Flash Point

by Kenneth Andrus

  Koch pulled back on his stick and executed a vertical climb. His missile warning alarm went off. “We’re painted.”

  He hit his rudder and rolled into a hard-right diving turn. Forced into his seat by the maneuver, his G-suit inflated keeping blood flowing to his brain. He heard McCormick’s voice over the blare of the missile alarm. “Vampire. Vampire. You’ve got a heater. Evade.”

  “Chaff,” Koch reacted, initiating a series of jinks to evade the Chinese air-to-air missile. He craned his neck around and spotted the missile. The heat-seeking homing device in the Chinese missile’s nose had ignored the chaff and was guiding on his engines.

  Koch had one chance. “Bat-turn. Execute.” He turned into the pursuing missile with a tight, high-G, one-hundred-eighty-degree turn.

  The missile whizzed by his canopy at a combined closing speed of one-thousand miles per hour.

  “Whoa! How you doing back there?”

  “Are you nuts? I’ve gotta check my pants.”

  McCormick concentrated on the remaining J-8, too engaged to observe his wing mate. He confirmed a lock on the Finback.

  He depressed the red firing button and felt a slight jolt as the missile left the rail. “Fox-3.”

  The AMRAAM’s engine ignited when it fell clear of the aircraft. McCormick watched in fascination as it sped in a graceful arc toward the wildly maneuvering Finback.

  “Merlin Two, you have a launch?”

  “Affirmative, Umpire. Fox-3.”

  The Chinese pilot was either good, lucky, or both. Diving for the wave tops, he caused the missile to lose contact and plunge into the ocean behind him.

  “Umpire, Merlin Two. The Sparrow splashed.”

  “Merlin Two,” Koch answered, “Let him go. Form up.”

  “Pele, I owe you one.”

  “You can buy me a beer when we get home.”

  “You’re on. How you set for fuel?”

  “Running critical.”

  “We’ll check in with Sea Bird, then gas up before we’re left sucking fumes.”

  Koch keyed his mic to raise the patrol plane. “Sea Bird, Merlin Lead. Can you make it to Pagasa?”

  “Yeah, think so. We’re shot up, but airworthy. I don’t like the feel of the rudder, though. Can you give us a visual?”

  “Wilco.”

  Koch eased up to the damaged plane. What he saw shocked him. “Sea Bird, your vertical stabilizer and rudder are shot all to hell. They may hold together if they’re not abused.”

  “Roger that. I’ll take it easy.”

  Virgil’s voice came up. “Merlin Lead, Shot Gun will assume escort. You are being vectored to Sea Wolf for refueling.”

  * * *

  PHILIPPINE ARMED FORCES BASE

  PAGASA ATOLL

  “Major, Major,” the air control officer shouted as he burst through the open door of the command center. “We have received an emergency distress signal from an American patrol plane. They want to land here.”

  “What?”

  “An American plane. They want to land here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. Their call came over an open channel.”

  “ETA?”

  “Less than ten minutes.”

  “Oh, shit.” The Major leapt out of his chair, knocking it over, and sprinted out of the building. “Clear the airstrip. Get those things off the runway.”

  A confused knot of soldiers stared at him in response.

  “A plane is coming!”

  The men’s consternation was not misplaced. After several hours of work, they had just finished positioning six concrete barriers across the runway to discourage any attempt by the Chinese to land troops on the island. The soldiers managed to remove all but two when they heard a low flying aircraft.

  The major looked in the direction of the sound. He could just make out the distinctive silhouette of the American plane. A P-8. “Shit.”

  He cupped hands and yelled to the control tower. “Wave them–”

  A F-18 thundered over the island cutting him off in mid-sentence. Undeterred, he screamed over the noise. “Wave them off. The runway’s not clear.”

  * * *

  Eagle Flight confirmed the warning. “Sea Bird, you have a fouled deck. Repeat, a fouled deck.”

  Sea Bird tightened his lips. He had no options other than acknowledge. “Affirm.”

