by Dale Brown
“Well, it’s not a fucking exercise. Those are Chinese ships out there, and they’re attacking.” And then Tamalko realized that Borillo really did shoot down an attacking Chinese patrol plane-it was he who probably saved hundreds of lives on Rajah Lakandula. And since Pilas never warned him of the threat until after missile launch, Borillo also saved Tamalko by banking away from the missiles. Even though he screwed up most of the flight, the young pilot was a damned hero. “Give me a heading to that ship, ” Tamalko told Pilas. “We’re attacking.”
“Attacking? With guns? All we have are guns, sir “I know, I know, ” Tamalko said. He readjusted his heads-up display for air-to-ground strafing, resetting the depression angle on the HUD to 37 mils. “Where are the damned ships?” There was a slight pause, and Tamalko thought that Pilas was either not going to answer or was suffering a nervous breakdown. Then: “Radar contact, one o’clock, ten miles. Come right ten degrees. Target heading two-six-zero.” Tamalko made the turn and began pushing up the throttles in military power, saving afterburner thrust for the final few miles of his pass. … ABOARD THE CHINESE FLAGSHIP HONG LUNG “High-speed aircraft approaching Wenshan, sir, ” Captain Lubu reported. “Range sixteen kilometers. No contact on sec ond aircraft. Wenshan maneuvering to put his aft 57-millimeter guns on the target.”
“He’d better stop turning and start shooting, ” Admiral Yin said half-aloud. “If those planes are carrying Harpoon antiship missiles, he’s run out of time already.”
“Emergency message from Wenshan!” a radio operator called out. “They’ve run aground!”
“What?” Yin shouted. For the second time, the deep-draft patrol boat Wenshan had fallen victim to the shoal waters of the South China Sea-and the second time it had done so at a critical moment, while under attack from hostile Philippine forces. The image of the dragon drowning in the ocean rushed upon the Chinese Admiral once again-the battle, it seemed, always came to him…. “Wenshan is taking water, ” the radio operator reported. “They are requesting fire support and assistance. Casualties reported.”
“Range to that fighter?”
“Range to Wenshan, eight kilometers, ” the Combat technician reported. “Fighter still headed inbound. Passing eleven hundred kilometers per hour.”
“Sir, radar reports the second frigate has appeared over the horizon to the east, ” Captain Lubu reported. “Range thirty-two kilometers, closing slowly.” The Philippine ships were pressing the attack, Yin thought. So close to utter destruction, and now the mouse is turning to bite the nose of the tiger. “Order Fuzhou to intercept-“
“Sir, radar reports another contact off to the south, ” Lubu interrupted. “Range thirty-seven kilometers, approaching at medium speed. They appear to be helicopters, sir. Three helicopters approaching.”
“Missile-launch detection!” Combat reported. “Frigate to the east launching missiles, sir!” The battle was on in earnest. The reports were flooding past Admiral Yin almost faster than he could assimilate them. Faces glanced at him, some doubtful, others accusingly, most of them fearful. Voices were bombarding him, rising in intensity and volume-the racket was getting loud, almost deafening. . “Fighter closing to within five kilometers, sir, ” another report cut in. “Wenshan listing to starboard. Captain Han reports his stern is resting on the bottom and is unable to move… “Vessel to the south identified as PS-class corvette, ” Lubu reported. “There was a fifth ship out here, Admiral. The helicopter landing platform.. . it must have separated from the rest of the Philippine task force and maneuvered to our right flank…”
“Missile-launch detection! Corvette to the south launching missiles . “Radar contact, third vessel, identified as LF-class fire-support craft. “Shoal water dead ahead, three meters under the keel. Suggest hard starboard twenty degrees “Execute turn “Missile-launch detection! Helicopters launching missiles, sir!” “Chukou reports missile strike on the waterline, sir!” another report came. “No damage report. . . lost contact with Chukou…”
“Lost data link with Xingyi, sir. No reports yet. “LF-class fire-support vessel on suspected torpedo run, sir, ” Lubu shouted. “Range down to eighteen kilometers, speed thirty knots.. “Radar contact aircraft, range fifty-two kilometers, heading west at high speed, ” another report came. “Fighter aircraft from Puerto Princesa. ETA, five minutes.”
