by Dale Brown
doublecheck that the bulbs were still good-they were. Fire lights out.
Engine instruments." The pilot's right multi-function display was
black, so McLanahan ran his fingers across the standby engine instrument
gauges at the bottom center of the forward instrument panel. "TIT and
EGT high but coming ....... EGT below redline. I think we got it.
Number-one primary hydraulic system is out. Electric system is
reset-turn the number-one generator off when you can. "I can't."
McLanahan was going to continue reciting the rest of the emergency
checklist, but all of the critical "bold print" items were done-the rest
of the items were double-checks. The Black Knight bomber apeared to be
wings-level, and finally Cobb was able to take his left hand off the
control stick. He spent a few moments shutting off equipment that ran
off the number-one engine, then slowly resumed his usual stony
position-one hand on the throttle, one hand on the sidestick controller,
eyes caged straight ahead, although this time with a few more noticeable
glances around the cockpit. It was hard to believe, but it had taken
only ten seconds from the missile explosion to wings-level-to McLanahan,
it seemed like a slow-motion eternity. He had once again experienced
Death creeping toward him, and it was even more horrifying the second
time. The feeling of utter helplessness was so overwhelming that it
often threatened to shut crews down. Only their long hours of drill,
training, and simulator sessions pulled them through it in time. "Bring
us right if you can, " McLanahan said. He put his SMFD in reset, then
reactivated it and found to his surprise that the navigation system was
still running. "Mount Apo is at our two o'clock position, eight miles.
It's our last hope. Heading zero-three-five." The single bright flash
of light was followed by a long tongue of flame that lasted for several
seconds, and part of that flame seemed to shoot out forwards as well as
backwards. "Good hit! Good hit!" the A-5K pilot cried out. "Strike .
. . !" But in his exuberance, the pilot again forgot he was in
formation. When the trail of fire began to arc to the right he
immediately banked right in response, directly into the path of the JS-7
fighter. With the excitement of the missile launch, the blood pounding
in his head, and the adrenaline rushing through his brain, theJS-7 pilot
immediately broke right and climbed away. 'han Zero-Nine, lost wingman,
" he cried over the command radio. Suddenly realizing that he didn't
know where he was-except that he was at three hundred meters altitude,
flying near a 3, 200-meter-high mountain-he immediately began a climb to
his area minimum safe altitude, which in this sector was 3, 300 meters.
"Zero-Nine climbing to min safe altitude."
"Get back here!" the pilot of the A-5K shouted furiously on the radio.
"I have no more heat-seekers. You have to engage!"
"Zero-Nine is lost-wingman, no contact with the terrain, " the JS-7
shouted. "I do not have a TV camera to watch for terrain. I will
re-acquire. Stand by "EGT is back below redline, " McLanahan said. "Try
a restart." Cobb pushed the fuel cutoff T-handle back in to reopen the
fuel lines, selected the "Engine Status" menu on his left MFD, selected
"Restart, " and advanced the number-one throttle when directed by the
computer. It was a mistake. As soon as the engine began spooling up,
the bright-red "Fire" light came on. The computer immediately began
shutdown procedures, and this time Cobb manually activated the fuel
cutoff T-handle himself and hit the number-one engine's fire
extinguisher system to make sure the fire was out. The "Fire" light
extinguished immediately, and all other systems remained normal. "Must
be hydraulic fuel leaking into the engine or a serious fuel leak, " Cobb
said. "Looks like we finish this mission on three engines." He put the
B-2's infrared scanner image on his right MFD and resumed his usual
position, staring straight ahead, unmoving. "Where are those fighters?"
"One still on our tail; he's dropped back to eight miles, and he hasn't
taken another shot yet, " McLanahan said. "The other guy broke off to
our five o'clock position and went high-he might be setting up for a
high gun pass or a home-on-jam missile shot if they got a missile
that'll do it. All trackbreakers are still active." He quickly switched
to the data-link channel for the SLAM missiles, but the screen on the
left side of his SMFD was blank. "Shit, looks like we lost contact with
the missiles when the power dropped out. I'll try to reacquire it . .
"What do we do when we reach Mount Apo?"
"Fly around it... and pray, " McLanahan said. "It's our only hope of
losing these jokers." McLanahan expanded his SMFD display back to its
normal God's-eye display-and then he saw 46over to Cobb. "Turn right to
onetwo-zero and climb to nine thousand seven hundred feet. Fly right
over the peak of Mount Apo."
"Nine thousand feet!" Cobb said. "We'll be exposed! Half the Chinese
fleet will be able to see us!"
"But we'll have some help if we make it on time, " McLanahan said. "Do
it." Cobb pulled back on the control stick and maintained as steep a
climb as the stricken bomber could manage. The Black Knight barely held
two hundred and fifty knots as Cobb put the nose right on the infrared
image of the radar dome atop Mount Apo and headed straight for it. ...
