by Dale Brown
“Cowboy” was the call sign Sergeant Komos had given him for Captain Banio’s ship, but Tamalko couldn’t tell who was on freq or what was going on. There was so much chatter on the channel that he wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. “Cowboy, come in!”
“Bear flight… Bear flight, this is Cowboy.” The voice was frantic. “What is your position? Say your position!”
“I need authentication before I can report, Cowboy “We are under attack, Bear flight, we are under attack, ” the voice-now firmly racked with terror-replied. “Smoke . fire in all sections… we need you over here right now, Bear flight, we need you down here right now!”
“Mode two, three, and four squawk is set, Cowboy, ” Tamalko reported, informing the ship that his radar identification system was set and operating. The ship’s radar should be able to identify his coded signals and give him steering commands, if it was indeed Cowboy he was talking to. Part of an exercise would be to check if Tamalko would fly off following directions from an unverified radio voice, and Tamalko was going to play this one by the book-as much as possible. “Give me a vector, Cowboy.”
“Can’t… Combat section evacuated… ship on fire, Bear flight. Please, help us…!” And then Tamalko saw it, off the nose at about forty miles into the inky night sky-two blobs of light in the ocean, shimmering dots of red and yellow fire. The dot off his nose was dimmer than the northern one, which looked like a huge magnesium flare, as bright as watching an arc-welding flame. Just then he saw several bursts of light issue from some other nearby spots in the dark ocean farther to the south, with tracers speeding out farther to the west. “Cowboy, I see fires and tracers. Who is shooting?”
“Bear flight, this is Cowboy, ” a different voice came on the radio. “Bear flight, this is Lieutenant Sapao, engineering officer aboard the frigate Rajah Humabon. We are under attack by Chinese naval warships. We have been hit by missile fire. Patrol boat Nueva Viscaya also hit by missile fire.. .” The slightly calmer report was interrupted by shouts and cries, and the newcomer Sapao issued a few orders of his own before returning to the radio: “Chinese warships estimated thirty miles west of Ulugan bay, estimated ten vessels including one destroyer. Also Chinese attack aircraft in vicinity, a naval-warfare craft launching antiship missiles and torpedoes. Frigate Rajah Lakandula is operating south of our position, and patrol boat Ca ma rines Sur is assisting the Nueva Viscaya. Can you assist, Bear flight?” As Tamalko got closer, he could see more and more detailsthere were indeed two ships burning in the Palawan Passage just outside Ulugan Bay. Sheets of gunfire continued to erupt from the southernmost ship, which was darting back and forth, firing in all directions. “Cowboy, can you give us the position of the aircraft?”
“Negative, negative, Bear flight, ” Sapao’s tortured voice responded. The transmission began to break up. “Portable radio running out of power… negative, our combat systems are out and we are beginning evacuation procedures. If Rajah Lakandula comes up on frequency, he can assist-” The transmission went dead. Tamalko started to feel uneasy. The possibility that this wasn’t an exercise hadn’t been fully realized until now. Naturally, he assumed… Of course, it could still be an exercise, he reasoned, although a very elaborate one. He knew he shouldn’t commit any aircraft unless he received some sort of authentication, and yet… what he was seeing, hearing, looked very real indeed. Horrific, in fact. “Bear flight, coming left, ” Tamalko radioed on interplane frequency. “Take spacing, line abreast. Wide area search. Find the damned aircraft.” Moments later, Borillo had moved alongside Tamalko, spaced far enough apart to search a greater section of the sky but not far enough to lose visual contact. Tamalko’s weapons system officer began a procedural radar sweep of the skies. “Search plus one to plus ten degrees, ” he told his inexperienced WSO just in case, like Borillo, he was getting too caught up in the action to think straight. “Fuentes will search zero to minus ten degrees.” The search took only a few moments: “Lead, radar contact, one o’clock, twenty miles, altitude one thousand feet, airspeed three hundred knots, ” Fuentes reported. “Looks like it’s heading south toward the frigate.” “Can you find it?” Tamalko called out to his backseater. “Not yet, sir . “Two, take the lead, ” Tamalko radioed to Borillo. “Center up and let’s go see who it is. I’m in fighting wing position. Go!” Cautiously, Borillo moved forward until he was ahead of Tamalko’s plane. Tamalko swung out a few more yards to let Borillo pull ahead, then eased behind and above him so he could see all around his new leader. “You’ve got the lead, Two, ” he radioed to Borillo. “I’ve got the lead, ” Borillo replied hesitantly. “Bear flight coming right.”
