by Dale Brown
barrage of gunfire that definitely wasn't from anything like a Negros
Oriental-class patrol vessel. The other C80 1 never turned in the
direction of the gunfire and had probably self-destructed. "What was
that?" Chow shouted to his Combat bridge crew. "That wasn't a patrol
vessel out there."
"Unknown, sir, " his officer of the deck replied. "Analyzing radar
signals at this time, but nothing definite."
"Where did those helicopters come from?" Chow shouted, puzzled and more
than a bit afraid. "How did they get out here so fast without being
detected? We're over five hundred kilometers from a Philippine base."
"They either staged their attack helicopters on barges or oil platforms,
or "Or there's a ship out there large enough to land a helicopter on
board, " Chow interjected. "The Philippines have only one vessel large
enough to land a helicopter and load antiship weapons on
board-Rizal-class corvette. But that still doesn't explain that gunfire
we saw on the horizon. What other-" And it was then that Commander Chow
realized what it was-the largest, most powerful vessel in the Philippine
inventory, the PF-class destroyer escort frigate. The ex-U.S. Navy
Cannon-class frigate, another World War II relic, had no fewer than
twenty large-caliber radar-guided guns on board, along with two
76-millimeter guns and a four-shot Mk- 141 Harpoon antiship missile
launcher. That was no oil-drilling rig on Phu Qui Island-it was a major
Philippine combat fleet, with at least three of its largest class of
warships lying in wait. "Signal Dragon that we believe there is at least
one PS-class corvette and one, possibly two PF-class frigates in the
area of Phu Qui Island, " Chow ordered. "Direct Yaan to assist Baoji,
and I want the task force to turn south away from Phu Qui Island. I
need Admiral Yin to signal."
"Missile launch detected!" the Combat officer cried out. "Ku-band
radar! Harpoon missile in the air!" That was the last coherent sentence
Commander Chow Ti U was to hear. He ordered electronic countermeasures,
expendables, and his guns to open fire on the attacking missiles, but
the electronic jamming was too strong; the Ckagda did not pick up the
missile until the Philippine ships ceased jamming, which was moments
before the Harpoon's active radar seeker would be programmed to activate
and search for its target, about twenty seconds from impact. By that
time the Harpoon missile had begun a series of random jinks, punctuated
by a high, looping terminal "pop-up maneuver, a feint that was all but
impossible for the Chagda 's defensive guns to follow. The missile
slammed into the Chinese patrol craft traveling close to the speed of
sound, pierced the main superstructure, and drove down several decks
before its four-hundred-andeighty-pound warhead detonated. A second
Harpoon missile followed seconds later, adding to the swift destruction
of Chagda by exploding in the engine room, creating a blossom of fire so
huge that it created shadows on the water for five miles in all
directions. ABOARD THE SPRATLY ISLAND FLOTILLA FLAGSHIP H0NG LUNG "Lost
contact with Chugdu, sir, " the Combat Information Center officer
reported to Admiral Yin. "Last report was of a PF-class frigate and a
PS-class corvette near Phu Qui Island. No other details." "Attack
helicopters, jammers, now a possible Philippine strike fleet, " Admiral
Yin muttered. He had been in his command chair in the center of the
Hong Lung's small Combat Information Center, trying to piece together
the situation as bits of radio messages were slowly merged with
long-range radar data. Were the Filipinos out of their minds? Yin
wondered. To attack the Chinese naval forces after the events of just a
few months ago wasn't merely outrageous, it was, in Yin's mind, idiotic.
Certainly they didn't think they had a chance at defeating a force the
strength of his. Or did they? What did they know that he didn't? He
mulled this over for the briefest minute. He would have to play this
very, very carefully. "Bridge to Admiral Yin, " Captain Lubu's voice
reported over a loudspeaker. "We are overtaking Wenshan." The Hong Lung
was at flank speed, which was at least six to ten knots faster than any
of his flotilla's other vessels except for two of his small Hegu-class
fast attack missile craft, Fuzhou and Chukou. That would mean that Hong
Lung would have no antimine or antimissile protection other than its own
37-millimeter guns and its phalanx Gatling-gun system. "Shall we pass
to port or join up?" After giving the facts-and his own fears-careful
consideration, Yin radioed back: "Pull ahead of Wenshan, reduce speed to
twenty until Xingyi catches up, then resume thirty knots until within
radar range of Chagda 's last known position." Xingyi was his
Huangfen-class fast attack missile boat, which also carried the
supersonic Fei Lung-7 antiship missile as did Hong Lung. "Have the rest
of the task force extend and follow. Have Fuzhou and Chukou continue at
flank speed towards Chagda 's last-known position." Yin wasn't about to
storm into a hostile region alone, with only a few lightly armed
twenty-seven-meter boats as protection-he was going to send the two
small boats to "beat the bushes" and find the Filipino bastards who were
doing the shooting. "Yes, sir, " Lubu replied crisply. "Expect Xingyi
to rendezvous in thirty minutes."
