by Dale Brown
“Are the Americans our allies now, Captain, or our enemies?”
“Perhaps both,” said Hongwu, staring out at the sea.
Aboard the Levitow,
over India
0645
THE TEMPERATURE IN ENGINE THREE HAD MOVED WELL INTO yellow. If she’d had three other good power plants, Breanna would have shut it down, but given their present condition, she decided to push it as far as she could.
Managing 390 knots, the Levitow was still about twenty minutes from the coast. They wouldn’t be out of danger once she got there either—the effects of the EEMWBs wouldn’t quite reach that far, and any aircraft operating on the western coast of Indian and to the south would be a threat.
“We ought to head farther south,” suggested Stewart. “If we go back to our original course, we can pick up the Flighthawk.”
“It’ll take too long to get into position to join Dreamland Fisher and watch the Chinese carrier.”
“We’re not going to be able to do that.”
“What?” Breanna turned toward her copilot.
“We’re not going to be able to do it,” repeated Stewart, her eyes welling.
In all the time since the missile struck the Megafortress, Breanna hadn’t even considered the possibility that she would have to scrub her mission. She’d thought of everything else—everything—but that.
“We have to try.”
“If we’re down to two engines, it’ll take a miracle to position ourselves for a Scorpion shot,” said Stewart.
“You’re right,” said Breanna. “We’ll get the Flighthawk. Zen can make the interception. Plot a course.”
ZEN FOLDED HIS ARMS, LEANING BACK AGAINST THE STIFF seat. He hadn’t completely given up the chance to walk, just put it off.
The docs might be pissed, Vasin especially. But they’d get over it.
Was he afraid to walk?
They might accuse him of that. But he knew why he was here.
“Hey, Major, Lieutenant, we’re changing course again,” said Bullet, the relief copilot who’d climbed down from the upper deck. “Bree wanted you to know. We’re going to try and pick up the Flighthawk if we can. Have it target the Tai-shan aircraft.”
“Sure,” said Zen. “How’s the engine?”
“Not very good. I’m surprised it’s gotten us this far. Breanna’s babying it, but unless she can crawl out on the wing, it’s a goner.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t suggest that to her.”
“COLONEL, WE MAY NOT BE ABLE TO MAKE IT TO THE CARRIER in time for the intercept,” Breanna said, speaking over the Dreamland communications network to the Wisconsin. “Engine four is gone, and I’m going to have to shut down engine three in a few minutes. We’re going to try and rendezvous with our Flighthawk. Once we hook up with it, we’ll head that way. I’m sorry, but I can’t give any guarantees. We’re going too slowly.”
“All right, Breanna. We have Chu and the Abner Read. Your priority is your aircraft and crew. Hear?”
Maybe it was because he was her father, but she thought he sounded as if he were telling her to hurry home after a late date.
“Thanks,” said Breanna. She killed the connection.
“Engine three’s going critical,” said Stewart.
“All right, let’s shut it down. Work with me, Jan. Let’s do this together.”
Aboard the Wisconsin,
over India
0646
DOG CLICKED INTO CHU’S CHANNEL ON THE FISHER.
“Wisconsin to Dreamland Fisher. Chu? What’s your situation?”
“I have two J-13s shadowing me, Colonel. The Chinese carrier has launched a dozen planes within the last ten minutes. They’re headed in the direction of the Indian task group.”
“How close are you to the Deng?”
“Sixty west. You wanted me to back off.”
“The Tai-shan order has been given. Set up an intercept on the aircraft after they come off the carrier.”
“Fisher.”
Aboard the Abner Read,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0647
STORM RELENTED AND LET THE CORPSMAN TREAT HIS WOUND, daubing at the ripped flesh with gauze that felt as if it had been dipped in kerosene. He squeezed his fingers into a fist and ground his back teeth together, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the pain.
“Sir, communication from Dreamland Wisconsin for you,” said the commo officer. “Colonel Bastian.”
Never had Storm been so glad to talk to Bastian. He put up his hand, stopping the corpsman mid-swipe.
“I have to talk.”
“Sir, if it hurts—”
“It doesn’t hurt,” snapped Storm, holding the headset up. “Gale here.”
“The Chinese have issued the Tai-shan order. Levitow has been hit and won’t be able to help in the attack. Dreamland Fisher is moving into position for the intercept.”
Storm struggled to his feet. “All right. Good. We’ll proceed. We have to move farther east.”
“You all right, Storm?”
“Don’t worry about me, Bastian.” Storm reached to the communications controller. “Eyes—the Chinese have issued the Tai-shan order. Move us east. Get ready to intercept those aircraft. We have roughly twenty minutes.”
“We’re not in good position for the intercept, Captain. The action against the Shiva took us away.”
“Then get us back into position. We have to back them up.”
“Aye aye.”
