Carrier c-1

by Keith Douglass

  "Johnson! Sanchez!" he shouted. "With me!" The three men trotted toward the concrete wall, part of a retaining buttress for the seawall along the sea edge of the wharf. It would make a good site for Johnson's M-249 SAW, positioned to give a clear field of fire down the waterfront street toward the Soviet cruiser, some fifty yards away.

  "Stoy!" a sharp voice called. "Nyeh sheveleetyes!"

  Peters skidded to a halt, his M-16 raised to his shoulder. He didn't understand the words, but the sound of spoken Russian was unmistakable.

  They stepped from among the stacks of supply crates on the far side of the street, a dozen men in the blue-trimmed white of Soviet naval uniforms. Every one carried an AKM assault rifle, and every weapon was trained on the Marines.

  "Sergeant Peters, United States Marines!" he called out in a clear voice that, miraculously, did not break.

  The Russian weapons did not waver.

  0915 hours

  Tomcat 205

  "Shotgun, this is Tango Three-seven." The voice crackled in Tombstone's headset. "We have multiple bogies, repeat, many bogies, bearing from you two-seven-five at angels three, range twenty-two thousand."

  "I got 'em, Tombstone!" Snowball said. "I see sixteen… eighteen…"

  "Uh-oh, the shit's hittin' the old fan now," Batman said.

  "Can it, people," Tombstone said. "Assemble at angels five over the harbor. Let's catch them as they come down the slot."

  "The slot" was the aviators' name for a valley twisting down out of the mountains northwest of Wonsan. A major road and railway wound up into the Taebaeks along that valley, heading toward the small town of Majon-ni farther west. The attackers must be coming through that pass.

  "Twenty-one bogies now," Snowball called. "Coming in high, above the pass."

  Twenty-one… and Tombstone had three Tomcats in his flight besides himself, plus four more somewhere down on the deck, riding herd on the Sea Stallions ferrying wounded out to the Chosin. He opened a channel to Jefferson. "Homeplate, Homeplate, this is Shotgun. Advise me on status, Javelins and Fighting Hornets."

  "Shotgun, Homeplate. Be advised flight deck is still out of commission. Fighting Hornets will not be able to launch for another ten minutes at least. Javelins are tanking up at Point Echo and are at least fifteen minutes out."

  Shit! "Copy, Homeplate. We… uh… have a problem."

  "We are tracking your problem, Shotgun. We are redeploying War Eagle CAP to cover helo operations over Nyongch'on and the beach. The other four birds of your squadron will be with you in a few minutes."

  Great, Tombstone thought. That makes it eight to twenty-one, just about what we had the other day.

  "Shotguns, this is Shotgun Leader," he said. "Come to new heading, two-seven-five, and take 'em up to angels six. Let's see if we can get the drop on our playmates up in the mountains."

  "Roger that," Batman said cheerfully.

  Tombstone felt the familiar stirrings of doubt and pushed them aside. "Ready… break!"

  CHAPTER 30

  0918 hours

  Tomcat 205

  Tombstone pushed his F-14's stick forward and watched the mountains behind Wonsan rise in front of his canopy. He could see the valley notch in the ridge line which led toward Majon-ni. North Korean aircraft would be bursting through that opening and into the skies above Wonsan in seconds now. "Weapons armed!" he snapped. "Snowball! Gimme a range!"

  "Uh… eighteen, no! Sixteen bogies now. Range eight thousand."

  "What happened to twenty-one?"

  "Lost 'em, Stoney. Lost 'em in the ground clutter!"

  So some of the enemy aircraft were hedge-hopping, funneling through the mountain canyons like the spaceships in a sci-fi thriller. Somebody on the opposing team had balls. Tombstone's heart was hammering now, the adrenaline flowing. He licked his lips. "Shotguns' We have some guys sneaking through the pass at low altitude. Keep your eyes peeled." In the twisted gray and dun patchwork of stone and forest, spotting low-flying fighters was going to be a bitch.

  Worse, he didn't dare try for a lock with his Phoenix missiles, not if the targets were going to vanish in the ground clutter. Better to wait and be sure.

  "Shotgun Leader, this is Homeplate. Come in, Shotgun."

  "Shotgun here. Go ahead, Homeplate."

