Sky Masters pm-2
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“I’ll be right there.” Five minutes later, Major General Stone and Lieutenant General Elliott were racing for the command post. They found half of the back panels off the control consoles, the large-screen high-definition computer monitor was blank, and technicians scrambling everywhere. In the midst of it all was Jon Masters, wearing cut-off jeans and a flowered Hawaiian shirt, with his ever-present squeeze bottle of Pepsi in hand. “Doctor Masters, what’s happening…?”
“We’re finishing our checks, Brad, ” Masters replied. “It’s no problem. We’ll have the birds back on-line in no time.”
“You mean we lost both of them…?”
“It’s only temporary. “Can you launch another one?” Stone asked. “Do you have a backup?” Masters wore an uncomfortably pained expression. “Ahhh… I might have a problem there, Dick, ” Masters said. “I have the launch aircraft here, but I didn’t bring a spare booster or payload. They’re all back in Arkansas.”
“Big deal. Fly back to Arkansas and launch another one, Stone snapped. “The EB-52s from HAWC will be here in less than fourteen hours, and the First Air Battle Wing will be here in less than eighteen…”
“You see, I got a problem back home, ” Masters said. “My board of directors voted not to approve any more launches until our other contractual obligations are-“
“Doctor Masters, you have a contract with the United States Fucking Government!” Stone exploded. “I don’t want excuses, I want your butt back on that plane of yours so we can get another satellite up there. Now you either get me one or I’ll fry your ass. “That’s not necessary, General, ” Masters said, totally unperturbed. “I can have the satellite back up shortly. Not one NIRTSat has ever failed, and this will not be the first, I promise you. Now let me get back to work.” He did not wait for a reply, but turned and left Stone with a drop-dead apoplectic look on his face. Brigadier General Thomas Harbaugh, commander of the Strategic Air Command’s Third Air Division, the headquarters responsible for all SAC’s air operations in the Pacific, and the senior member of the Strategic Air Command’s STRATFOR team for Pacific operations, had joined Stone in the command post. To Harbaugh, Stone said, “Tom, we just lost the N1RTSat system. Masters doesn’t know when it’ll be back up. I need some current intel of Mindanao, and I need it now.”
“I can call DIA and Space Command and get a KH-11 or LACROSSE satellite overflight, ” Harbaugh said, “and you should get the photos by the time your birds start arriving here.”
“Hop on it, ” Stone said. “But I want to discuss aircraft overflights as well. Unless we get Masters’ system on-line again, getting satellite imagery from Washington out here is too long for a naval battle. Besides, I want a few probes of the Chinese defenses. Let’s go over the Air Battle Force plans for ‘ferret’ flights; I want several packages put together to hand to General Jarrel when his birds start arriving.” ELLSWORTH AIR FORCE BASE, SOUTH DAKOTA TWO HOURS LATER The officers in charge of each weapon squadron of the First Air Battle Wing were assembled in the Strategic Warfare Center briefing auditorium; the room was secured, the building closed down, and the doors guarded as the meeting began. “Orders are as follows, ladies and gentlemen, ” General Jarrel began. “By order of the President, all elements of the First Air Battle Wing have been directed to deploy immediately to Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, and prepare for air operations under the direction of Pacific Air Forces and Pacific Command. Commander, First Air Battle Wing, will be myself, who will report to Major General Richard Stone, Chief, Strategic Forces deployed, Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, immediately upon arrival. Major General Stone becomes the overall Joint Task Force Commander effective immediately. First Air Battle Wing commander is dual-hatted as Joint Task Force Air Commander. The orders outline a few Marine Corps air units involved in the operation, along with naval air operations commanders. Rear Admiral Conner Walheim becomes Joint Naval Forces Commander. Joint Task Force Ground Forces Commander is Army Brigadier General Joseph Towle.” Jarrel folded the message form and stuck it in a flight-suit pocket. “No other details were given in the message, but that’s all we need to get going. “I have distributed copies of the list of today’s nonflying crews and airframes; it composes about half of the force located here at Ellsworth, including eight B-52s, four B- Is, ten KC- 1355, two KC- 105, all twelve of our F-4Ds and Fs, ten F-15s, and six C-141s. That’s about all Andersen can handle at one time anyway. “Crew rest is hereby waived for these crew members. They will pick up pre-planned mission packages, brief, and prepare for departure within six hours.” There was a rustle of surprise throughout the audience-they had planned and discussed a rapid deployment of a large number of aircraft such as this, but it had never been done before. “The bombers, KC-135 tankers, and some of the cargo aircraft will deploy nonstop to Andersen; the fighters and KC- 1 0s will get crew rest at Hickam before proceeding. “All bomber aircraft will be fully loaded in ferry configuration; you have the list of stores they will carry. Deploying to Guam with weapons on board is always tricky because of the high fuel load needed for divert reserves, but we’ll have lots of tankers to support us, so we will load the bombers to get as close to max landing weight as possible with normal IFR fuel reserves. “Why was this decided, sir?” one of the squadron commanders asked. “Andersen has weapons-why not load up on gas and supplies and upload the weapons once they arrive on Guam?”
