Dale Brown - Sky Masters

“Affirm, Diamond One-Three, ” Cobb replied on the scrambled tactical frequency, recognizing Carter’s voice. “Thanks for clearing our tail.”

“No problem. We got you on the FLIR, and you’re trailing smoke from your number one. What’s your situation?”

“Lost number one, lost our primary hydraulics, lost part of our left flight controls, losing fuel out the left wing, ” Cobb replied. “We’re going to need a tanker in about thirty minutes.”

“If you’re still hooked up to the network, they’ll be alerted and someone will be waiting for you, ” Carter reminded him. The Dreamland aircraft that could receive and transmit NIRTSat data were constantly being monitored by the Air Battle Force officers back on Guam-the computers would automatically upload a status report to a NIRTSat as it passed overhead every fifteen minutes, and the satellite would relay the aircraft reports to General Stone on Guam. “We’ll stay with youwe’re out of air-to-surface stuff anyway. “What’s the status of the strike package?” McLanahan asked. “We lost two BUFFs and one Black Knight going in, not counting you guys, ” Carter said, “and that was before we dropped one damned weapon on the assault force invading Davao. The real fight should be starting… right about now. EMERGENCY CONFERENCE ROOM CAMP DAVID PRESIDENTIAL RETREAT, MARYLAND SUNDAY, 9 OCTOBER 1994, 1323 HOURS LOCAL (MONDAY, 10 OCTOBER 1994, 0223 HOURS PHILIPPINES TIME) resident Lloyd Emerson Taylor sat with hands folded Funder his chin, staring at a spot atop his desk. He was still wearing his brown leather Air Force-issue flight jacket over casual slacks and a red flannel shirt, the same things he had put on the day before. He had taken Marine Corps One to Camp David yesterday at six P.M., arriving just before sunset. After his arrival, he wordlessly kissed his wife, Jean, good-bye, then proceeded directly to the Emergency Conference Room, seated himself at that desk and, almost literally, had not moved since. Members of the National Security Council and key members of Congress had been filing in and out of the Emergency Conference Room all day-he all but ignored them. Military communications technicians were manning phones and headsets nearby, but the President had only two phones on his desk: one direct to the National Military Command Center at the Pentagon, where General Curtis and Secretary of Defense Preston had been since the President had signed the executive order authorizing the mission against the Chinese; the other was direct to the White House Communica tions Center, where calls from overseas could be immediately transferred to him. There was also a series of reports transmitted to him via secure teletype from General Curtis-including some casualty reports. Those he dreaded most of all. The news crushed him, especially the word that a B-2 had been lost. He resisted the urge to wad up the teletype paper instead laying it flat on top of the growing stack of urgent reports from Curtis, then returned to his stoic position at the desk. But the more he thought about the reports that had just come in, the more he realized it was the loss of the B-2 that bothered him the most. Yes, it was horrible that they’d lost six B-52 crew members, and the F-14 Tomcat aviators, and the sailors from the USS Ranger. But he’d always thought of the B-2 as. . . almost invincible. For the kind of money and research that had gone into those planes, they should have been. And yet, as he more than anyone knew, nothing was ever certain in life. Nothing. Paul Cesare had been keeping the President’s coffee mug filled and hot all this time, even though the President had only taken two or three sips in nearly twenty-four hours; now, he replaced the thick, white Navy galley mug of coffee with a mug of chicken soup. “Eat something, Mr. President, ” Cesare said. “Get up and stretch . Taylor considered it, but the ringing of the White House phone glued him to the desk. Cesare picked it up, listened, then handed it right to the President. “Sir, it’s the Chinese Foreign Minister on the line from Beijing.” Taylor would have loved to tell Zhou to piss off backwards, or tell him that, yes, we won’t bomb your ships anymore-hell, he wasn’t sure what he would tell Zhou. Instead, he motioned to Secretary of State Danahall to take the phone. They had already discussed in great detail exactly what was going to be said-now was the moment to start the drama. The President turned to a separate no-voice phone to listen in while Danahall cleared his throat and said, “Secretary Danahall speaking.”

“Mr. Secretary, this is Zhou Ti Yanbing, ” the Chinese For eign Minister announced himself. “I thank you for taking my call, sir.” “Do you have a message for us?”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary, ” Zhou said. “Premier Cheung wishes to officially protest the unwarranted and brutal attack on the People’s Republic of China’s fleet in the southern Philippines. Premier Cheung demands to know if a state of war has been declared and whether Article Four of the Brussels Conference is hereby implemented.” Article Four dealt with the formal declaration of hostilities between nations, setting in motion all the legal and diplomatic formalities of war. Taylor couldn’t believe it. He listened with a growing sense of fury and frustration. God, how he’d love to tell Zhou and Cheung to go to hell. Better yet, to bomb them back into the Stone Age. With that one nuclear explosion they had set off the most maddening and aggravating chain of events in his administration. And now the fuckers were demanding that the United States follow the letter of the law. The audacity. . He shook his head and took a deep breath. Even going on twenty-four hours without sleep, he knew, as much as he’d rather not, that rules had to be obeyed, protocol observed, words exchanged. He nodded for Secretary Danahall to continue… Danahall took a deep breath and said calmly, “Please advise Premier Cheung that the government of the United States desires no direct communication with the government of the People’s Republic of China except to receive an offer of an immediate cease-fire and guaranteed promise to halt all military operations in the Philippines. Any official notification this government has with your government will be through the United Nations.”

“I understand the formal notification procedures, Mr. Secretary, and we will of course abide by them as well, ” Zhou said in his polished, fluent English-Oriental accent. “My government has already delivered an official letter of protest to the Secretary General, and I trust Ambassador O’Day will contact you in short order. But any nation that embraces peace, freedom, and human rights would surely desire to begin negotia tions to end all hostilities as soon as possible. You do not wish to fight a war, do you, Mr. Secretary? Will you simply make demands of us without opening any sort of dialogue?”

“We have no message or statements for your government, Mr. Foreign Secretary, Danahall said resolutely, “except that we expect your guaranteed promise to withdraw all military forces from the Philippines immediately. Do you have a message for my government?” There was a slight pause; then: “Mr. Secretary, please conAnd then the line went dead. THE PRESIDENTIAL RESIDENCE, BEIJING PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA MONDAY, 10 OCTOBER 1994, 0231 HRS. LOCAL “You will not capitulate to the Americans!” Chinese High General Chin Po Zihong said as he grabbed the phone from the Foreign Minister’s hand. Several other members of Premier Cheung Yat Sing’s Cabinet shot to their feet in absolute shock. Premier Cheung himself remained impassive, his hands folded on his desk, watching the spectacle with a stone-cold, expressionless visage. “How dare you disrupt a call to a foreign ministry like that!” Zhou shouted. “Explain yourself, Comrade General. You are violating a direct order from the Comrade Premier himself…”