USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  Then it was one of the crossed types. Another 50 feet and no trip wires. Thank God they were through. Two hundred yards, and Innes signalled a stop. They both switched on their mini-echo locators and swept back and forth to the left and centre of the channel. The LCD display showed no return. They pressed on. It was black out there, they just followed the slope of the wall to the right, the only sound the hiss and pop of the rebreathers.

  They stopped another three times to search for the boat, but there was no sign of it. They’d need a bearing to make the swim out of the lagoon, they knew the approximate course, but it was best to get a bearing. Alves gave a thumbs up signal, Innes nodded and they ascended, surfacing in the dark. Out here nobody would see them, and Innes and Alves both took bearings. Alves pulled out his mouthpiece. “Twenty five.” Innes nodded. They descended and followed the bearing. Innes set his timer. After six minutes Alves tapped him on the shoulder, and he pointed out into the darkness, Innes couldn’t see anything. He made a shrug with his hands. Alves placed his hand on top of his head with fingers pointing upwards.

  Oh, right, he’d seen a shark. Just after, two Grey Reef sharks made a pass by them. Innes knew what to do. He knew they could sense fear somehow. It was time for some bluff and intimidation. He got Alves’s attention, pointed at the sharks and made a chopping motion with his hand. Both divers swam after the sharks as fast as they could and the sharks disappeared but reappeared thirty seconds later. Innes knew this was a game of bluff. The divers changed direction and swam directly for them again, this had to work, he suppressed his fear as best he could, the sharks sped off into the black. The two divers resumed their course, checking for the sharks from time to time. Innes knew that Sharks could be intimidated; to the shark, a diver is an unknown large creature. If this creature shows no fear and appears threatening, they’d often back down. Innes had seen it before, Sharks have the mentality of a dangerous chicken, they’re more cautious than most people think. After twelve minutes, they should be about there. It was time to ascend to check and get a new bearing. At the surface, Innes took his mouthpiece out. “Eighty for five minutes.” Alves nodded, and when they got to the spot, they surfaced again. They were now outside the lagoon at the northeast tip of the reef. The plan was that every three minutes the boat would raise her periscope and flash twice, facing north, away from the base. The divers would get her location and return aboard. Innes looked to the north, there was the bulk of the frigate making its way slowly west. He knew that was unwelcome, the boat would know by sonar that the frigate was there and wouldn’t flash from the periscope. Somebody may see it. Damn. They used the mini-echo locators, no contact. It got worse as the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades clattered their way over. It was the ship’s Ka-28 Helix ASW aircraft. It was just visible against the sky. About a mile away it slowed, lowered, and let down its dipping sonar. Oh fuck, thought Innes. If the boat’s down there the Helix may detect it and the boat would be forced to leave the area. The two men watched helplessly as the Helix hovered.

  “Sonar. We have faint sounds just over a mile west northwest. It’s a Helix hovering; I’ve heard similar sounds from our birds. He’ll be lowering his dipping sonar, sir.”

  “Flood fore and aft two thirds. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. We’ll sink to the bottom, it’s fairly shallow here.”

  They all felt the hull bottom, stern first.

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t go active and ping.” What a bastard, why here? He was taking a risk, but it was a risk to head away with a spinning prop.

  INNES SAW THE HELIX raising its dipping sonar and it flew off to the west. He removed his mouthpiece. “Could be a rooky being given some night training.” Alves nodded. The two divers waited, the frigate was further away to the west now. Around seven minutes later Alves saw it. Two flashes. He pointed and took a bearing. The two men swam for the location. There again. Innes swept with his mini-echo locater, it was 30 yards away. The two men submerged and switched on their helmet lights. There it was! It was a swim towards it, then into the sail, close the hatch. Knock out the signal. Soon the water started to drain away. There was no need for decompression. The bottom hatch swung open and they climbed down.

  Nathan stood there looking at his wristwatch. “What time do you call this? Have you been ashore? Trying to get to first base with a couple of Chinese broads?”

  Innes grinned. “Damn, you guessed it sir. We were in the bar knocking back a few Tsingtao beers, with two hot ladies. The bug is in place sir. Mission accomplished.”

  “Well done guys. Two down one to go.”

