by Dale Brown
tiny missile raced ahead, obliterating the IR sensor in the sudden
glare, but the missile tracked straight and true this time and they were
rewarded by a huge ball of fire far ahead of them. "Bullet Six, splash
two." "Good shooting, Razor, " Penrose heard Bowman reply in between
deep grunts-Bowman was performing his anti-G force grunts called
M-maneuvers. He was obviously right in the middle of a hard-turning
battle, but the cocky sonofabitch still found time to chatter on the
radios. "Bullet Seven, fox one. . . die, sucker, die!"
"Bullet Seven, warning, second bandit four o'clock, high, eight miles,
descending behind you... "Cowboy, dammit, get out of there!" Penrose
shouted. "Cowboy, extend, extend!"
"Bullet Seven, starboard turn to evade . . . Bullet Seven, extend...
Bullet Seven heading zero-nine-zero, thirty degrees starboard to
extend... Bullet Seven, check altitude... Bullet Seven, if you are in
a spin, release your controls . . . Bullet Seven, if you are in a
spin, release your controls and lower your landing gear. . . Bullet
Seven, Bullet Seven, altitude warning . . . Bullet Seven only, Bullet
Seven only, eject, eject, eject. . ." No use. Penrose never got
another transmission from Bowman. "Basket, this is Six, vector to
Bullet Seven's last position." Penrose could hear the panic, the
gut-wrenching anxiety, in the controller's voice. "Er . . . Bullet
Six, lone bandit at your nine o'clock, forty miles, he's northwest-bound
at six hundred knots, altitude ten thousand and descending. Appears to
be withdrawing. No other bandits detected. Say your bingo."
"I said, I want a vector to Seven's last known position, dam"No ELT, no
transmissions. . . Six, say your fuel." Penrose finally curbed his
anger long enough to check his fuel-he was well past bingo, and with a
damaged carrier and his tankers more than a hundred miles away, he was
in emergency fuel conditions now. "Basket, Six requests you vector a
KA-6 over here, because I'm not moving from this spot until I make sure
there's no ELT or distress calls. You better call Sterett or Ffe or
somebody over here to investigate, because I'm staying right here until
we find Cowboy."
"Bullet Six... Six, all group vessels involved at this time." The
controller sounded as if he were trying to think of some detached,
official-sounding terminology to tell Penrose that no one was likely to
come and search for wreckage or survivors. Penrose suddenly remembered
the Ranger and knew they weren t going to send any big ships anywhere
near this area for a long time-the Chinese held it too tightly. "Shamu
rendezvousing with Basket and Flashlight for recovery. Orders from home
plate, return and prepare for divert recovery. Acknowledge." The battle
was over. The Chinese lost four plus damaged a carrier, the Americans
lost two. Penrose felt as if he had been beaten up by an entire street
gang. Who won this one? Who the hell won this one? NATIONAL MILITARY
COMMAND CENTER THE PENTAGON, WASHINGTON, D.C. %30 SEPTEMBER 1994, 1319
HOURS LOCAL (1 OCTOBER, 0219 GUAM TIME) The National Military Command
Center, located three stories beneath the inner ring of the Pentagon,
was a large, sophisticated command post where members of the Joint
Chiefs of Staff, their senior staff officers, and members of the
National Command Authority and National Security Council could monitor
crisis developments anywhere in the world, receive real-time satellite
imagery, and speak directly with anyone from foreign leaders to theater
commanders to individual crew members via secure, high-tech worldwide
communications gear. The place was much like the Strategic Air
Command's underground command center, with uliratight electronic and
physical security, several huge wall-size, fullcolor monitors, banks of
telephones, a secure code room, and a huge support staff-except this was
where national military strategy and command decisions were made and
disseminated, not received and executed. A gallery above the main floor
allowed high-ranking visitors to view the proceedings; a few persons
were up there now. Most of the J-Staff and several other members of the
Joint Chiefs were already present in the NMCC when General Wilbur Curtis
trotted in and took his place in the front row center seat. Beside him,
sitting in the seat reserved for the highestranking civilian
present-usually Frank Kellogg, the President's National Security
Advisor, or even Thomas Preston, the Secretary of Defense himself-was
Paul Cesare, the President's Chief of Staff. Curtis gave him a brief
nod but ignored him as he clicked on the microphone at his seat. He
didn't care for Cesare. Never had. Shortly after Curtis had been
dismissed from the last Situation Room ineeting on this crisis, he'd
phoned Cesare, trying to get in to see the President alone, to privately
make the case for more fighters to accompany the carriers as well as
deploying the Air Battle Force. He'd gotten nothing from Cesare but a
chilly "The issue is closed." He was Machiavellian and ruthless. He'd
play either side of the fence as long as it was the side the President
was on, and mow down anyone who got in his way. Curtis more than
disliked him, he couldn't stand him. "Curtis here. Situation report,
please." Navy Captain Rebecca Rodgers' voice came over the NMCC's
loudspeaker: "Good afternoon, sir, Captain Rodgers here. This briefing
is classified Top Secret, no foreign nationals, sensitive intelligence
sources and methods involved. The command center is secure, with the
gallery sound-isolated. Briefing contents describe a priority-two
incident." She paused for a moment in case Curtis wanted to configure
the NMCC any differently. He did not, and she went on. Damn, Curtis
thought, here it comes. "About fifteen minutes ago the aircraft carrier
Ranger, her escorts, several Navy fighters, and an Air Force
reconnaissance plane were attacked by Chinese land-based fighters and
bombers south of the Philippines." There was considerable murmuring
among the assembled. Several of the Joint Chiefs shifted in their
seats, bracing themselves for more. Paul Cesare sat there shaking his
head, not believing what he'd just heard. Well, Wilbur Curtis thought,
the shit's hitting the fan a lot faster than anyone expected. And with
the President's Chief of Staff sitting right here, the news was going to
travel faster than Curtis could respond. He needed to have a list of
options prepared for the National Command Authority literally before the
President knew about the crisis. Without a plan of action, the entire
JCS might seem like a bunch of bumbling idiots. If things got out of
control now, Curtis would be lucky to remain JCS chairman for the rest
of the day. "Wait one, Captain." Curtis turned to Cesare. "Mr.
