, and six French-made Murene NTL-90 dual-purpose lightweight torpedoes, also on wing pylons. The Shuihong-5 was a significant threat to any ship that did not possess antiaircraft missiles, and to Yin’s knowledge no Filipino warship carried antiaircraft missiles except perhaps short-range Stinger shoulder-fired weapons. It was enough to bomb the hell out of whatever Philippine forces were out there. Then, when his commander, the notoriously mercurial High General Chin Po Zihong, called him on the carpet for the destroyed Chagda, he’d have a large, ample helping of dead Filipinos to serve up. And that would certainly make High General Chin happy. OFF THE WEST COAST OF THE UNITED STATES NEAR VANDENBERG, CALIFORNIA WEDNESDAY, 21 SEPTEMBER 1994, 1131 HOURS LOCAL I ~t1was an absolutely spectacular day for flying. The skies were ear, with only a few stray wisps of clouds to break up the blue all around. The winds were relatively calm and turbulence-free, which was rather unusual at forty thousand feet. Things were not quite as calm, however, inside the special, heavily modified Sky Masters, Inc., DC-10 aircraft orbiting off the California coast. There was only one booster in the cargo section of the special DC-I 0 that morning, which presumably would have made Jon Masters half as anxious as when he was carrying two. Instead, Masters was agitated and irritable, much to the chagrin of the rest of the crew. The source of his irritation was Sky Masters’ newest air-launched space booster, Jackson-I, a dark, sleek, bullet-nosed object whose very looks promised powerful results. But the booster, named for the seventh President of the United States, wasn’t going anywhere. And that was the problem. “What’s going on?” Masters demanded over interphone, drumming his fingers on the launch-control console. Helen Kaddiri sighed. “We’re still tracking down the prob lem, Jon. We’re having trouble on the Ku-band downlink from Homer-Seven.”