  PHAN RANG AIRBASE VIETNAM.

  RUNWAY LIGHTS WERE visible in the predawn darkness. Major Pete ‘Soup’ Campbell, and Mission Commander and Lieutenant Kip ‘Slippy’ Clay, sat side by side in the cockpit of the powerful B1-B Lancer.

  “Phan Rang, from Rooster flight leader. We have an eight ship inbound, requesting permission to land on your runway 04L/22R.”

  B-1B or the ‘Bone’, as it was affectionately known, was a fast, heavy, low-level bomber. Slippy had logged over 1000 hours flying the B-1B, Campbell a little less.

  The strike package was part of a flight from the 28th Bomb squadron, on detachment from Dyess AFB Texas. They’d flown there from their forward operating base at Andersen AFB Guam.

  “Here we go, good morning Vietnam.”

  Sat in a separate compartment to the rear of the cockpit was Lieutenant Donna ‘Fangs’ Farra. The Defensive Systems Officer, she controlled the B1-B’s sophisticated defensive systems. Linda ‘Razor’ Seraisi, the Offensive Systems Officer, sat next to her. A black girl from Louisiana and cool as ice, Razor was competent and seemingly unflappable.

  “You are permission land, Rooster flight.”

  Slippy turned to line up with the runway, pulled back on the power and came in down the glide slope. They touched down on 10,500 feet of concrete and turned off towards the apron they were allocated. The other seven aircraft banked in when their turn came. Another four ship was due later.

  “Well here we are then, the first US forces to be stationed in Vietnam for a long time,” said Fangs.

  Linda Razor Seraisi looked over at her colleague clad in her bone dome, she was breathing from her respirator.

  “I don’t think you’ll get the red carpet, Donna,” said Razor.

  “As long as we get a fuel load and some chow.”

  MORE AIRCRAFT ARRIVED later in the day; the crews were made welcome. Aircraft also landed at Than Son Nhut airbase. A flight of F22 Raptors flew from Alaska and deployed on Guam.

  That night the Vietnamese cooks at Phan Rang served a local feast of exotic foods on spacious open-air patios. Trees covered the tables and must have provided useful shade in the daytime.

  At 05.00 hours the next day, Rooster flight roared into the air from Phan Rang.

  “Roosters check in,” called Soup Campbell.

  “Rooster two, green board.”

  “Rooster three, green board. Package for Mr Chang.”

  “Rooster four, green board. Loaded for Bear.”

  “Lay in a course for W1.” Rooster flight was at 9,000 feet, heading to the southeast.

  After thirty minutes the call came in.

  “Rooster flight, rooster flight. This Buzzard one. Looking glass two is picking out trade 28 miles to your north. I’m going to prosecute. Call stud five for trade.”

  “Copy Buzzard one, will maintain track.”

  An AWACS on patrol had informed Buzzard one, a flight of F22 Raptors that potential Chinese fighters were on patrol to the north.

  “Buzzard two, suspected trade, vector two five five. Select AMMRAM.”

  “Copy Buzzard one.”

  Buzzard flight engaged their twin Pratt and Whitney F119-PW-100 turbofans with 52,000 pounds of dry thrust, and the two F22s went supersonic without reheat.

  They didn’t want to engage onboard radar, and risk alerting the opposition.

  “Looking glass, Buzzard flight. Give m
e a sitrep.”

  “Buzzard, Looking glass two, IFF negative. Flight profiles in the red, four bogies, you are weapons go. Repeat weapons go.”

  “Copy Looking glass.” The Raptors were racing inbound on the Chinese fighters, their radars off.

  “Buzzard flight, Looking glass, you are four zero miles to trade.”

  “Copy.” Major Zinny called it. He selected the AMRAAM AIM120D active radar homing missile. “Buzzard two go active scope, AIM 120D, lock em, load em and release.”

  “Copy.”

  They switched on their ASSEA radars.

  “Going for tango one.” He selected launch; the underbelly weapons pod opened, the AMRAAM AIM 120D launched and the pod closed, maintaining its stealth approach.

  “Fox three,” called Zinny. The missile raced in, and the Chinese fighter detected it at the last minute. He pulled hard to the left and activated his countermeasures, and flares ejected quickly into his Jetstream. It was to no avail, the missile struck in the rear fuselage and the fighter erupted into a fireball.