  He lined up his aircraft and began the approach to the tiny island. His arms ached from wrestling with the sluggish controls of the damaged plane. He took a deep breath and lowered the landing gear.

  Sea Bird shot a glance at his co-pilot.

  “Gear down and locked.”

  They would have one chance. “Here goes.”

  * * *

  The soldiers froze in disbelief, then scattered like quail. They just made it to safety before the plane impacted the coral landing strip.

  Sea Bird cleared the first obstacle. He wasn’t so lucky with the second. The right landing gear assembly clipped the barrier and the plane careened sideways down the runway. The P-8 slammed into the airstrip’s wave barrier, enveloped in a cloud of swirling dust and smoke.

  The crewmembers of the wrecked patrol plane were shaken, but alive. They began to stir. They checked themselves for injuries. Several peered at the island’s control tower through what should have been the aft compartment of their aircraft. Their limited vista of the island was framed by jagged aluminum and dangling wires created when their aircraft’s weakened tail section broke off.

  Sea Bird stared at the water lapping against the leading edge of the cockpit window. The two escorting Hornets of Eagle Flight snapped him out of his trance as they roared over them at treetop level. He blinked and watched the F-18s complete a starboard turn away from the island. He released the clips of his chest harness and looked at his co-pilot. “I guess we’ll be needing to find another way home.”

  * * *

  COMBAT INFORMATION CENTER

  USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN

  Gireaux listened to the reports coming in and addressed his Chief of Staff. “Sandy, the next move’s up to them. Maintain the strike package on ready standby and confirm one of the Hornets is carrying the FLIX pod.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, who can update me on the threat to our aircraft?”

  The CAG answered. “Admiral, The Anyang has a thirty-two cell VLS for their HHQ-16s. Max range, forty nautical miles. The rest of their ships carry HQ-7s.”

  “Keep’em circling out of range. Direct Sea Wolf Two to locate and drop survival gear for that downed Chinese pilot. The gesture may help cool things off.”

  “Home Plate? Vigil.”

  “Vigil, Umpire copies.”

  “Umpire, Sea Wolf Two reports a Chinese warship, hull number 112, has detached and assumed a course to pick up their downed pilot. The remainder of the PLAN flotilla has turned northwest.”

  Gireaux looked at the live images of the main body of the Chinese ships sent from the AT-FLIR equipped F-18 shadowing the PLAN flotilla. He had visual confirmation the Chinese had broken contact.

  “Umpire affirms your last. Carry on.”

  “Admiral, it appears we’ve come out on top.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, Sandy.”

  * * *

  What Gireaux didn’t know was that one of the Chinese navy vessels had not turned for home. Stalking her prey, Kilo 636 trailed the Lincoln, undetected by the Strike Group’s ASW screen.

  Chapter 18

  THE WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON D.C.

  05:10 WEDNESDAY 26 FEBRUARY

  Stuart pulled on his pillow debating whether to give up and get dressed or try to go back to sleep. The bedside phone rang, making the decision for him. He focused on the blurred digital readout of the alarm clock. 0510. He reached for the phone almost dropping the hand-set. “President Stuart.”

  “Mr. President? Justin. I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but we’ve received an OPREP 3 PINNACLE/FRONT BURNER.”

  T
he code words swept the cobwebs away in an instant. “OPREP- 3” was the designator for a message requiring immediate action; “PINNACLE,” a national emergency. “FRONTBURNER,” an attack on U.S. forces.

  “Ah, give me a sec. I’ll take it in the study.”

  Looking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn’t woken Dianne, he slid off the bed and made his way to the adjacent room. “What’s going on?”

  Stuart didn’t interrupt as Brown explained.

  “And there were no U.S. or Chinese casualties?”

  “No, sir. Just the two aircraft.”

  “Does Richard know?”

  “Not yet. Defense has been informed. Sheldon is expecting Bob’s call.”