“Sir, ” Captain Lubu said, stopping and standing as close to Yin as he dared, “we are running out of maneuvering room, one patrol boat is grounded, and the other ships are scattering and disoriented-they are unable to defend themselves or defend the flagship. Recommend we reduce speed and provide fire-support coverage for our escorts. Once we are reorganized, we can steam out of the passage. . Yin appeared not to have heard him. Not four inches from Captain Lubu’s face, Yin was breathing heavily through his nose. Perspiration was running down the sides of his temples. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed, his mouth a tight line. It was as if he were not there, but instead somewhere else far, far away, thinking… about how there was no way out. … about his duty to protect his men, his ship. about saving face at all costs. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, but was really less than fifteen seconds, Yin unbuttoned the top button of his tunic, reached inside, and withdrew a large silver key. Lubu’s mouth dropped open in surprise. His eyes grew wide as he realized what it was. “Sir… Admiral, you cannot f”
“We cannot be razed like this, Captain, ” Yin said calmly. “I will not suffer defeat at the hands of these people.” He inserted the key into a lock on a flat panel on the instrument console in front of his seat, waited as the door popped open. Inside the compartment was a red-colored telephone handset with communications cords and several unmarked buttons. Yin pressed the yellow button. A buzzer sounded around the entire ship. With Lubu looking on in absolute horror, men throughout the ship scrambled to prepare for an order that had never before been executed. . Admiral Yin picked up the red-handled phone within the unlocked compartment before him on the instrument console. “This is Admiral Yin, ” he said. “Command is Battle Cry. Battle Cry. Over.”
“Initial code verified, ” a voice on the other end of the line asked. “Targets, sir?”
“Target the southern corvette, turn, and target the eastern frigate, ” he said in a low voice. “Execute in three minutes, system automatic. Authentication is Red Moon. Repeat, Red Moon. Over.”
“Understood, sir. Authentication verified. Full connectivity check … received. Execution in three minutes . . . mark. System automatic engaged. Countdown hold in two minutes. Combat out.” Yin replaced the red phone in its cradle. A crewman dashed up to the two senior officers, carrying heavy gloves, a heavy black smock that resembled a thick poncho, and a heavy helmet with large gold protective eye goggles and a plastic face shield with respirator. Lubu accepted his but did not don it. “Admiral, I ask you to reconsider. We should receive authority from headquarters before attempting this Yin allowed the crewman to help him on with the leadimpregnated smock, placed the helmet on his head, connected the interphone cords and breathing apparatus, and rolled down his sleeves. Inside the helmet, he could hear the reports coming in to Lubu as each desk and each station reported its Red Moon status. “Admiral, you must stop this.. .” Lubu persisted. “Two minutes to Red Moon execution, ” the loudspeaker blared. “Two minutes to Red Moon execution. . . mark. All decks report ready.”
“My fleet is surrounded, we are under attack, we are in danger of losing the Spratly Islands and indeed most of the South China Sea to the Filipinos, ” Yin said through the respirator. His flashblindness goggles and oxygen mask made him look sinister, even deranged, like a sea monster from a horror movie. “I have the power to stop them. My only other choice is to surrender to them, and that I will never do.”
“But this will create a disaster of international proportions, ” Lubu argued. “We are too close to the Philippine shoreline. The water is too shallow-we will do irreparable harm to the coral reefs and the sea bottom in these shallow wate
rs. You must cancel the order.”
“Put on your protective gear and prepare for Red Moon execution, Captain, ” Yin said through the mask and respirator. “That is an order.”
“You cannot do this. We will be in a state of war, with the Filipinos, the Americans, the entire world.”
“Range to the south target?” Yin radioed to Combat. “Thirty kilometers and closing, ” came the reply. “Helicopters at seven kilometers, ETA three minutes… sensor warning missiles on intercept course, ETA forty seconds, AA batteries and close-in systems manned and ready. . “Admiral, please… Captain Lubu shouted, his hands on the armrest of Yin’s chair. “At least . . . at least broadcast a warning message, sir.” Yin shook his head, a slow, ghastly gesture that made it look like the Death’s Head itself refusing the pleas of the ones condemned to die. “You old fool, you can’t do this!” Lubu shouted. He turned to the officer of the deck, who was fully outfitted in his nuclearchemical-biological-warfare gear. “Cancel Red Moon execution on my order, Commander. Broadcast on emergency frequency that this fleet is disengaging and departing Filipino waters immediately.”