  Zinny’s eyes flicked down to his radar display; he was six miles away from the wingman and racing in at high speed. It was going to be a turning fight. The tracking box appeared in his HUD, and he caught a glimpse of the Chinese fighter as it passed. It was a J20. Zinny pulled back hard on the stick, the G force pushing him down into the seat. He used the voice activated arming system. “Select Sidewinder.” The short range Sidewinder AIM9X flashed red on his weapons display. The missile acquired its target. A warbling became an undulating scream and Zinny pickled a button on the joystick. The underbelly weapons pod opened, the missile launched and the pod closed. It was now a turning fight with an unknown enemy. Zinny tensed.

  “Warning, missile launch.” It was Bleating Betty, the aircraft’s verbal warning system.

  What would it be like going up against the J20? He knew that in the next few minutes he’d find out just what it was that he was made of. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

  He gripped the stick and moved his thumb.

  Chapter 8

  WEST VIRGINIA.

  “SO, WHEN WILL YOU KNOW sir?”

  Paul Wicks looked at the girl seated at the desk, rubbed his chin and looked out of the log cabin’s window.

  “I’d say later today. I’ll leave you a deposit and I’ll either be back to pay the balance or collect the deposit. Are you ok with that?”

  “Ok sir. Leave $150 and we’ll see you later.” She stood and pointed to the map behind her.

  “So this cabin here number 12, just north of the Big Run creek?”

  “Yes, that’s great. There’ll be two of us.”

  “That’s ok, it sleeps four. You’ll need propane, we’ve got that. Get some food from Saul’s just down the road. It’s on the way.”

  “Ok great, thanks.”

  “No problem, Mr Cainly.”

  PAUL WICKS LEFT THE cabin, got into the Buick and headed off towards Harrisonburg.

  Half an hour later he arrived at the house where he’d placed Zhi Ruo as a refuge. Except it wasn’t a refuge now with the FBI closing in. He paced to and fro in a paddock a distance from the house. How would he do this? This was going to be very, very difficult. He was reluctant to enter the house; it would be the most difficult conversation he’d ever had.

  “You’re a damn fool Wicks.”

  He climbed the few steps to the house with a lifetime’s weight on his shoulders. He knocked even though he had a key.

  She opened the door and beamed.

  “Hi Paul, come in.” She threw her arms around him, kissed him, then withdrew.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m ok Zhi.”

  “No. Something’s wrong. Tell me. What is it?”

  “Make us both a coffee, ok?” She gave him a questioning look and walked off into the kitchen.

  He sat on a couch in the lounge; she sat next to him. “What is it Paul, I’ll help if I can.”

  What do you do with this kind of thing; blurt it out, work your way into it?

  He took her hand in his.

  “Zhi. Know, that whatever I say or know, whatever you find out, I’m with you. Your wellbeing is my wellbeing.”

  “Paul?”

  He held his hand up. “I know you’re MSS. The FBI is closing in on you. They know you’re somewhere around here, maybe exactly where.”

  “The FBI? What? How do you know?”

  “I know, because I’m not Department of Energy. I’m with the CIA.”

  Her face was a mask of shock. “CIA? You?”

  “Look, Zhi. I want to help you. Our Governments may not agree, but we have something. I don’t want to lose it.”

  Zhi thought through her options, it was a conflict. But going along with him was her only chance. Was it? Was she thinking straight? She didn’t have much option, he was CIA.

  “What do we do Paul?”

  “There’s a chain of hunting lodges, log cabins. I’ve put a deposit on one, under a false name. I’ll pay cash. You could hole up there.”

  She held her head in her hands, CIA, he was proving more complex then she thought. Zhi looked up at the celling and tried not to shake her head. Finally, she knew it had to be done, she reached out and stroked his hand, smiling faintly. “Ok Paul, let’s do that. Thanks.”

  “I’m going to get help.”

  She looked up quickly.

  “What? Help?”

  “A CIA protection team. They’ll stay nearby.”

  “Paul!” she said shocked.

  “It’s OK, I have the rank. It won’t be questioned.”

  “When do we go?”