"Message from patrol craft Yaan, " the CIC officer reported. "Chagda in
sight and on fire. Reports from crewmen say they were hit by
sea-skimming missiles. Patrol craft Baoji heavily damaged but under
way, moving southwest at five knots. No contact with minesweeper
Guangzou. Yaan requests permission to assist Chagda."
"Permission granted, " Admiral Yin replied crisply. "I want a report on
the Philippine vessels. Direction, speed-I want it right now."
"Yes, sir, " the CIC acknowledged. Other crewmen in the Combat
Information Center were turning to look at Yin, to see the anger and
frustration spilling out. Many of them had angry questioning looks on
their faces when Yin ordered the reduction in speed-shouldn't they get
over there as fast as possible to help their comrades? "Report from
Yaan, sir, " the CIC officer said a few minutes later. "Commander Ko
reports three, possibly four vessels moving away from Phu Qui Island,
heading east at twenty knots. Surface-search radars only. Acquisition
radars not detected. Helicopters appear to be rendezvousing with the
vessels." Inwardly, Yin breathed a sigh of relief. At least this wasn't
more complicated than he'd first feared. Apparently the Filipinos had no
stomach for a real fight. And obviously they weren't seeking to
consolidate their gains, refortify Phu Qui Island, or take any other
islands in the neutral zone. It was a simple retaliatory battle-swift,
decisive, and over with. Cut and run. They probably could have stayed
and continued to bombard Yaan and Baoji, board Chagdo, take
prisoners-that was what Yin would have done-or set up an ambush for Hong
Lung, using the crippled ships, but they were doing nothing
more than
escaping. It put the onus right back on the Chinese-escalate the
conflict or end it. Yin had no desire to drive his beautiful ship right
into an ambush or into a battle-ready Filipino fleet of unknown size,
but neither did he want any appearance of backing away from a fight. And
so he became a picture of triumph. He turned to his men, who had turned
to look at him with querying expressions. "They're idiots. You see how
they run? They steal out of the night, attack us like frightened
children throwing rocks, then run in the face of something far more
powerful. I loathe such spinelessness." He clicked open the microphone
and said in a loud voice, so everyone in CIC could hear him: "Captain
Lubu, open a satellite channel to Dongdao Airfield immediately." Dongdao
was the new Chinese Air Force airfield in the Paracel Islands; it was
almost seven hundred kilometers north of their present location, but it
was the closest Chinese airfield with any sort of strike capability.
Although there was an Air Force general on the island in charge of the
base, most of the air-strike assets at Dongdao belonged to the Chinese
Army Navy, and to Yin. "I want a Shuihong-5 patrol craft fully armed
for surface combat to rendezvous on this flagship immediately, and
another standing by to relieve the first. The patrol had better be
airborne in thirty minutes or else.. ." That got the CIC operator's
attention-they all concentrated hard on their consoles, praying their
Admiral would not turn on them. Yin considered radioing the South China
Sea Fleet Headquarters at Zhanjiang directly, but so far Admiral Yin had
not really done anything noteworthy except get one-sixth of his flotilla
destroyed or damaged; he needed to show some initiative, some decisive
action, before informing his headquarters of the disaster and awaiting
instructions. The Shuihong-5 was a large turboprop flying boat used
primarily for antisubmarine warfare and maritime patrol, but the ten
aircraft assigned fulltime to his Nansha Island flotilla were fitted for
antiship duties, with French-made Heracles II sea surveillance and
targeting radar, two C-101 supersonic antiship missiles hung under the
wings, and six French-made Murene NTL-90 dual-purpose lightweight
torpedoes, also on wing pylons. The Shuihong-5 was a significant threat
to any ship that did not possess antiaircraft missiles, and to Yin's
knowledge no Filipino warship carried antiaircraft missiles except
perhaps short-range Stinger shoulder-fired weapons. It was enough to
bomb the hell out of whatever Philippine forces were out there. Then,
when his commander, the notoriously mercurial High General Chin Po
Zihong, called him on the carpet for the destroyed Chagda, he'd have a
large, ample helping of dead Filipinos to serve up. And that would
certainly make High General Chin happy. OFF THE WEST COAST OF THE UNITED
STATES NEAR VANDENBERG, CALIFORNIA WEDNESDAY, 21 SEPTEMBER 1994, 1131
HOURS LOCAL I ~t1was an absolutely spectacular day for flying. The
skies were ear, with only a few stray wisps of clouds to break up the
blue all around. The winds were relatively calm and turbulence-free,
which was rather unusual at forty thousand feet. Things were not quite
as calm, however, inside the special, heavily modified Sky Masters,
Inc., DC-10 aircraft orbiting off the California coast. There was only
one booster in the cargo section of the special DC-I 0 that morning,
which presumably would have made Jon Masters half as anxious as when he
was carrying two. Instead, Masters was agitated and irritable, much to
the chagrin of the rest of the crew. The source of his irritation was
Sky Masters' newest air-launched space booster, Jackson-I, a dark,
sleek, bullet-nosed object whose very looks promised powerful results.