Cesare, what exactly are you doing here?" Curtis expected an argument
out of the President's big aide-Cesare certainly had the security
clearance and the need to know" for everything that went on in the
NMCCbut to his surprise, Cesare was acting rather stunned, and not just
from the
news he had just heard. ....... I was notified that a group of
senators was going to meet with the Secretary of Defense at one o'clock,
" he replied. "Something to do with the Philippine crises and the
Chinese... our military options, something like that. These senators
want to keep the President from committing any troops at all to
Southeast Asia-they're afraid we might be starting another Vietnam
conflict, or World War Three. They're pressing Secretary Preston-which
means the President-into withdrawing all forces from the Philippines.
Preston's trying to walk a balancing act, but he thought the meeting
here was at least a little further away from... the public eye and the
press. . . than on the Hill or at Defense." Curtis couldn't believe
it. Once again the White House was pulling the Pentagon into a
political mudfight. It was typical. God, how he hated politics. He
turned to Cesare. "That's all well and fine, Mr. Cesare, but that
doesn't explain what you're doing here." ....... well, gathering
information. So that, um, the President can make an informed response
when the senators press him." Admiral Cunningham, the Chief of Naval
Operations, discreetly cleared his throat behind him. Curtis could feel
the gaze of his JCS colleagues and staffers on him, silently urging him
to deal with the emergency at hand-Cesare would have to wait. "I'll
provide you with whatever you need later, Mr. Cesare, but for this
situation, your place is up in the gallery."
"I'd really prefer to sit here and-"
"Mr. Cesare-"
"General-" Curtis motioned to the NMCC's senior security policeman, Army
Command Sergeant Major Jefferson, who stepped over immediately in front
of Cesare. "Jake, please see that Mr. Cesare finds his way upstairs to
the gallery with the other visitors, and double-check everyone's
credentials up there." Cesare rose to his feet. "The President will
expect a full report. "He'll get more than that, " Curtis said. He
turned to his communications officer beside him. "Get the President on
the line, priority two." Priority codes issued from the Pentagon were
in numbers of non-nuclear threats and colors for nuclear ones; 'one" was
the highest conventional code, associated with major military or
terrorist actions against the continental United States, its bases or
territories. "Two" was reserved for major attacks against American
overseas bases, embassies, deployed vessels, or nonembassy citizens; and
so on. Priority "red" was reserved for an all-out nuclear attack on the
United States and was never used in simulations or exercises. Curtis
then turned back to Cesare with a hint of a smile. This was Curtis'
game now. Have a nice day, Mr. Cesare. Sergeant Jefferson will show
you upstairs." Curtis motioned to the door with his head, and the guard
motioned to the door and escorted Cesare out. The Chairman of the Joint
Chiefs of Staff turned his attention back to the big screens and
computer monitors before him, but the information Cesare had parted with
lingered. The surveillance operation in the Philippines blows up right
when there's a major congressional push to pull out. What the hell else
could go wrong? When Cesare was safely gone, Curtis double-checked to be
sure the intercom was shut off in the gallery-the ranking person in the
command center could restrict all information dissemination, no matter
what the other person's security clearanceand said, "Continue, Captain
Rodgers. Casualty and damage report, start with Ranger."