“Don’t tell me, Two, just do it. I’m on your wing, ” Tamalko said. He followed Borillo easily as the young pilot made a ridiculously slow 15-degree bank turn to the right-apparently he was overly concerned with how his squadron commander was doing. They began a slow descent to six hundred feet, which allowed the radar beam to angle up at the target and away from the radar clutter caused by shallow waters of the Palawan Passage. Meanwhile Fuentes had locked the radar target on his attack radar, which gave Borillo steering commands to an intercept position. Borillo eased his F-4E farther right, keeping the radar image on the left part of his radar screen-this kept his fighter’s nose aimed ahead of the target, along the target’s flight path and not directly on the target itself. “Bear lead judy, ” Fuentes radioed, advising the formation that he had radar contact on the air target. Just then they heard on the naval fleet common channel: “This is PF4 Rajah Lakandula to all units, we are under attack by Chinese aircraft! Bear flight, Bear flight, this is Cowboy! Can you help us? Can you find the aircraft!” All attempts at radio discipline were gone now-whoever was on that radio now was crying out for the life of himself, his crew, and his ship. This, Tamalko knew, was no fucking drill. “Cowboy, this is Bear flight. We do not have visual contact. We are at five miles and closing. Stand by.”
“Bear flight, don’t wait for visual contact! That plane is on a torpedo-attack profile! You’ve got to destroy that plane!”
“I don’t have proper identification, Goddammit!” Tamalko screamed. “I can’t open fire on an aircraft without identification and authorization!”
“This is an emergency, Bear flight!” the radio operator-it was a different person again, which only intensified Tamalko’s doubts-yelled on the radio. “If you are locked on to him, attack! If he gets within five miles of the ship, he’ll drop torpedoes! Attack!”
“I need authorization!” Tamalko screamed back. This was a setup, Tamalko told himself over and over, it was a tremendous setup. Someone wanted his job at Puerto Princesa, he decided. Someone wanted him to screw up so he could be replaced and sent to some other Godforsaken base. Well, he was going to play this one by the book, dammit. By the book all the way… And that’s when Borillo opened fire on the airplane. In a blinding streak of light, Borillo pumped out all eight of his five-inch unguided Zuni rockets at the Chinese patrol plane, at a range of about three miles. It was doubtful that Borillo had ever fired a Zuni before; the F-4E’s attack radar 1L1~1~ vL~1~~ the mri1 ~rtgs Ibr a 4~m, rn’ere was no way the rocket could guide on its intended target or glide into a kill like most air-to-air missiles. Trying to hit the plane with a Zuni rocket was like trying to shoot down a bullet with another bullet. “Cease fire!” Tamalko shouted. “Cease fire, you fucking idiot…” But somehow one of the big rockets found its target. A huge cloud of fire erupted off into the distance, and a trail of flames peeled off to the right and spiraled down into the darkness. “What the hell did you do?” Tamalko screamed on the interplane frequency. “What did you do?”
