Black Star

by Robert Gandt

  They all nodded. Crouching in the darkness beside him was the team of six commandos, led by a grim-faced young lieutenant named Kee. Each wore helmet-mounted NVG, and one had the PRC-119 manpack radio by which Chiu would communicate with the helicopters and his dispersed squads.

  The sound of automatic fire crackled nearby. Chiu turned his head and listened. It seemed to come from the shelters several hundred meters to the north. He recognized the distinctive burp of the commandos’ H&K MP-5N submachine gun.

  Excellent. On schedule, C squad was taking out the guard posts.

  He nodded to the lieutenant. Without a sound, Kee and his team rose. Spread out line ten yards apart, they trotted off toward the complex at the northeast quadrant.

  “Follow them,” Chiu said to the Americans. “Don’t get separated.”

  Jogging along behind the commandos, he heard more bursts of automatic fire, this time from the right.

  The northeastern security posts. There were posts every two hundred meters in the restricted area, and each had to be sanitized before the commandos could establish defensive positions.

  It was going well, but Chiu knew their advantage was momentary. They had the cover of darkness and the NVG and, most importantly, the element of surprise. They enjoyed a numerical superiority only because the PLA forces—who outnumbered them twenty-to-one— were not yet positioned to oppose them.

  Their advantage was dwindling with each passing minute. The blanket of darkness was diminished by the towering blaze of the fuel tank fires and the gathering dawn. In less than an hour, the new day would lighten the eastern horizon.

  They had to find the Black Star, insert the Americans into the stealth jet, get them launched, then escape—all before the base defense brigade could organize a counter attack.

  Chiu glanced over his shoulder. They were staying with him, as he had ordered. Even the woman, the Chinese defector, was trotting along in trail behind Bass and Maxwell.

  As they neared the first of the two assembly buildings, he heard the sounds of the firefight from the nearest building in the complex. Staccato MP-5N bursts were mixed with the rattle of a Type 95 assault rifle—the Chinese derivative of the venerable Kalashnikov AK-47. Lieutenant Kee, leading the column, gave the signal to stop and crouch.

  They huddled in the darkness, shielded from the flickering light of the burning fuel tanks by the wall of a revetment. Sporadic sounds of battle spilled out of the buildings.

  The radioman waddled back to Chiu. “Building One secure, Colonel. The second still contains a platoon of security troops.”

  Chiu acknowledged. He signaled for Maxwell and the other two to remain with him, huddled by the revetment wall.

  A minute later, the squad leader reported that the resistance in Building Two had ended. Both assembly buildings were secure.

  “Tell the D squad leader I want snipers deployed to the roofs of both buildings.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave the signal for Kee to move out. In column behind the commandos, Chiu and his group rose and headed toward Building One, where the defector told them the Black Star life support equipment shop was located.

  Trotting across the open ground, Chiu glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others were staying with him. They were, Maxwell leading, with Bass and the Chinese woman close behind. Even without using his NVG, he could their shadows flitting across the surface. The blazing fuel fires were flooding the base in an orange glow.

  The thought had already occurred to Chiu that the woman defector, Chen, might be leading them into a trap. Even if she were not a double agent, the accuracy of her information could still be flawed. She was the one he had been most worried about. Traitors by any other name or nationality were still traitors. They were not to be trusted.

  They had no time for a random search of the complex for the Black Star and the equipment they needed to fly it.

  What then?

  About the woman, Chiu had reached a decision. It was possible that she had compromised the operation by seducing the American Maxwell. What information had she obtained from him?

  He had already decided that her only remaining value was to point them to the Black Star. If she failed, Chiu intended to put a bullet in her head. No hesitation, no remorse. Defectors, even PLA defectors, had no claim to a long life.

  The Americans were another matter. Taiwan’s survival depended on getting them into the cockpit of the Black Star. The primary purpose of the mission was to insert these two into the stealth craft. For that reason, Chiu had not allowed himself to become friendly with them. The mission was too critical to be compromised by sentimentality.