  "Tombstone, I thought I'd better pass the word." It was Commander Barnes in Jefferson's CIC. "The wounded off Chimera have just gone on board Chosin. The rest of Chimera's crew is at Blue Beach, loading onto the LCACs." There was a hesitation. "Stoney, they're going to be naked out there if those MiGs break through!"

  Tombstone fought the rising, ice-cold feeling in his gut. Marine LCACs and helicopters would make prime targets; hell, you couldn't miss the damned things.

  If a boatload of rescued POWs died during the final leg of their flight to safety…

  "I copy, Homeplate. Send us what help you can. We'll hold the line."

  "Tombstone!" Snowball yelled. "Eight bogies, going high!"

  "Tag 'em! We'll go Phoenix!"

  "Locked on! Tone!"

  Tombstone heard the chirp of a radar lock in his headphones. "Six missiles, six targets. Ready to launch!"

  The Tomcat's AWG-9 could track six targets simultaneously, guiding a radar-homing missile to each one. It could even pick targets for itself, selecting those radar bogies which posed the greatest threat to the Tomcat.

  The machines, Tombstone reflected, were getting more efficient at war than the men who used them.

  "Fox one! Fox one!" His Tomcat lurched as a blunt-nosed Phoenix slid clear of the starboard wing with a gush of white smoke. Five seconds later, a second Phoenix followed the trail of the first, twisting into blue sky ahead.

  "Targets are breaking, Tombstone," his RIO reported. "Solid locks. Missile three away… missile four away…"

  "Target lock!" Army Garrison called. "Fox one!"

  Tombstone noticed that Batman was holding back, that he had not yet launched. He wondered if Wayne was having trouble again, face to face with the need to kill another man.

  He decided to say nothing. Batman would click in, had to click in… or he was dead. Anything Tombstone said to Batman over the radio might cause more trouble then it solved. He remembered how things had started going to pieces for him during the last dogfight… culminating with his repeat bolters on the Jefferson.

  If Batman was having trouble, he'd have to resolve it himself.

  Missiles five and six slid clear of the Tomcat and Tombstone rolled left, heading for the deck. He pulled up seconds later as concrete buildings blurred beneath the F-14's belly. Tombstone glimpsed roads, bridges, factories, and apartments. This is a hell of a place for a dogfight, he thought. I hope the civilians have already bugged out.

  Orange flame blossomed ahead. "Hit!" Snowball exalted. "Splash one MiG!"

  The other MiGs scattered across the sky, their contrails interpenetrating with the twisting white lines of Phoenix AAMs. Missile two steered into the side of a mountain seconds later. Several MiGs were scrambling for the deck now, attempting to lose the radar-locked hunters among the rocks and crags of the valley.

  The notch in the mountains became a valley of death. A second explosion hurled flaming chunks of MiG across the canyon. Tombstone pulled up and arrowed into the valley as half a dozen silver delta-winged aircraft lashed past above his canopy heading in the opposite direction. One MiG exploded, the concussion rocking the F-14.

  "Splash two! Splash three!" Snowball yelled. "Holy mother, it's raining MiGs!"

  "Lining up nice… Fox one!"

  Fire blazed in the sky. "Splash one for Two-oh-four," Army announced.

  "Fox two! Fox two!" That was Taggart. If he'd gone to Sidewinders, he was close.

  Tombstone pulled back on the stick, climbing from the valley in a loop which took him up to five thousand feet. MiGs were everywhere now, above him, behind him, and spilling out of the pass over Wonsan. From a mile in the air, Tombstone could see the morning sun glint off the harbor ahead, could s
ee the black silhouettes of the big Marine amphib ships far out toward the horizon.

  "Shotgun Leader, this is Two-two-one. We're in the game. Where's the action?"

  So Snake Hoffner had arrived, along with the three other Tomcats which had been escorting helicopters. "Two-four-four in," Nightmare Marinaro said. "And Two-four-eight." That was Shooter Rostenkowski.

  "And Two-nine-five," Paddy Padden added. "Upping the ante with Fox two!"

  "Welcome aboard, guys," Price Taggart said. "Ain't we got fun?"

  Another MiG blossomed into flames, the wreckage tumbling end for end as it streaked into the valley below and slammed into the face of a cliff. Atoll missiles were crisscrossing with Phoenixes and Sidewinders now. "Splash one for Two-nine-five!"

  "Way to go, Paddy! Come left to two-seven-oh! Bandits! Bandits at angels three!"

  "Watch it, Stoney!" Batman warned. "Three coming' in on your six!"

