Sky Masters

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