  If the mission failed, Chiu’s duty was clear. The Americans must not be allowed to become prisoners of the PLA. He would kill them.

  <>

  From his bridge aboard the Kai Yang, Commander Lei peered into the gathering darkness.

  He had a rendezvous scheduled with a tanker and a resupply ship. Only after nightfall would he undertake the risky operation of rearming and refueling. Returning to port, either to Keelung in the north or Kaohsiung in the south, was out of the question. If they weren’t caught by missiles or PLA strike jets in the naval yard, they’d be picked off by one of the submarines that were parked outside every port in Taiwan.

  Out of the murk the two provisioning ships appeared. No transmissions were exchanged as they took station, one on either side of Kai Yang. To the outboard side of the tanker, the pair of destroyer escorts were lined up, bow-to-stern, to take on their own fuel. Blinking lights from each vessel were the only communication.

  From the bridge of Kai Yang, Lei watched the reprovisioning with a vague uneasiness. It was an operation his crew had rehearsed a hundred times. To his port side, half a dozen lines drooped between the stores ship and Kai Yang. Containers filled with vital supplies—more Harpoons, more torpedoes, food and fresh water—wobbled across the narrow canyon between the ships, dangling from the lines.

  They were headed into the wind on a southwesterly course. The four-foot swells were causing the dissimilar vessels to rise and fall in discordant rhythms. Kai Yang’s larger bow was lifting while the provisioning ship was dropping into a trough. The containers danced between the two ships like trinkets swaying on a chain.

  On the starboard side, a single thick hose connected the Kai Yang to the fueling ship. In twenty minutes they would take on enough fuel to keep them at sea another five days. Lei knew he would cut his endurance by half if he were caught up in another flank speed duel with the PLA navy.

  He glanced at the luminescent clock face on his console. Ten minutes into the reprovisioning. Relax, he commanded himself. There was nothing he could do except wait. He tried to focus on the dull pink void on the western horizon where the sun had set nearly an hour ago.

  Commander Lei had fourteen years of service under his belt. With luck—and a favorable outcome of the war—he could expect another six years, perhaps command of a surface squadron. If all the circumstances of his career fell into supreme harmony, he might even be elevated to flag rank.

  Admiral Lei Fu-Sheng.

  The prospect gave him no joy. The truth was, he no longer cared about the honor and trappings of high command. The events of the past two days had forced him to consider the harsh facts of his life. He had a wife whom he hadn’t seen for more than a week of each month during their entire marriage. His two sons had grown to manhood in his absence. Neither was close to him, nor were they interested in military careers.

  All because he had chosen a life of service to his country. A country that might not exist a week from now.

  While this thought still played in his mind, he received the call from the surface watch officer, Lt. Fu Shing. “Radar contact, Captain.”

  He was instantly alert. “Range and distance?”

  “Multiple returns bearing two-nine-zero, forty kilometers, constant bearing, decreasing range. They’ve already painted us on their radar.”

  Lei nodded. The h
ostile contacts had detected them first. No surprise, considering the archaic SPS-58 radar equipment installed on the Kai Yang. Constant bearing, decreasing range. It meant the contacts were on a direct course for Kai Yang and its two destroyer escorts.

  “Does Dragon Boat have an ID?” Dragon Boat was the E-2C surveillance aircraft, overseeing the action in the strait.

  “Nothing positive yet. The radar hits are definitely PLA navy, destroyer or frigate size.”

  Lei shook his head in frustration. Having a mini-AWACS like the E-2C on station was a nice idea, but its effectiveness against surface targets was minimal. The big revolving parasol radome atop the E-2C was intended for use against airborne targets. What they needed was a surveillance jet like the American RC-135 Rivet Joint. Or real time satellite imagery, delivered by instant data link. Instead, they had hand-me-down junk the Americans stopped using thirty years ago.

  It doesn’t matter, Lei reminded himself. This is what you have. Fight the ship!

  The thought struck him that he and Kai Yang were about to make history. A surface naval battle. No modern warships had engaged in a surface battle since World War II.