"Current casualty report: forty-seven dead, two hundred injured." A
ripple of anger and dismay spread throughout the room. Curtis felt
sick. "Ranger is still afloat, heading to the port city of Manado in
Indonesia at minimum speed, escorted by destroyers Hewitt and Ffe and
cruiser Bunker Hill. Wounded have been airlifted to Manado as well." A
chart of the area was put up immediately on one of the large computer
monitors when a foreign city or nation was mentioned, so Curtis and his
staff could get a look at the area in question. Curtis found his mouth
going dry, his pulse quickening. Forty-seven dead... "Aegis cruiser
Bunker Hill damaged during action, " Rodgers continued, "but sustained
no casualties and only minor injuries. It is fully combat-capable and
is assisting Ranger."
"Action approved, " Curtis said. Dammit, the Bunker Hill too. Two
major warships damaged, with more casualties in one day than practically
the entire 1991 Persian Gulf crisis. "Wait one. Wasn't there another
ship with Ranger? Another cruiser?"
"Yes, sir. USS Sterett is en route to the Celebes Sea to attempt to
recover two F-14 fighters downed in action with Chinese fighter-bombers.
The Tomcat crews are listed as missing in action." Two fighters? Jesus,
four aviators. How many more were going to be lost? "Goddammit,
Captain, give us the casualties all at once. Are there any more?"
"No, sir. American casualties only on Ranger and two Tomcats." "Thank
you, " Curtis said, taking a deep breath. "Hold on that last action by
Sterett. Can Ranger provide any air support for Sterett?" "Not at this
time, sir, " Rodgers replied. "Ranger unable to launch or recover
aircraft. Admiral Walheim advised that he does not suggest sending any
heavy Air Force aircraft within six hundred miles of Zamboanga on
Mindanao due to heavy Chinese fighter and antiair naval activity. He is
trying to organize a fighter patrol using carrier-based tankers that
were stranded from Ranger..."
"How can he rearm his fighters if they can't use Ranger?"
"His fighters received permission to land in Indonesia along with the
medical helicopters, " Rodgers replied. "Admiral Walheim has organized
land-based rearming for the fighters by transferring stores from Ranger
by helicopter to Ratulangi Airport near Manado, Indonesia, but he has
not yet received permission from the Indonesian government to allow
those helicopters to land or to conduct offensive operations from
Indonesia. In addition, the Indonesian government has requested that
the armed aircraft not depart Ratulangi until their status has been
confirmed." Pretty fast thinking, Curtis thought-Walheim, another
youngster commanding his first carrier battle group, was already
devising ways to continue the fight even without a carrier deck. An X
marked the spot on the chart where the fighters went down-about three to
four hundred miles from Manado. Admiral Cunningham asked, "How many
fighters are stranded off Ranger, Captain?"
"Six F-14 Tomcats, two KA-6 tankers, one E-2C Hawkeye, " Rodgers
replied. "Weapons include total of four Phoenix missiles, fifteen
Sparrow missiles, ten Sidewinder missiles, and full ammunition loads."
Cunningham nodded thoughtfully and said to Curtis, "Depending on fuel
availability, Walheim can mount a credible air-defense operation from
Ratulangi for a rescue operation if they could get full cooperation from
the Indonesian government."
"It's unlikely, considering all the shit that's going on, " Curtis said,
"but we've got to find out." To Rodgers, Curtis said
, "I want to talk
with the State Department ASAP. Danahall himself if he's available,
otherwise his Pacific deputy."
"Admiral Walheim suggested going ahead with search and rescue efforts
anyway; a lone vessel broadcasting that it is part of a rescue effort
might be allowed to proceed."
"The STRATFOR can organize a cover counter-air operation from Andersen,
" General Falmouth, the Air Force Chief of Staff, suggested. "PACAF has
a number of fighters on Guam we can use . . "Action denied, " Curtis
replied. "I want Sterett to stay out of the Celebes and outside six
hundred miles from Zamboanga until I talk directly with State and
Admiral Walheim. No vessels enter the Celebes without support. He
thought of the four Tomcat naval aviators that were down, but he also
knew the result of a damaged plane slamming into the sea from thousands
of feet in the sky-unless someone saw parachutes, there were probably no
survivors, and certainly there was no reason to risk hundreds of lives
on Sterett to save four men. As much as Curtis hated to admit it, a
rescue operation now was out of the question. "Continue. Status of the
Air Force aircraft?"
"Minor injuries sustained during escape maneuvers when the crew thought
they were under attack, " Rodgers said. "The RC- 135 refueled inflight
and safely recovered at Andersen Air Force Base on Guam. The E-3C AWACS
plane and the KC-10 are still on station in the southern Philippine Sea
north of Manado between the Philippines and Indonesia; the AWACS plane
is keeping an eye on Chinese fighter activity and attempting to locate
the two downed aircraft. They have four of the six Tomcat fighters with
them for air cover; the other two Tomcats landed in Indonesia with the
medevac helicopters. They estimate they can stay on station until
daybreak, then they must withdraw for aircraft servicing." Curtis
checked the row of world clocks below the NMCC's "big board"It was
almost two-thirty in the morning Guam time. "I want the AWACS plane
back on Guam by sunrise, " Curtis said. "Have them stay long enough to