The B-2 momentarily disappeared from the narrow fieldof-view image on
the low-light TV screen, and the pilot of the Chinese A-5K
fighter-bomber hurriedly expanded his screen and searched frantically
for the intruder. He was surprised to see it climbing, not descending-in
fact, it had passed two thousand meters already and was still climbing.
He was also heading right for the radar site on Mount Apo. What was he
trying to do? Kamikaze himself onto the radar site? Launch another
missile? Eject? Nothing made sense. But one thing was certain-high and
slow, it was an easy kill now. He pushed up his throttles to min
afterburner-he was getting low on fuel, but that certainly didn't matter
now-and began to close to cannon range. At about ten kilometers' range,
he activated his laser rangefinder. Immediately his fire-control
computer began computing lead angles and aimpoints for his two
23-millimeter cannons in each wing root; unfortunately he had only one
hundred rounds in each gun, so he had time for only two one-second
bursts. But that would be all that was needed here. The B-2 was
trailing black smoke from its leftmost engine, and the crew was
obviously trying to trade airspeed for altitude in preparation for
ejection or self-destruction. They were not going to get the chance.
The huge B-2 made a sudden right turn at a very steep angle-possibly a
last-ditch effort to evade destruction. The A-5 pilot simply pulled his
nose around tighter, leading the bomber's turn, and put his aiming
reticle back on the target. The TV camera clearly showed the Mount Apo
radar site not twenty meters below the B-2-he had turned a fraction of a
second before plowin
g into the radar dome. The pilot was indeed
skillful, but that was not going to save him. He closed to within one
kilometer, squeezed his gun trigger, and let the first one-second burst
rake the B-2s ungainly fuselage. And at that moment it seemed as if the
entire universe erupted into flames. Two Tomahawk cruise missiles had
actually flown over the two aircraft and had hit the captured Mount Apo
radar site, just a few hundred feet away from the Chinese fighter. The
explosion tossed the Chinese fighter-bomber nearly a half-mile sideways
in the air, blinding the pilot and sending him crashing into the lush
green valley below. The explosion on the Mount Apo radar site rattled
the B-2, but compared to the pounding they had taken when the Chinese
PL-2 missile hit, it was minor. Cobb lowered the big bomber's nose once
again, trying to build up his waning airspeed and regain full control.
And at that instant a horrifying sight filled his forward-looking
infrared scanner scene on his right MFD-the sight of a large Chinese
vessel, only miles ahead of them. They had turned east too far, and now
they were exposed to the entire southern Chinese invasion fleet. "Holy
shit, we gotta get out of here!" Cobb shouted. "As long as we're here,
let's start the party, " McLanahan said dryly. As Cobb continued his
tight right descending turn, McLanahan quickly programmed his last two
SLAM missiles on the fleet ahead of them, ran through the release
checklist, and launched the missiles at the Chinese warships. "Missile
one away. . . launcher rotating . . ." At that moment, warning
lights illuminated on the forward instrument panel. "Damn, we just lost
the primary hydraulic system-but I think the launcher still moved to
launch position. .. missile two away. Closing bomb doors
electrically." Cobb was busily running through emergency-procedure menu
items on his MFDs. "I switched to the auxiliary hydraulic system, " he
told McLanahan. "Autopilot's off, flight-control computers switched to
secondary mode. No more automatic terrain following or jinking for us-a
full-scale flight-control deflection will kill our entire hydraulic
system. We've got fuel leaks on the left wing as well, and I think
we're losing cabin pressurization. He shot us up pretty bad." But at
least they were still flying, Cobb thought, and they were still
fightin.... and they were still under attack. "Bandit at our four
o'clock position, range ten miles, turning right and coming around
behind us, " McLanahan shouted. "Descend as low as you can... "I'm
going, I'm going... hell, if we descend too much we won't be able to
climb back up." Cobb was straining on the control stick, since the
auxiliary hydraulic system provided only 70 percent of the primary
system's power, and the flightcontrol system was no longer assisting.