  Of course, calling the Kai Yang a modern warship was stretching a point. If the old frigate were still in America, it would be a floating museum. Its surface search and fire control radars were inferior to the equipment on most private yachts. Originally delivered to the U.S. Navy as a destroyer in the 1940s, it had served a full career before being stricken from the list and transferred to the Taiwanese navy as a frigate.

  Lei considered his situation. If he had any advantage over his Chinese adversary, it was his armament. He had Sea Sparrow air defense missiles for stand off protection. On either side he had twin turrets of five-inch, thirty-eight caliber guns. For extreme close in defense, Kai Yang was outfitted with the Phalanx M-61A1 Gatling gun system. His two destroyer escorts, Tai Yuan, and Wen Shan, were each armed with Mark 46 torpedoes and twin turrets of five-inch thirty-eights.

  For offense, Lei still carried Harpoon cruise missiles, re-configured for anti-ship duty.

  Or did he?

  He tried to remember. Of the eight Harpoons originally stowed aboard Kai Yang, he had fired—how many? It came to him. Six, launched against targets on the mainland. The remaining two had been reserved for anti-ship attack.

  “Have we loaded the Harpoons from the supply ship yet?”

  “Don’t know, Captain,” The watch officer grabbed his sound-powered phone. “I’ll find out.”

  “Forget it. Order the supply ships to break away. Suspend resupply and take us to general quarters.”

  “Aye, Captain.” While the watch officer barked the commands into the sound-powered phone, his hand hit a mushroom-shaped knob on the OOD console. One second later, a klaxon horn sounded and a recorded voice announced in Chinese, “General quarters, general quarters. All hands man battle stations.”

  Watching the crew below donning helmets and flotation jackets, scrambling to their stations, Lei nodded in approval. That was something they’d gotten good at. For most of the last two days, the crew of the Kai Yang had been running to battle stations.

  “Captain, supply reports that we took three Harpoons aboard before breaking away.”

  “Have them fuzed and loaded immediately.”

  “Gunnery is already doing it, sir. They say they’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  Lei felt a warm glow of pride for his crew. They knew they were in extreme danger. Never had he seen them perform with such cool efficiency.

  “Conn, surface watch.” It was Fu Shing, the watch officer again. “We’re getting steady radar hits from the contact. He still bears two-nine-zero, range thirty kilometers, decreasing. Three distinct contacts, one emitting what we’re sure is a Russian radar. We think it’s a Sovremenny.”

  Lei felt a chill sweep over him. “What probability?”

  “Perhaps seventy-five percent. Dragon Boat makes the same appraisal.”

  “Very well.” Lei called Fire Control. “Obtain a Harpoon firing solution for the inbound target. The largest contact.”

  “Already done, Captain. He’s well within Harpoon range.”

  Also well within Moskit supersonic missile range. The Sovremenny captain was taking his time. He knew his missiles could cover the distance between the ships in one third the time it took a Harpoon.

  An old dictum from Lei’s academy days came to him. When you are outgunned, make sure you shoot first. He didn’t know who said it, but he believed it so much he had had it etched in brass and mounted above his desk. He still believed it. The Taiwanese navy was always outgunned. Make sure you shoot first.

  “Fire the first Harpoon.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Lei shielded his eyes as the orange glow erupted from the vertical launcher on the starboard bow. It was the same fire-tailed apparition he’d witnessed the first night of the war when they launched the Harpoons against mainland targets. Through the steel bulkhead of the bridge he felt the rumble of the booster rocket that would kick the Harpoon up to near-supersonic speed before the turbojet engine took over.

  Lei watched the missile leap into the sky, then level off and pursue its sea-skimming course to the northwest.

  “Fire the second Harpoon.”

  A moment’s pause. “Sir, that will be our last until the new ones—”

  “Fire, damn it!”

  CHAPTER 17 — DEFECTOR

  Chouzhou Air Base, People’s Republic of China

  0455, Monday, 15 September

  The law of unintended consequences.