  “Would you call Richard and bring him up to speed?”

  “Will do.”

  Stuart replaced the telephone and watched the secure phone light blink out. Crap, here we go again.

  “Randall?” Dianne called from the bedroom.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “The Chinese. There’s been an incident in the Spratlys.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “They fired at one of our patrol planes. We shot down one of their fighters.”

  “Dear God. Is the crew safe?”

  “I don’t know. I need to go to the office.”

  * * *

  Stuart looked at the yellow legal pad covered with his distinctive scrawl. He had completed the basic outline of his response in just over half an hour. His head throbbed. There were still a few holes to fill, but all in all, he was satisfied.

  He removed his reading glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and swiveled his chair to face the expanse of parks fronting the White House. His eyes came to rest on the Washington monument.

  Fatigue washed over him. Light-headed and hungry, he grasped the arms of his chair. He pushed himself up and sauntered off to the small galley adjacent to the Oval Office where he found some granola after rummaging through the pantry and a container of milk in the refrigerator, then returned to his desk.

  He took a slurpy bite of cereal and leafed through a pile of position papers in his inbox. He settled on one that addressed a Social Security reform package. Several drops of milk dribbled from his spoon and landed on the report creating a scatter of gray-white circles. Well, that wasn’t very Presidential.

  He wiped off the wet spots with his sleeve and commenced to read. He was deep in thought when the door to the outer office opened.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” Mary Allus said. She handed him a folder of news clippings. “Your morning paper.”

  “How is it out there?”

  “Nasty.” Her face clouded. After all the years caring for her boss, nothing escaped her.

  Stuart felt her gaze on his unshaven face and puffy eyes. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “That’s pretty obvious. May I?” she replied, snatching away the cereal bowl and replacing it with a single sheet of paper with his schedule. She didn’t expect him to elaborate. She would learn soon enough what new crisis had forced him into the Oval Office at this hour.

  She gestured to the schedule. “We’re going to need to change this.”

  “Can you squeeze in a meeting of the Principles later this morning?”

  “I’ll have the kitchen fix something for a working lunch.”

  He picked up the news clippings and responded without looking up. “That would be good. Thank you.”

  Mary Allus didn’t move.

  He set the papers down. “What?”

  “Mr. President, I can fend off the hordes while you get cleaned up. It’s now or never.”

  He ran his hand over the stubble on his face. “I’ll be out of here in a minute. I wouldn’t want to appear disheveled for my adoring public.”

  * * *

  Stuart walked down the narrow hallway leading to the Oval Office feeling a bit more human after a shower and shave. He spotted Gilmore and Brown standing in the doorway of his Special Assistant’s office and motioned them to follow.

  “Let’s get the day going.”

  Gilmore took a seat and waited until Brown closed the door. He flipped open his copy of the Presidential Daily Brief. Six minutes later, he finished.

  “Thanks, Bryce, that’ll be all. Justin, stay a minute, will you?”

  He waited until the door clicked closed before handing Brown the legal pad with his notes. “You don’t need to read those now. There isn’t anything that should surprise you. The only change I’ve made is stepping up our timelines. We’ll discuss the major points at eleven.”

  Brown peeked at the second page. “The Deputies Committee has been working the decision analysis for the issues outlined in the Presidential Review Directive you signed on the twentieth.”

  “I want an update on each of my numbered points. Their integration will be critical. If we do this right, we’ll have the foundation to support our interests in the Pacific for years. If we don’t, well...”

  “We will get through this.”

  “There are a couple of variables we’ll need to address.”

  Brown ventured. “The reactions of the Chinese and the press?”

  “We’ll have an easier time with Beijing.”

  Brown pulled on his chin. “We need to construct a cover story for the loss of the P-8. I’d prefer not to go down this path, but we have no choice if we want any chance of containment.”

  “And the Chinese?”

  “My guess is the Chinese will elect to keep their latest setback under wraps while they lick their wounds and nurse their anger. Richard believes they’ll put on a conciliatory face to Manila to calm the ASEAN countries while they prepare to play hardball.”