“Sir, I must have the cancellation code, ” the officer of the deck shouted through his mask. The officer of the deck was trained to respond to orders from the ship’s captain, not the Admiral on board; therefore there was no question that he would obey lawful orders from Lubu. But procedures still had to be followed, especially in combat conditions and with the flotilla commander on deck in active command. Lubu looked at the dark visage of Yin behind his mask. The Fleet Admiral made no movement, spoke nothing. Lubu said angrily, “On my authority, Commander. The codes are in a safe in my cabin. You know I have them. Until I retrieve the codes, I order you to cancel the execution order immediately.” The officer of the deck turned to look at both Yin and Lubu. Most of the rest of the bridge crew was watching the exchange as well. Then the officer of the deck said, “I’m sorry, sir, but the Admiral is still on the bridge and he has command. I cannot supersede his orders.”
“Sixty seconds to Red Moon execution. All decks report ready. . . fifty seconds. “Cancel the order, Admiral, ” Lubu warned him. “Don your protective gear and stand by, Captain, ” Yin said evenly. Lubu’s eyes telegraphed his next move-he lunged forward for the silver key in the lock of the Fei Lung-9 commandcontrol panel. Removing the key would disable the direct line to Combat, which would prevent the final execution order from being given from the bridge. The launch officer would hold the final launch countdown at twenty seconds if the final order was not given either by the direct phone or in person. Just as Lubu touched the key, a shot rang out. Lubu was thrown away from Yin’s chair and onto the floor, a dark red stain spreading across his belly. “You are a coward and a dishonorable man, Lubu Vin Li, ” Yin said half-aloud, placing the smoking 7.62-millimeter Type 54 automatic pistol on the instrument console in front of him. “You cannot change my destiny. You have disgraced yourself trying.” Yin then picked up the red phone, lifted his mask and helmet, and spoke: “Combat, this is Admiral Yin.”
“Combat. Entering Red Moon countdown hold.” “Execution order is Dragon Sword. Dragon Sword.” And he dropped the phone once more and lowered his respirator into position. As he closed the elastic seals on his gloves and neck of the protective smock, he spoke into the helmet’s interphone system: “Seal the bridge. Order all antennae and receivers into standby and-” But just then Yin heard the collision-warning horn sound on the bridge loudspeaker and the loud, angry buzz of the Phalanx Close-In Weapon System. The radar-guided Gatling gun automatically tracked inbound targets and opened fire with a murderous hail of 30-millimeter bullets when it computed the object within range-Yin knew it was a last-resort weapon, and that its chances of stopping an incoming missile were slim. Yin heard another warning horn blare-it was the T minus ten-second Fei Lung-9 launch-warning horn-just as a huge explosion erupted outside the port observation windows. The incoming Harpoon missile had been hit by the Phalanx cannon and detonated as it began its terminal pop-up maneuver, creating a huge overpressure in Yin’s ears seconds before the big, thick observation windows bowed inwards, then outwards, and exploded like a balloon. The overpressure seemed to suck the air out of Yin’s lungs, and the very air he was breathing seemed as if it were on fire. . ABOARD BEAR ZERO-ONE Tamalko saw the patrol boat at about three miles’ distance, and opened fire just inside one-half mile. The Chinese warship opened fire immediately with what appeared to be a solid wall of tracers, and for a moment he thought he would have to break off his run and try a different attack axis; but just then, a half-second later, the firing abruptly stopped. Tamalko walked his 20-millimeter shells up to the ship’s stern, using short bursts from the four-thousand-rounds-per-minute M61A1 cannon, then, banking hard left and controlling his fighter’s swaying action with rudder pressure, managed to stitch a line of bullets right down the centerline. He was rewarded with a few secondary explosions, and it even appeared that the ship was listing to one side, although he doubted seriously that single gun pass had anything to do with it. “Radar contact on another vessel, now one o’clock, three miles, ” Pilas called out. “Locked on, steering is good.”