  It had not been repealed, thought Maxwell as he jogged over the soft ground toward the darkened Building One. You planned an operation down to the tiniest detail. You allowed for every contingency, looked for every glitch. Then something you didn’t expect jumped up to bite you in the butt.

  The fuel tank fire, for instance. The gunship crews had done a brilliant job of flaming the fuel tanks. The fire even had the effect of drawing off most of the security forces to fight the blaze. It also had the unintended consequence of bathing Chouzhou air base in an ethereal orange glow.

  Now the damned place looked like a Fourth of July celebration. Bonfires, fireworks, crowds milling around without direction. Everything on the base was in view, illuminated by the fire.

  The sounds of battle crackled from every direction. Chiu’s commandos had occupied tactical positions—rooftops, security towers, revetments—from which they were firing on the PLA troops wherever they tried to organize themselves into cohesive units. So far it was working.

  Even without his NVG, Maxwell could see running figures at the far end of the complex. Silhouetted in the soft glow of the fire, soldiers were racing across the open ground like shadow figures on a screen.

  Another pair of muffled explosions came from the flight line, where the PLA fighters were dispersed. Maxwell winced as he thought about the carnage caused by the anti-personnel mines. They were nasty, inhumane little weapons—but highly suited to their purpose here.

  The commandos had come to a halt. A hundred yards ahead lay the first objective. Building One housed the life support equipment shop. Not only did it contain the helmets, oxygen masks and radio fittings specific to the Black Star, it had the special UV goggles that, according to Mai-ling, were supposed to penetrate the Black Star’s cloak of invisibility. If it were true, it meant that the Chinese had developed a precious new item of technology.

  Chiu was studying the buildings with his NVG. He motioned for Maxwell and Bass and Mai-ling to join him.

  “Where is the door to the life support shop?”

  Mai-ling gazed at the building. “I think it’s the one at the right corner. Over there, maybe.”

  “Maybe?” He gave her a menacing look. “What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you worked there.”

  “I worked in the photonics shop. In the next building.”

  “If you have given us false information. . .” Chiu left the sentence
unfinished. His hand went to the holstered pistol at his hip. Mai-ling’s face was a frozen mask.

  “We’re wasting time,” said Maxwell. “Let’s find the shop.”

  Chiu’s eyes blazed at Maxwell, then he swung back to Mai-ling. He snatched her sleeve. “You first, in front of us. Show us the door.”

  Bass stepped toward them, and Maxwell grabbed his arm. He said in a low voice, “Butt out. This isn’t your show.”

  “What if he shoots her?”

  “He won’t.”

  “He’s nuts. What if he does?”

  “I won’t let him.”

  Bass started to open his mouth again, but Maxwell shoved him in the direction of the commandos, who had already started off toward the building.

  As they neared the building Maxwell could hear the deep-throated sound of large caliber rifles. That was good. It meant Chiu’s snipers were in position, finding targets back on the tarmac.

  A dense cloud of black smoke from the fuel tank fire was drifting across the field, obscuring the landing zone where the Chinooks had dropped them off. Maxwell had lost sight of the helicopters. Even the gunships were out of view. He hoped the pilots had moved them into the smoke cloud to stay out of PLA gun sights.

  They covered the last fifty yards in a dead run. The sound of the sniper rifles was continuous now. Not a good sign, thought Maxwell.

  With Chiu shoving her from behind, Mai-ling reached the door at the right corner of the two-story, slab-sided building. She nearly stumbled over something—the crumpled body of a PLA soldier, still clutching his assault rifle. Another lay spread-eagled on the ground next to the door.

  She stepped around the bodies, carefully avoiding looking at them. The commandos formed a defensive perimeter around the corner of the building while she tried the door.

  It wouldn’t move.

  “Is this the door, or isn’t it?” demanded Chiu.

  “I don’t know. It’s locked.”

  A look of pure rage passed over Chiu’s face. Keeping his eyes on her, he snatched his automatic pistol from its holster and seemed to aim into her face. Mai-ling recoiled in shock.