Dale Brown - Sky Masters

“The waters in the Palawan Passage may be too shallow for torpedoes, sir, ” Lubu reminded Admiral Yin. “The torpedoes dive as far as fifteen meters before beginning their climb to the surface-there may not be enough depth in the area to accommodate that.”

“Then order Talon Eight-One to attack at slower speeds, ” Yin ordered, “but I want the northern frigate prosecuted immediately. If the Filipino fleet is allowed to cross the Passage toward Palawan, we will have to withdraw before shore forces can react. I do not want these people to escape, Lubu, do you understand me? I will teach these Filipino cowards a lessonthe People’s Republic of China will defend its territory and its borders with all the power at its command. We will destroy ten ships for every one of ours that is attacked. Now carry out my orders, Captain.” HIGH TECHNOLOGY AEROSPACE WEAPONS CENTER (HAWC), NEVADA SAME TIME If there was a room in all the huge expanse of desert known as HAWC in the restricted area known as Dreamland that was more classified or more restricted than any other, it was Building Twelve, otherwise known as Hassle Hall. It was so named because every occupant undergoes a scrupulous security check before entering the building, and each and every room in the complex conducts it own security check for every individual, arriving and departing. On the second-floor offices of the project known as PACER SKY, a huge high-definition TV monitor had been set up against one wall. A bank of computers and control equipment fed satellite data from the expansive Earth station mounted atop Skull Mountain within the Dreamland complex, and the digitized satellite data was unpacked from its microburst transmission format, decoded, processed, reassembled, and displayed on the huge monitor. The four occupants of that super-secret room could scarcely believe what they were seeing-a real-time image of a Chinese warship over eleven thousand miles away, taken from a satellite about the size of a welder’s acetylene tank traveling five hundred miles overhead at seventeen thousand miles per hour. The image was so clear that they could count the different antennae on the vessel. “My God, that’s incredible, ” Air Force Colonel Andrew Wyatt, one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff’s senior project officers, exclaimed. “And that photo was taken at night? It’s amazing.”

“We can do everything but read the name on the stern, sir, ” Major Kelvin Carter said proudly. Carter was one of the heads of the EB-52 Megafortress strategic escort “battleship” bomber project, a command pilot, and the special project officer in charge of interfacing the PACER SKY satellite system with the Megafortress fleet. “It’s not an actual photo-it’s a composite image, combining radar, infrared, and low-light visual-spectrum data. We can do this with every ship that’s out there. We’ve spotted whales, dolphins, schools of fish, and even people on some of the smaller inhabited islands. But keep in mind, this is not the usable display.” Carter motioned to the console operators, who switched the display to a larger-scale map of the area. The screen was filled with icons representing different vessels, along with data blocks near each icon. “Here’s the plan view of the area around the vessels out there. The computer issues identification icons to each and computes its track, speed, and plots past and probable courses. In attack mode, the computer will plot routes around the different threats displayed, select weapons to strike each target, and prioritize targets according to parameters entered by the commander.” Carter turned to a young Air Force officer beside him. “Ken?” Air Force Captain Kenneth F. James, assisting Carter with his presentation to the Joint Chiefs of Staff representativ~, motioned to a smaller monitor on another console. “As you know, Colonel McLanahan is out flight-testing his modified B-2 Black Knight at SWC. Here’s what he’s watching in the bomber, sir, ” James explained. “It’s an instant intelligence and operations display. With this, a bomber doesn’t need to launch with a completed flight plan, decode targeting messages, or even stay in touch with his headquarters or task force commander. He can launch and drive right to the target, knowing that he’ll have the best and most current intelligence and flight plan available.” Wyatt shook his head with amazement. “Incredible. Really incredible. Do you see that display in your plane someday, Captain? I understand you’re involved in a very futuristic fighter program. James glanced at Carter, momentarily unsure how to respond. “Captain James is a stickler for security, sir, ” Carter explained. James smiled, apparently relieved that Carter had stepped in to intercede for him. “He’s understandably hesitant to talk about his DreamStar project, even to you.”

“I understand, ” Wyatt said. “You guys live with security measures that really infuriate the Joint Chiefs. I don’t think there could be a bad guy within five miles of this place, right, Captain James?” The young test pilot looked a bit startled at the question directed at him, but gave Curtis’ aide a weak smile and replied, “Security becomes a way of life around here, sir. You get very close-lipped after a while.”

“I’ll bet you do.” “I think we can safely say that DreamStar is light-years ahead of even PACER SKY, sir. In my Megafortress strategic escort project, which I know you are well familiar with, PACER SKY would be ideal. One EB-52 acting as escort to a flight of bombers on a long-range strike mission will use PACER SKY to plan and update strike routes, pre-plan defenses, and optimize weapons usage. “All this. . . from a satellite that weighs only four hundred pounds, ” Wyatt said. “Amazing.”

“It looks like Colonel McLanahan is getting ready to enter the low-level route, sir, ” James pointed out. “When he switches between his Super Multi Function Display modes, we’ll be able to watch his entire run on this screen.” POWDER RIVER MOA, NEAR BELLE CREEK, MONTANA SAME TIME They called it Powder River. It was a pleasant-enough sounding name, almost relaxing-completely out of place for a high-tech bombing, navigation, and gunnery range. The Powder River weapons complex encompassed the southeast corner of Montana, a bit of the northeast corner of Wyoming, and an even smaller part of northwestern South Dakota. It was almost perfectly flat, with only a few windswept rolling hills and gulleys to break up the awful monotony of the terrain. In nearly eight thousand square miles of territory, there were only six towns of any size, mostly along route 212 that ran between Belle Fourche, South Dakota, and Crow Agency, Montana. The northern edge of Powder River A contained parts of Custer National Forest, while the very southern tip of Powder River B claimed an even greater landmarkDevil’s Tower, the unusual cylindrical rock spire made famous in the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Other than Devil’s Tower, however, there was almost nothing of interest-this was truly the “badlands, ” as depicted by writers of the Old West. It was truly the badlands this day. Sixteen men had already been “killed” in Powder River in one day. Men were “dying” because the Happy Hooligans from Fargo, North Dakota, were having an exceptionally good day. The 119th Fighter Interceptor Group was out in force, with four F-16 ADF Fighting Falcon air-defense fighters and two F-23 Wildcat advanced tactical fighters rotating shifts, plus two KC-10 aerial refueling tankers, and they were running rampant through the wide-open expanse of sky under Powder River MOA (Military Operating Areas) A and B. The training sorties, which they had been running for the past several weeks, were all a part of General Calvin Jarrel’s Strategic Warfare Center program designed to train the aircrews that made up the newly integrated First Air Battle Wing. Late on this particular afternoon, two F-23 Wildcat fighters were patrolling the Powder River MOA. In the lead was Colonel Joseph Mirisch, the deputy commander of operations of the 119th Fighter Interceptor Squadron from Fargo; his wingman was a relatively low-time Wildcat fighter named Ed Milo. After checking his wingman in, Mirisch took him over to the tactical intercept frequency and keyed his mike: “TOPPER, this is raider Two-Zero flight of two, bogey-dope.” No reply. “TOPPER, how copy?” Still no response. They were within rangewhat was going on here? On interplane frequency, Mirisch said, “I’ve got negative contact with the GCI controllers. Looks like we might be on our own.”