But the booster, named for the seventh President of the United States,
wasn't going anywhere. And that was the problem. "What's going on?"
Masters demanded over interphone, drumming his fingers on the
launch-control console. Helen Kaddiri sighed. "We're still tracking
down the prob lem, Jon. We're having trouble on the Ku-band downlink
from Homer-Seven."
"You've got five minutes, " Masters reminded her. "If we can't talk to
that satellite, we'll have to abort." Kaddiri sighed again. As if she
didn't know. An assistant handed her yet another self-test readout. She
rolled her eyes and crumbled the paper up in her hands. She took a deep
breath and keyed the interphone mike: "There's still a fault in the
bird, Jon, and it's not at our ground station. We're going to have to
abort. There's no choice. Air Force is saying the same as well." That
was not what Masters wanted to hear. "Homer-Seven was working fine just
seventy minutes ago." Homer-Seven was one of the constellation of eight
TDRS, or Tracking and Data Relay Satellites, launched in the late 1980s
and early 1990s to provide uninterrupted tracking, data, and
communications coverage for the space shuttle and other military
satellites, including spy satellites. They replaced several slow,
outmoded ground communications stations once located in remote areas of
the world such as the Australian outback and the African Congo. "Now the
Air Force wants to abort? After they've been screaming at me to get
these fuckers in orbit so they can eyeball the Philippines? That's
typical. Tell 'em to keep their nose out of my business and find out
where the problem is in their satellite." Even as the words came out of
his mouth, though, Masters knew that wasn't what the Air Force was going
to want to hear. Besides, the TDRS system had proved generally reliable
in the past, and all of Jon Masters' NIRTSats relied on TDRS to beam
status and tracking information to his Blytheville, Arkansas,
headquarters as well as to the military and government agencies using
the satellite. So the problem had to be on the plane. ... "Get another
system check at Blytheville and another here, " he ordered. "Right now.
Get on it." Kaddiri had quickly grown tired of being ordered around.
"We've checked our systems. They're fine and ready to receive. The
problem's in the TDRS satellite, not with our gear. Masters muttered
something under his breath, threw off his headset, and got up out of his
seat. The senior launch-control technician, Albert "Red" Philips,
immediately asked, "Jon, what about the countdown?"
"Continue the countdown, Red, " Jon snapped. "No-hold. I'll be back in
one minute." He then hurried forward to the flight deck. Despite the
roominess of the launch-control cabin and booster section in the rear
cargo hold of the DC-JO, the flight deck up front was cramped and
relatively uncomfortable. Along with the two pilots, there was the
flight engineer's station behind the copilot, with his complex system of
fuel, electrical, hydraulic, and pneumatic controls and monitors; he
also controlled the aircraft's weight and balance system, which was
designed to compensate for each ALARM booster launch by rapidly
distributing fuel and ballast as the boosters were moved or launched.
Behind the pi
lot's station, back-to-back with the flight engineer, was
the alternate launch-control console and the primary
launch-communications center. The system handled the communications
interface between satellites and ground stations and the ALARM booster
until a few seconds before launch, when the booster's onboard computer
received its last position and velocity update from the launch aircraft
and was sent on its way. The ALARM booster's onboard flight computers
continuously navigated for itself and provided steering signals to the
launch aircraft to position itself for orbital insertion, but it needed
information sent to it through the launch aircraft's communication
system, and right now the system was not picking up data from the
tracking satellites. Helen Kaddiri, who was in charge of the console
for this launch, had been trying to restore communications, but with no
luck. She rolled her eyes in exasperation as Masters rushed through the
pressurized cabin door. "Jon, if you don't mind, I can handle this...
Masters immediately checked the status screen for the launch aircraft's
communication system-everything was still reporting normal. "I asked you
to run a self-test of our system, Helen." Kaddiri sighed as Masters
peered over her left shoulder to watch the test process on the screen. .
"There!" Masters announced. "Umbilical fiber optic hardware
continuity. Why did you bypass that test?"
"C'mon, Jon, get real, " Kaddiri protested. "That's not an electronics
check, that's a visual check-"
"Bullshit, " said Masters, dashing out of the cockpit and back into the
cargo section. The ALARM booster, its gray bulk huge and ominous in the
bright inspection lights of the cargo section, had been wheeled out of
the airlock and back into the cargo section so technicians could look it
over again. "Push her back in and check the umbilical connections, "
Masters said. "We might have a bad plug."
"But we need a safe connectivity readout before we can push her into
position, " Red Philips said. He checked the status board on the
launch-control panel. "I'm still showing no tracking data from-"
"Bypass the safety locks, Red, " Masters said. "Get the booster into