  Brown set Stuart’s notes on the coffee table. “It’s time we bring in Bob. He needs to know what the Agency has going.”

  “Valid point, but Langley’s piece should be handled offline. I’ve spoken with Sheldon and Bryce. I told them we have to keep the operation within the Agency. It has to be kept clean without any links to the military. I directed Bryce to work up the Memorandum of Notification to authorize the project.”

  Brown paused. “You know, those guys still have their contacts in Vietnam.”

  “I trust Bryce has nothing going on we don’t know about.”

  “Nothing that I know of.”

  “Make sure.”

  * * *

  THE ROOSEVELT ROOM

  10:55

  Brown dropped his notes on the conference table and looked at the portrait mounted over the fireplace at the far end of the room: Teddy Roosevelt storming up San Juan Hill with his Rough Riders. The portrait represented another piece of White House trivia. This picture of the Republican president was replaced with that of President Franklin D. Roosevelt when the Democrats held office.

  He pondered these men’s different approaches to governance. TR was known for his philosophy, ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick.’ FDR recognized that the war with Japan was as much about economics as it was territorial ambitions and nationalism. Placed within this historical context, the room and its representative portraits was an apt place for the NSC’s deliberations.

  “Hey, Justin, how you holding up?” Valardi asked to Brown’s back.

  “Oh, pretty well, considering,” Brown replied. “I was just wondering how TR and Franklin D would deal with the Chinese.”

  Valardi slipped off his jacket and hung it on the back of his seat. “You think it’s hot in here?”

  “No, I’m fine,” Brown said as Lawson and Payne entered the room. He handed them each a copy of Stuart’s notes. “Bob, he’ll want to know what you have on the aircrew.”

  Stuart strode in before Lawson could reply. “You read my mind. What’s the latest?”

  “Aside from some bruises and stiff muscles, they’re fine, sir. We dispatched a C-130 to fly them back to Kadena. They’re being examined and debriefed, then will be put under wraps. The P-8’s a total loss, but the
y secured all the TS gear and took it out with them.”

  “Keep on top of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Richard, what do you have?”

  “There’s been no reaction from Beijing. For the moment, it appears they’re content exchanging diplomatic protests with the Filipinos. A spokesman from the Chinese embassy in Manila issued a statement stating the raising of a Philippine flag by local fisherman on Scarborough Shoal was a serious violation of Chinese sovereignty and that a repetition would strain relations. If you will excuse the pun, that raises a red flag.”

  Valardi referred to his notes. “The release went on to say the Philippine Navy sent ships to the area to disrupt amateur radio activities on the island that had been organized by a non-governmental organization of China. That, of course, is just complete hogwash.”

  “Your interpretation?”

  “My sense is they’re trying to legitimize their position that they’re the aggrieved party. The significant piece is General Xiao and his supporters in the Central Military Commission have suffered a series of embarrassing setbacks. The end result should result in a loss of credibility within the government for their entire agenda. That should weaken their influence at the 17th Party Congress meeting this fall.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘shoulds,’ Richard. Who’s calling the shots? The Foreign Ministry or Xiao?”

  “I can’t answer with certainty.”

  “You must have an opinion.”

  “The problem we’re facing with the Chinese government is this: the political, fiscal, and social mechanisms that should allow them to manage this transition don’t exist,” Brown responded.

  “Where does this leave the PLA?” Payne asked, ignoring another ‘should.’

  “I was about to get there. The CCP’s Central Military Commission and the General Staff of the PLA view all of these developments with alarm in part because the General Staff’s Department of Logistics controls thousands of factories and an immense workforce. With the CCP at risk of losing control and relevance, the PLA may well be positioning itself to fill the vacuum.”

  “Just terrific,” Stuart said. “So, what you’re telling me is we have no idea who will be in charge in China or what direction the country’s going to take?”