“Roger, ” Tamalko replied. Just as he rolled out on his new heading toward the second Chinese vessel, he saw a huge cloud of fire burst directly abeam the radar cursor in his HUD. The ship was clearly illuminated for a second or two, and Tamalko could not believe the size of the ship-it was as big as an aircraft carrier, he thought, and as tall as a skyscraper. It was easily the biggest ship he had ever seen so close to Palawan. Only a search radar still emanating from this one-it seemed unaware of his presence. Well, perhaps not. Just as Tamalko considered the lack of threat signals from the big vessel, he saw a streak of fire arch skyward from the rear of the Chinese ship. It trailed a line of fiery exhaust that could be seen for dozens of miles, and it flew fairly slowly, picking up speed only several seconds after launch. The big missile continued south and made no attempt to turn east toward him. That was odd, Tamalko thought. “Coming within two miles, ” Pilas said. “Two miles… now. Just then, the heads-up display circular firing cue began its clockwise sweep, like a racing timer-when the sweep circle passed the three o’clock position on the HUD, he could open fire. Tamalko checked his switches visually instead of by feel, double-checked his gun status-still not jammed after 340 rounds fired off’ which was above-average for the M61A1 cannon-and by the time he faced forward to line up on target, he was within a mile and a half. Pipper in the center of the radar diamond, a good ARM 260 indication-and Tamalko let loose, maintaining short trigger pulls, feeling the reassuring buzz of the gun when it fired, keeping the pipper lined up on the radar target diamond. There was no return fire from the big Chinese ship. The cannon jammed with thirty rounds remaining, but every one of the others had been placed neatly into the ship’s midsection. Tamalko clicked the gun to “Safe” and banked up on his left wing, keeping a low, thin profile to the ship as he passed overhead. He caught glimpses of flickering lights on deck as he screamed over the ship at Mach one, but whether they were secondary explosions or reflections of light, he couldn’t tell. Tamalko banked left, heading south, keeping his engines out of afterburner to avoid attracting any heat-seeking missiles or optically guided guns. The threat radars from the big destroyer were gone. Maybe he did hit something vital! And then it happened. For a millisecond Tamalko’s eyes registered the brightest flash of light he’d ever seen. It was just on the horizon, almost directly off the nose. And just as quickly the light enveloped and blinded him. His eyes became two red-hot spheres of excruciating pain, burned, it seemed, by molten lava. Behind him, Pilas was screaming and Tamalko realized he, too, was screaming. The roar of the F-4E’s big engines was gone, which meant they had been hit by something big enough to cause a double flameout-a big missile must have exploded right in front of them, blinding them and shelling out the engines. The control stick was beginning to tighten up as hydraulic power bled away-soon it would freeze up completely. He
hauled back on the stick to try to start a zoom maneuver and trade some of their Mach one speed for altitude-if they ejected at Mach one, the windblast would tear them apart. He couldn’t tell if they were gaining altitude… there wasn’t time to think. “Eject! Eject!” Tamalko screamed, then crossed his wrists in front of him, grasped the ejection ring between his legs, and pulled. The canopy ripped off in the slipstream before the crewmen’s heads crashed through it, and both he and Pilas were rocketed free and clear of the stricken plane. Tamalko’s body was flying forward at almost seven hundred feet per second. The wall of compressed, superheated air rushing toward him from the explosion of the single RK-55 nuclear warhead of the Fei Lung-9 missile was traveling at two thousand feet per second. When the two met, Tamalko, Pilas, and the crippled F-4E Phantom II fighter were mercilessly crushed into powder, then vaporized by the five.thousand-degree heat of the fringes of the fireball that had already destroyed the Philippine corvette Quezon and its three antiship helicopters. FIRST AIR WING COMMAND AND CONTROL OPERATIONS CENTER CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN AFB, COLORADO SAME TIME A young Air Force staff sergeant, Amy Hector, was on the FOREST GREEN console at the U.S. Air Force Space Command’s Command and Control Operations Center, deep within the Cheyenne Mountain NORAD complex, when her detection board went crazy. “Red Collar, Red Collar, ” Staff Sergeant Hector called on the center-wide intercom, pressing the “Call” button on her console so that her warning message would override all the other transmissions in the Operations Center. The words “Red Collar” would also ensure immediate attention by all-the effect those simple code-words had was akin to her screaming at the top of her lungs: “FOREST GREEN with an event-detection warning, all stations stand by.. .” Hector waited a few more ‘heartbeats, then quickly began reading her detection figures aloud, knowing ~7~~~, :r’~ ~~//~ ~~i~~~Ur~~j~/hJPJf~~rP >