  “Now Zhi, as soon as you’re ready.”

  Zhi shook her head and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She gave herself a searching look. “Who could have thought it?” She’d need to be especially careful now. Her fate now rested largely on one man; and a CIA man at that.

  They packed, left and drove to the log cabin rental business. He asked her to stay in the car out of sight, while he sorted out the booking and paid. ID trace, he’d said. They picked up a propane cylinder and got food at Saul’s and made their way to the cabin. It was simple functional and cozy. Later that day Paul sat up at the edge of the bed and dressed. He leaned back to kiss the sweet naked beauty.

  “I’ll be back in the day after tomorrow, the protection team will be here soon, they won’t disturb you.

  “Ok thanks Paul. I appreciate it. See you.” She let the bed clothes slip away and hugged him. Once he’d left she got dressed and went out for a walk, to get to know the area she found herself in.

  That evening she called the Chinese takeout delivery, Great Wok in Harrisonburg, speaking poor English.

  “Hi, I wan hot soup, sour. Spicy Mussels. Dragon and Phoenix. Ju-long to bring. Only Ju-long. I pay him good dollar. Me speak to Ju-long.” She described the directions to him.

  An hour or so later Ju-long arrived, knocked on the door, he smiled and handed over the delivery. She paid him in cash, dollar bills.

  “Xiexie.”

  She ate her food, it was quite good, not quite the real thing she knew, but still good. She took the bottom sheet away from the box and pulled out the document.

  She smiled. At the top was the logo of the MSS. Zhi read the contents; good, good. It was building up. And now the CIA had her under protection. Zhi grinned at the irony.

  THE CHINESE STEALTH fighter was out there and hunting for him. Zinney searched the sky through his head up display and flicked his eyes down to the scope. He desperately rolled the aircraft, trying not to bleed too much speed off. In air to air combat energy is power; it hadn’t changed much since World War II. There, yes; there it was, an undulating scream started. He pickled the stick. “Fox two, said Zinny. The 9X fell and sped away towards its prey.

  “Warning, missile launch.” Bleating Betty, was doing her job, warning him.“PL-12 acquired. ADS engaged.” The PL-12, Thunderbolt 12, was the Chinese equivalent of the AIM120. The aircraf
t’s countermeasures were under the control of the Automatic Defense System.

  “PL-12 inbound, inbound red.”

  “Ok, Betty.” Zinny rolled and pulled to the right; if he needed to release another bird he’d be in the right place. He saw the enemy bird flash by. “Bird has taken the bait.” Zinny smiled. He saw the fireball explode three miles away.

  Zinny saw another Chinese J20, and he dived after him and pulled hard to the right, feeling the G force. The warbling turned into an undulating scream. “9X has contact. Buzzard one, fox two.” The missile flew after the J20, like a polecat with a rocket up its ass. The missile flew into a rear engine exhaust; there was a flash, followed by black smoke. The bogie rolled inverted and dived into the sea. The pilot must have frozen.

  “Buzzard one, splash one bogie.”

  “Rooster flight, the bogies are down.”

  “Rooster one. Thanks Buzzard.”

  ROOSTER FLIGHT DROPPED towards the sea on their final approach to Subi Reef, northwest Spratly Islands.

  “Roosters three and four go east for Tango two. Rooster two on me for Tango one.”

  The Bone did what the Bone did best; it came in high-speed, low level.

  “Razor. Come right 15. Engaging Tango one, target objective Bronze.”

  “Copy Razor,” replied Lieutenant Kip ‘Slippy’ Clay, who was on the flight controls.

  “Fangs. Mud spike, mud spike. Scrum half G/H band radar, source is HQ-17 SAM. The HQ-17 is a local version of the Russian Tor-M1, a lethal killer with a range of seven and a half miles and a speed of 1,900mph.”

  “Streaming the tail,” called Fangs.

  The B1-B was equipped with the ALE-55 towed repeater jammer, millions of dollars’ worth of sophisticated electronics, and capable of emitting signals to confuse enemy radar. It also acted as a missile countermeasures decoy, known by crews as ‘Little Buddy’. On the B1-B Lancer, it was integrated into the ALQ-184/9 Electronic Counter Measures pod. The two together formed an integrated threat protection system.