“They were calling for help, sir, ” Borillo replied, trying to force a bit of righteous authority in his voice. “They were under attack… we… I had to do something… “Start a left turn, see if you can find where the plane went down, ” Tamalko ordered. “Jesus Christ, Borillo, that could have been one of our planes, don’t you understand that? Unless we are under specific, po
sitive direction from ground controllers or we have positive ID on an intruder, we are not authorized to open fire on anyone. God, I don’t believe it. . .” He gained a few hundred feet to stay away from the ocean-he knew he was less than a thousand feet above the water-then banked gently to the left and stared hard out his canopy to try to get a visual check on the target. He saw nothing but empty darkness. “Pilas, did you see what it was?” Tamalko cried out to his WSO. “No, ” Pilas replied. “I saw a couple hits and a flash of fire, but no identification.” His backseater’s voice was high and cracking, and when his interphone mike opened he could almost feel the tortured breath of his terrified crewman-until Tamalko realized that he was listening to his own breathing. I’m a dead man, he said to himself as Borillo began a gentle turn. I am a dead man. … ABOARD THE CHINESE DESTROYER H0NG LUNG “Lost contact with Talon Eight-One, sir.” Captain Lubu Vin Li reported solemnly. “The pilot reported that he was ditching. Crew reported under attack by enemy aircraft.” Admiral Yin Po L’un rested a hand under his chin, resisting the urge to swear aloud on his combat bridge as he did when he learned the results of the first Fei Lung-7 missile attack. The downing of the Shuihong-5 patrol plane was a serious loss, almost as serious for Admiral Yin’s fleet as the loss of the patrol boat would be to the Philippine Navy. This battle was beginning to unravel right before his eyes, like a magician’s magic knot-it seemed strong and unbreakable, yet was pulled apart by the slightest touch…. “The Shuihong-5 might survive the landing, ” Yin muttered. “Send Wenshan and Xingyi to investigate. Be sure they maintain data link with us at all times.” Wenshan had an excellent surface and air search capability, along with the ability to transmit radar data to Hong Lung; it would act as radar warning vessel until Yin decided what to do. Xingyi carried six C801 antiship missiles that could be targeted by Wenshan ‘s firecontrol system. He had a decision to make. He had two choices left. His first option: run and regroup. Yin doubted that the Philippine vessels would follow him back to the Spratly Islands-they had only one PF-class frigate and a small LF-class patrol boat nearby, with two other major ships damaged or destroyed. Even though they were only fifty kilometers from shore and there were already Philippine aircraft in the area, he believed that the fight was over. Both sides had taken their tolls, got in a few good hits, and now they were disengaged. The second option: stay and fight. Yin could press the attack by moving closer to get within radar range of the Philippine vessels and launch another missile or gun attack. He had finally scored a big hit on the Philippine frigate Rajah Humabon with the last of his Fei Lung-7 missiles, so he was out of antiship missiles except for the Fei Lung-9 missiles. Again, unbidden, the thought of using those weapons entered his mind, and he immediately quashed the idea. But he still had a sizable force in position: two Huangfen-class fast attack missile boats, four Hegu-class patrol boats, two Hainan-class patrol boats, and a minesweeper. His Huangfen-class ships carried a full complement of Fei Lung-7 and C80 1 antiship missiles, and all of his ships had dual-purpose guns to use if he moved into knifefighting range. His flotilla still had a lot of fight left in it. But Yin’s battle group had been hit hard by the upstart Philippine raiders-one minesweeper, one attack boat, the fast attack missile boat Chagda, and the Shuihong-5 patrol plane. In exchange they got one frigate and a patrol boat. A very poor performance for the world’s largest navy versus a virtually nonexistent navy. . “What are your orders, Admiral?” Captain Lubu asked him. “Once Wenshan and Xingyi get into position to assist the Shuihong-5 crew and reconnoiter the area, what will we do?” Yin looked at Lubu, then at the other crew members on Hong Lung’s bridge. He did not see much fight in their faces. What he saw was fear-plain old fear. Should he take these youngsters into combat again? Should he decimate the Philippine Navy with guns and missiles, risking the safety of his already hard-hit fleet for a hollow victory? “Withdraw, ” Yin heard himself say in a low, tired voice. “Twenty knots, then twenty-five as soon as the fleet is reformed. Maintain contact with Wenshan and Xingyi, but plot a course out of this shallow water and prepare”Radar contact aircraft!” Lubu suddenly shouted, relaying reports via headset from Hong Lung’s Combat Information Center. “Bearing zero-three-zero, turning toward us, range fifteen kilometers and closing! Radar now reports two aircraft in formation, altitude one thousand meters, airspeed foureight-zero. Combat estimates aircraft on missile-launch profile!” He was quickly running out of options now. A severely damaged fleet, a dangerous depletion of long-range antiship weapons, shoal waters all around them, and now armed Philippine aircraft nearby with the threat of more just over the horizon. They could withdraw, back to the relative safety of the Spratly Islands, but they would have to fight their way out. “Signal to all ships: release all antiair batteries, ” Yin ordered. “Protect yourselves at all cost.” ABOARD BEAR ONE-ZERO “Close it up, Two, close it up, ” Tamalko shouted to Borillo on interplane frequency as he watched the second F-4E slowly drift in and out off his right wing. “Don’t get sloppy on me now. Tamalko was maneuvering back to the lead position. They had climbed back to a safe altitude of three thousand feet, executing circles over the area where the unidentified plane appeared to have gone down. Borillo was so erratic that Tamalko’s backseater frequently lost sight of him. It was some of the worst formation flying he had ever seen. The short air battle had really rattled the kid. Tamalko was ready to send the kid home, or perhaps even put him in the lead and tell him where to go, but he needed the word from Headquarters first before anything else. In between yelling at Borillo to stay in close to avoid going lost wingman, Tamalko was on the UHF radio to Puerto Princesa, trying to set up a relay from Palawan to the Philippine Air Force headquarters at Cavite, near Manila. It was not going well. Meanwhile, aboard Bear Zero-Two, Lieutenant Borillo’s weapons system officer, Captain Fuentes, was dividing his time between coaching Borillo on night-formation flight and checking his radar, searching for other aircraft that might be in the vicinity. By depressing the antenna angle on his attack radar, the WSO could paint several ships ahead of them at twelve miles. His RHAWS indicator, the screen that showed the direction, intensity, and type of enemy radar threats in the vicinity, showed several search radars all across the horizon to the west. The threat-intensity diamond shifted between “S” designations on the scope as the system tried to decide which was the greatest threat. “Lead, looks like several ships at eleven o’clock, twelve miles, ” Fuentes radioed to Tamalko. “Search radars only.”