“I want those bombers ready to fight the minute they arrive at Andersen, ” Jarrel replied. “My orders state that we are on combat alert as of right now, and the less time we spend getting ready for a mission after arriving on Guam, the more flexibility we’ll have. We could be tasked for strike operations while the Wing is en route, so I want to be ready-our crews better be ready to get a few hours’ sleep, mission plan, brief, pull the pins on the weapons, and go. If necessary, they will land, get their mission packets, pull the pins, do a hot refueling, and take off immediately. “The remaining aircraft at Ellsworth will deploy after six hours’ crew rest under the same systembombers go direct with weapons in ferry configuration, fighters RON at Hickam. Our OPLAN specifies eighty percent of the First Air Battle Wing on the ramp at Andersen within twenty-four hours. I think we can do better: I think we can have eighty percent of the Wing flying in combat in twenty-four hours. That is my goal. I know this is our first actual combat deployment, and we’re bound to be inventing procedures as we go along, but this staff has practiced these procedures now for several months, so I think we can do it. Questions?” No reply. “Next meeting in one hour; that should be our last meeting before we start launching planes. I expect the first group to be ready to go by then. Let’s get to it, ladies and gentlemen-move!” Jarrel watched as the members of the First Air Battle Wing rapidly filed out of the auditorium. He knew the danger these men and women were facing, and he didn’t envy them. His own father had been killed in action in Korea in 1953, and he had flown over five hundred combat sorties as an F-5 and A-7 pilot during two tours in Vietnam. He’d seen a lot of battle, a lot of death. No, he didn’t envy them at all. But they had ajob to do, just as he did. He turned and headed back to his office. “God be with them, ” he said to no one but himself. OVER THE PHILIPPINE SEA, EAST OF MINDANAO THE PHILIPPINES THURSDAY, 6 OCTOBER 1994, 0347 HOURS LOCAL (WEDNESDAY, 5 OCTOBER 1994, 1447 ET) There was no mistaking its identity or its purpose-few airFhcraft in the world could fly like this. “Identity confirmed, sir, ” the Combat Information Center officer on the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy destroyer Feylin reported. “American subsonic spy plane, bearing zero-six-five, altitude two-three-thousand meters, range ninety-two kilometers and closing. Probably a U-2 or TR-1.” The commander of the Feylin shook his head in amazement. “Say speed and altitude again?”
“Speed six-five-zero kilometers per hour, altitude… altitude now twenty-three thousand meters.” The destroyer captain could do nothing but smile in astonishment. Twenty-three thousand meters-that was almost twice the altitude that any Chinese fighter could safely go, and very clo
se to the upper-altitude limit of the Hong Qian-61 surface-to-air missile system on the Chinese frigates stationed in the Philippine Sea. “No response to our warning broadcasts, I assume, ” the captain said. “None, sir. Continuing west as before, on course for Davao.”
“Then we will make good on our promise, ” the captain said eagerly. “Have Zhangyhum and Kasjeng moved into position?”
“Yes, sir. Destroyer Zunyi ready as well.” “Very well. Let us see if we can get ourselves an American spy plane. Range to target?”
“Eighty-three kilometers and closing.” “Begin engagement procedures at seventy-five kilometers.” The frigates had only the shorter-range HQ-61 SAM system, but four of the five destroyers in the Philippine Sea and eastern Celebes Sea area had the Hong Qian-91 surface-to-air missile, with four times the range of the HQ-61-and the U-2 was coming within range of Feylin ‘s system right now. Undoubtedly the U-2 would be able to evade the first missile, but two more destroyers, Zhangyhum to the north and Kazjeng to the south, were surrounding the U-2, so that no matter which way it turned, it would be within range of someone’s missile system. The U-2 was being tracked by another destroyer, Zunyi. This destroyer carried only surface-to-surface missiles, but it had the Sea Eagle radar system, which could direct missile attacks launched from other ships without using the telltale DRBR-51 missile-tracking radars. They would not have to activate target-tracking radars until a few seconds from impact, so the U-2 would have no chance to react. They were going to make their first kill since October first, which, ironically, was Revolution Day. This would serve as a warning to all other American aircraft: stay away from the Philippines. “Bomb doors coming open, stand by… bomb doors open. This had to be the first time in Patrick McLanahan’s recent memory that he was going to open the bomb doors on his B-2 Black Knight stealth bomber-and not attack something. He and Major Henry Cobb had already flown their B-2 nearly two thousand miles, right into the heart of what seemed like half the Chinese Navy, all to carry two bulbous objects that would not go “boom.” They were flying at two thousand feet over the dark waters of the Philippine Sea, threading the needle through what apinside detection range now-if we lower the pods, we’ll definitely be in range. “Then let’s get it over with, ” Cobb said. It was one of the few words he had said throughout the entire flight-obviously he wished he were someplace else right now. “Rog. Pods coming ……. True to his word, the second the two pods were deployed, the computer re-evaluated their new radar cross-section, remeasured the Sea Eagle radar’s output power, and redrew the radar’s effective detection range “dome”-this time placing it squarely over the B-2 icon at the lower center part of the SMFD. The radar cross-section of the two pods was so large that Patrick estimated they’d have to fly at least forty miles to get out of enemy radar coverage. “Air-search radar got us, three o’clock, range . . . range forty miles.” As the UPD-9 pod finished its first circular sweep, more details of the area surrounding them appeared-including one very unwelcome one. “Surface target, nine o’clock, ten miles, no radar emissions, looks like a patrol boat . . . shit, we got another patrol boat at twelve miles, two o’clock position. Jesus, we’re surrounded by Chinese patrol boats . . .” McLanahan commanded the pods to retract immediately before any one of them got a lock on the B-2. “Air target warning! Bearing one-eight-eight degrees, range seventy-four kilometers… no speed or altitude reading available . . . search radar active . . “What? Are you sure? Get a track on that last contact!” the skipper of the Feylin shouted. “Negative track. . . target disappeared, sir. Lost contact.” The new radar contact puzzled the destroyer commander, but it was obviously an anomaly or a very small target, like a flock of birds. The real quarry was still driving closer. “Status of the U-2.”