"I'm having trouble controlling, Patrick. If that bozo attacks, we've
had it. I can't maneuver... I can barely hold it as it is. Tighten
your shoulder straps again. Get ready to jump out if he attacks . "He's
got to find us first, Henry, " Patrick said as he pulled his shoulder
straps as tight as he could stand it. "Range seven miles... turning on
our six... keep descending, Henry. We're still jamming... maybe he
won't be able to see us... five miles and closing..." The Black Knight
bomber began to rumble, and the nose began to oscillate as Cobb fought
to hold it steady. "Get ready to go, Patrick. It's still flying, but I
don't know how. "Just hang in there, Henry-" But McLanahan watched the
SMFD as the fighter icon closed mercilessly-the Chinese fighter was
coming in for the kill, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
... The JS-7 pilot was more experienced in air-to-air engagements than
his former leader-A-5 pilots did more groundattack training than
dog-fighting-and he knew, judging by the B-2's slow airspeed and erratic
flight path, that he was in danger of crashing at any moment anyway. The
A-5 pilot-he did not even know the man's name-rushed his shots, not
closing in enough for the inherently poor PL-2 missiles to get a solid
lock-on. A boresight missile launch was the best way to go-the PL-2
missile was especially prone to decoys, so if the seeker head was
bypassed it was more deadly. He switched the attack system to
"Boresight" and kept his power high, closing the distance rapidly. A
boresight launch made the missile nothing more than a big, powerful
bullet-far more deadly than his 23-millimeter cannon, but with the same
effective range. It had to be led on target just like a gun, but that
was easy in this case, since the B-2 wasn't maneuvering and seemed
virtually incapable of doing so. He had no laser rangefinder, no TV
camera, and no usable radar to judge distance, but when he could see the
ghostly shape of the American B-2 highlighted against the faint glow of
the sky, he knew he was close enough... His radar warning receiver
suddenly screamed to life. There were no warning beeps, no search
radar, no hint of the approach of any fighter-just an enemy fighter
symbol superimposed on the center circle of his threat scope, meaning
that it was already within lethal range. He was distracted away from the
B-2 for only a split second after deciding he was going to attack
instead of taking evasive action, but that split second was all that was
needed-the B-2 made a gentle 30-degree bank turn to the west, and it
took several seconds of frantic searching to reacquire it again in the
darkness of the forests of Mindanao below. The boresight launch was
spoiled. With a fighter somewhere on him, there was no time to line up
another boresight launch. The JS-7 immediately switched to seeker
guidance and received a lock-on indication with a few seconds . ... but
he never got to fire the missile. Two AIM-I30 Scorpion missiles from
Major Kelvin Carter's Megafortress bomber ripped into the Chinese
fighter, slicing it into three pieces and flinging it across the Padada
River valley below. "Keep it coming to the right, Horse, " Major Kelvin
Carter told Cobb and McLanahan. "We'll take it over central Mindanao
and try to escape to the northeast. Is this Horse OneSix?"
"Affirm, Diamond One-Three, " Cobb replied on the scrambled tactical
frequency, recognizing Carter's voice. "Thanks for clearing our tail."
"No problem. We got you on the FLIR, and you're trailing smoke from
your number one. What's your situation?"
"Lost number one, lost our primary hydraulics, lost part of our left
flight controls, losing fuel out the left wing, " Cobb replied. "We're
going to need a tanker in about thirty minutes."
"If you're still hooked up to the network, they'll be alerted and
someone will be waiting for you, " Carter reminded him. The Dreamland
aircraft that could receive and transmit NIRTSat data were constantly
being monitored by the Air Battle Force officers back on Guam-the
computers would automatically upload a status report to a NIRTSat as it
passed overhead every fifteen minutes, and the satellite would relay the
aircraft reports to General Stone on Guam. "We'll stay with youwe're
>
out of air-to-surface stuff anyway. "What's the status of the strike
package?" McLanahan asked. "We lost two BUFFs and one Black Knight
going in, not counting you guys, " Carter said, "and that was before we
dropped one damned weapon on the assault force invading Davao. The real
fight should be starting... right about now. EMERGENCY CONFERENCE ROOM
CAMP DAVID PRESIDENTIAL RETREAT, MARYLAND SUNDAY, 9 OCTOBER 1994, 1323
HOURS LOCAL (MONDAY, 10 OCTOBER 1994, 0223 HOURS PHILIPPINES TIME)
resident Lloyd Emerson Taylor sat with hands folded Funder his chin,
staring at a spot atop his desk. He was still wearing his brown leather
Air Force-issue flight jacket over casual slacks and a red flannel
shirt, the same things he had put on the day before. He had taken
Marine Corps One to Camp David yesterday at six P.M., arriving just
before sunset. After his arrival, he wordlessly kissed his wife, Jean,
good-bye, then proceeded directly to the Emergency Conference Room,
seated himself at that desk and, almost literally, had not moved since.
Members of the National Security Council and key members of Congress had
been filing in and out of the Emergency Conference Room all day-he all
but ignored them. Military communications technicians were manning
phones and headsets nearby, but the President had only two phones on his
desk: one direct to the National Military Command Center at the
Pentagon, where General Curtis and Secretary of Defense Preston had been
since the President had signed the executive order authorizing the
mission against the Chinese; the other was direct to the White House
Communica tions Center, where calls from overseas could be immediately
transferred to him. There was also a series of reports transmitted to
him via secure teletype from General Curtis-including some casualty
reports. Those he dreaded most of all. The news crushed him, especially
the word that a B-2 had been lost. He resisted the urge to wad up the
teletype paper instead laying it flat on top of the growing stack of
urgent reports from Curtis, then returned to his stoic position at the
desk. But the more he thought about the reports that had just come in,