“Copy . . . Two, close it back in, will you?” Tamalko said irritably. “If you go lost wingman it’ll take a damned hour to rejoin back up again.”
“Suggest a turn back to the east, ” Fuentes said. “I don’t want to get any closer to those ships.”
“Stand by, Two, ” Tamalko snapped. “I’m trying to talk with the command post.” Fuentes looked up from his radarscope just in time to see his plane’s wingtip drift ever so slowly toward Tamalko’s right wing. “How you doing up there, Lieutenant?” he asked Borillo. “Fine… fine, ” Borillo answered hesitantly. “I’m moving in closer.”Judging by how the control stick and throttle quadrant in the backseat were wobbling around, Borillo wasn’t fine. But he was closing in nicely, so Fuentes took another look in the radar. “Surface ships still at eleven o’clock, now ten miles, lead, ” he radioed to Tamalko. “We can’t stay on this heading, sir.”
“Just stand by, ” Tamalko radioed back angrily. “Just stay in route formation and-” Just then several of the “S” symbols on the RHAWS scope changed to blinking “6” and “8” symbols, and a slow wavering tone could be heard on the interphone; red “Missile Warning” lights were flashing on the threat-indicator panel. “Acquisition radar, eleven and one o’clock positions, ” Fuentes radioed to Borillo. “Naval SA-6 and -8 systems. We need to get out of this area. The tone suddenly shifted to a fast buzzer, and “Missile Launch” lights illuminated in both front and rear cockpits. “Missile launch!” Fuentes screamed. “Descend and accelerate! Now!” Fuentes searched the sky ahead of
them, and he felt his face flush as he saw two bright yellow dots streaking toward them-antiair missiles. Thank God it was so easy to see them at night. “I see them! Right off the nose, just below the horizon! Aim right for them and get ready to break!” But Borillo panicked. With a missile launch off the front quarter, the best defense was to point the fighter’s nose at the missiles, presenting the smallest possible radar cross-section, then jink away from them at the last possible moment. Young Borillo did exactly the wrong thing-he heard the word “Break” and started a hard right turn away from the oncoming missiles at 90 degrees of bank. With the full outline of the big F-4E presented belly-out toward the missile and its tracking radar, it was an easy target. Fuentes tried to wrestle the control stick back over to the left, but he was far too late-one of the Hong Lung’s HQ-91 missiles, a copy of the Soviet Union’s advanced 5A-I1 antiaircraft missile, hit Borillo’s fighter and instantly turned it into a huge fireball. Tamalko never got a verbal warning from his backse~teryoung Pilas was too scared or had the volume turned down on his threat-warning receiver, Tamalko didn’t know-but when the “Missile Launch” warning sounded he promptly forgot about trying to contact Cavite and looked up to see the second HQ-91 missile streak past him, less than a hundred feet behind. He banked right, toward the threat indications, just in time to see the first missile destroy his wingman. Pilas was screaming in the backseat as the shock wave from the explosion crashed over them. Tamalko tried to ignore the screaming as he pushed his fighter down in a six-thousand-foot per-minute descent, yanking it level as he passed three hundred feet. “Shut up, Pilas-shut up!” Tamalko roared. The screaming finally ceased. “Borillo got hit! Christ, they’re shooting at us!” Pilas shouted. “I thought this was an exercise!”