  At least Batman sounded like he was still in the fight. "Batman! Where are you?"

  "On your three at eight-triple-oh.

  "I see you. Get on them! Breaking right!"

  Tombstone snap-rolled his F-14 to starboard. He was well above the walls of the valley now, but rocky crags seemed to claw the sky, reaching for his aircraft as he twisted into a tight split-S. As he leveled out two thousand feet above the ground, he caught a glimpse of Batman streaking overhead, the MiGs scattering. An arrow of white fire intersected one MiG in a blaze of orange and black. "Splash one for Two-oh-three," Taggart said. "Watch out for falling MiGs!"

  "Shotgun Leader! Shotgun Leader! You still have one on your tail!"

  Tombstone twisted in his seat, looking back past Snowball. "He's on us!" the RIO shouted. "He's still coming!"

  There he was! Tombstone saw the flash of a missile as it left the MiG's wing.

  There was no radar tone, and at short range it would be a heat-seeker. "Hit the flares!" Tombstone yelled. He yanked the throttle back and over into a barrel roll while Snowball stabbed the release on the chaff/flare board on the RIO's right cockpit panel. At the last possible moment, Tombstone yanked the Tomcat onto its back and plunged toward the ground, now less than a thousand feet away.

  The heat-seeker missed, a streak of fire past the canopy. Tombstone kicked the F-14 to full burner and hauled it into a brutal, vertical climb. That was when he saw the ground attack fighters.

  There were four of them, flying wingtip to wingtip in a diamond formation racing out of the valley at better than Mach 1, just above and ahead of their own shadows rippling along the uneven ground. Tombstone recognized the type: Nanchang Q-5s, a Chinese export ground attack fighter known to NATO as the Fantan. They were painted in green and brown camouflage markings and escorted by four low-flying MiGs. Each carried several dull-white missiles slung from pylons under the wings, AS-7 Kerry ASMs, most likely, with one-hundred-pound warheads. Tombstone knew exactly what their targets would be.

  "Tally-ho!" he yelled as he rolled out of his climb. "Fantans! Fantans coming out of the valley!"

  Time seemed to stand still for Tombstone. As he went port wing high, he could look down and see the Fantans emerging from the mouth of the valley from Majon-ni beneath him. In another few minutes, they would be across the city and out over the water, with dozens of targets to choose from. High on their list would be the distinctive, boxy shapes of the LCACs, by now well away from Blue Beach and on the way back to the fleet. A single Kerry planted in one of those hovercraft, and the odd-looking vessel would become a deathtrap, killing every rescued POW on board.

  Or worse, they might try for Chosin herself, now recovering, refueling, and launching Marine helicopters at a furious rate. Though it was far larger and harder to sink than an LCAC, the flight deck of the LPH was a tangle of men, machines, fuel hoses, and ammunition. A Kerry or two into that mix could kill hundreds, could cripple or even sink the Marine carrier, together with the more than sixty wounded sailors from Chimera.

  And there were other targets as well: Little Rock, Texas City, and Westmoreland County with their flocks of AAVs and Mike boats, the destroyers closing with the Korean coast, the Sea Knight helos plying back and forth between ship and shore. A target-rich environment which would almost guarantee the Fantan drivers a hit… and a major blow against the American task force.

  "Nightmare! Nightmare! He's on my six!"

  "Break left, Shooter! Break left!"

  "See if you can-"

  "I'm on him! I'm on him! Fox two!"

  "I'm too close for a shot! Going' to guns!"

  "Get him off me, Nightmare!"

  The background radio chatter told him the rest of the Tomcats were tangling with other MiGs in a colossal dogfight which arched across the sky over all of Wonsan. He banked his Tomcat left, lining up on the Korean Fantans…

  … and then the F-14 shuddered as jackhammer blows slammed into its hull. He turned to look back. One of the North Korean fighters hung there, one hundred yards off his tail.

  "Shit, Stoney!" Snowball said. "Where'd he come from?"

  Flashes of light stuttered at the roots of the MiG's wings, and 23-mm tracers floated past his head, scant feet from his canopy. Two more MiGs dropped into view as he watched.

  "Tombstone!" Batman yelled. "Three blue bandits on your six!"

  "I know! I know!"

  "On my way!"

  "Negative, Batman!" Tombstone went to full burner, climbing rapidly. The MiGs stayed with him, matching each twist and maneuver. "The Fantans! You've got to keep those Fantans from reaching the fleet!" Cannon fire slashed into his Tomcat's right wing.

  0922 hours

  Tomcat 232

  Batman looked up through his canopy, watching the four aircraft gleaming in the sunlight far above. Tombstone's Tomcat was dropping out of its Immelmann now, nosing over into an inverted dive.

  The three MiGs stayed with him.

  Below Batman, the Fantans and their escorts thundered toward Wonsan and the sea's edge.

  There was no time to think, though the conflict within was cold and diamond-hard. He could save his wingman or attack the Fantans… but not both.

  Biting off a curse, he pulled his wing over and plummeted, letting the altitude scale on his HUD rocket down the numbers, past five thousand… four thousand… three thousand…

  "Sidewinders!" They were too close for a Phoenix.

  "Yo!" Malibu said. "Watch it, Boss. We've got a missile lock on us."

  He heard the tone. Somewhere, a MiG's radar was hunting for him. "Screw it!" He concentrated on the targeting pipper on his HUD, hauling the stick over as he lined up on the lead Fantan, now three miles ahead. Sun glint sparked fire from the surface of Wonsan Harbor beyond.

  The target graphic changed to a circle, indicating a lock. Batman's thumb closed over the firing button. There was a pilot riding in that Nanchang Q-5…

  … and there were sailors and Marines in those ships riding black against the sunlight. "Fox two!" The Sidewinder streaked from beneath the Tomcat's wing. "Batman!" Malibu called. "Missile launch, on our six!"

  "Chaff!"

  "Done. It's still coming!"

  Batman slipped the Tomcat to the side, lining up on another target. From behind the Fantan formation, their tailpipes made perfect heat-seeker targets. The escorting MiGs were all over the sky, screening the Q-5s, dogging the F-14.

  "Pull up, Batman! Batman!"

  Damn! He pulled up sharply, dumping chaff as he twisted into a hard loop. The missile followed, but too quickly to turn inside the American's arc. A proximity fuse detonated the warhead thirty yards away, a thunderous concussion which rocked the Tomcat. The escort MiGs dropped onto his tail, and searing lines of tracers burned the sky.

  Then the first missile hit and the lead Fantan exploded, blossoming in a succession of savage blasts as the Kerry missiles under the wings detonated. Burning fragments rained from the sky.

  0923 hours

  Tomcat 205

  Tombstone twisted away from the gunfire in a clockwise barrel
roll, slamming on his air brakes to kill his speed. The entire point in any ACM was always, always, to get the other guy out front; most dog-fighting maneuvers were designed to force the guy on your tail to overshoot and pass you, lining him up for a shot from the rear.

  One of the MiGs flashed past, so close to Tombstone's port wing he could see the man looking back at him through his helmet's dark visor.

  "Missile launch!" Snowball yelled. "Heat-seeker!"

  "Pop flares!" His RIO would have to handle the countermeasures. He was busy.

  His last dive and roll had carried him well to the northwest of the city and into the fringes of the combat area. He was down on the deck, altitude less than three hundred feet, and the roads, buildings, and power-lines whipped past him almost too quickly to be perceived.

  "It's still coming', Tombstone!"

  "Hang on!" He pulled up sharply and broke right. Something streaked past his canopy on a trail of fire. He whipped the F-14 into a scissors and saw a second MiG roll away. Tombstone brought his stick over; he was tempted to try for a shot at the second MiG, but he knew there was a third one back there somewhere.

  "Where's number three?" he yelled.

  "Still there, Tombstone. Right on our six!"

  "Good night, Snowy!" He kicked in his afterburner.

  0924 hours

  Tomcat 232

  Batman pulled out of the loop. The escort MiGs had scattered, unable to follow his high-G pull-out, and he was in the clear once more.

  The Fantans… where were they? He spotted them eight miles ahead, riding their own shadows across the rugged ground as they streaked toward the outskirts of Wonsan. He slid back into the formation's wake, much farther astern now, but still too close for a decent Phoenix shot. The three Q-5s were still dead on course for the fleet, flashing across Wonsan's western suburbs, the sprawl of industrial plants and refineries. The taller buildings of the city rose ahead, snatching at the low-flying aircraft.

  "Hey, dude, this is turnin' into an obstacle course!" They were down to five hundred feet. Batman remained intent on the three target symbols on his HUD.