Storm leaned against the hologram table, orienting himself. They weren’t that far out of position. Granted, taking the aircraft was a long-range shot from here, but they were still within the targeting area.
He was close enough to sink the damn carrier. That’s what he should do. Sink the damn thing. His order justified it.
“Captain, Dreamland Fisher reports two J-13s coming hot at us,” said Eyes a moment later. “Dreamland’s radar analysis shows they’re armed with antiship missiles.”
The bastards knew what they were up to! They were going to sink them so they couldn’t interfere.
Attack. Attack them now!
“You’re sure about this, Eyes?”
“They’re just coming into our radar range now. Should I target them?”
He had four Standards left. He wanted to fire two apiece at the Tai-shan planes, guarantee a hit.
Two now? Two later?
If they sent another wave of planes, he’d be defenseless—or he’d fail his mission.
“Target the carrier Deng Xiaoping. Same mix we used against the Shiva. Have the Sharkboat fire as well.”
“The carrier?”
“They’ve just launched an attack on us, Eyes. And they’re about to drop a nuke. We have to take them down.”
“Agreed,” said Eyes. “But if we use the same mix, we won’t have any missiles left for air defense.”
“We’ll use the close-in weapons against these two airplanes. If we sink the carrier, we won’t need anything else. Do it. Give it everything we’ve got.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Storm steadied himself against the holographic display. Two aircraft carriers in one day? His name would be linked with Nimitz, with John Paul Jones.
“Captain, you have to let me treat you, sir,” said the corpsman. “We need to clean the wound.”
“Later.”
Aboard the Fisher,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0648
LIEUTENANT CHU HAD EIGHT SCORPION AMRAAM-PLUSES in his bomb bay, but even twenty more would do him no good if he wasn’t close enough to use them. The planes would be most vulnerable when they came off the carrier, and to guarantee a hit he wanted to be as close as possible. At the same time, the Chinese were watching him carefully—they’d sent two J-13s to shadow him, and the four planes flying combat patrol above the carrier were prowling the area he wanted to be in. Chu decided that his best approach would be to extend his patrol area as nonchalantly as possible, wideni
ng his orbit and flying south before going farther east.
“The J-13s are right on our wings, Tommy,” said his copilot. “I’m afraid that once we open the bay to fire the Scorpions, they’re going to pounce.”
“The Flighthawks will hold them off,” said Chu. “We’ll hang in and fire everything we’ve got.”
“Everything?”
“Too important to take a chance.”
“What about the patrol near the carrier?”
“We’ll go toward the Abner Read, get coverage from them. The Flighthawks can hold them off in the meantime.”
Chu told the Flighthawk pilots what they were going to do. Neither man said anything more than “Understood.” He started his turn, focusing on the heads-up display in his windscreen. A calmness settled over him; his muscles relaxed; he felt almost as if he were watching himself from the comfort of a living room sofa far away.
Aboard the Abner Read,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0649
THE MISSILES FLEW FROM THE FORWARD TUBES IN QUICK SUCCESSION, spiraling upward in a glistening arc of white against the brilliant blue of the sky. Storm waited until the last one had gone before turning back to the holographic display where they were being tracked.
The other ships would come for them, he realized. He had to prepare.
“Take us south, Helm,” he said, reaching for his communications controller. “Eyes—the Sharkboat. Tell them we’re going south. We want to put some space between us and the Chinese.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
STARSHIP TOUCHED THE WEREWOLF DOWN ON THE HELIPAD behind the Abner Read’s low-slung superstructure, killing the engines. The two seamen assigned to fuel the robot ran out and began tending to her.
He turned and looked behind him in the Tactical Center. Eyes was standing only a few feet away, a perplexed look on his face as the men around him took turns shouting information in his direction.
Starship waited a few seconds, hoping for a calm patch. When none came, he asked, “Eyes, do you want me to attack the carrier when I’m topped off?”
“The carrier?”
“The Deng Xiaoping. With my Hellfires.”
The Tac commander’s mouth squirreled up, his cheeks puffing out. “Hellfires?”
“It’s something. I can get up there in fifteen minutes tops, once I’m reloaded. That should be ten minutes from now.”
“Too late.” Eyes’s frown turned into a forlorn smile. “But thanks for the offer. Get back in the air as soon as you can. We’ll need you to show us what’s going on.”
Aboard the Fisher,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0650
“MULTIPLE MISSILE LAUNCHES FROM THE ABNER READ!” shouted the surface radar operator, his voice rattling Tommy Chu’s headset. “Eight missiles—more from the Sharkboat. Targeted—they’re going after the carrier!”
“What the hell are they doing?” Chu reached to the communications panel to contact the Abner Read. Before he could, the screen indicated an incoming message from the ship. The Abner Read’s tactical officer’s face appeared in the screen. “What the hell’s going on?” Chu demanded.
“We’ve launched our attack on the Chinese carrier. We need you to intercept the two fighters.”
“I’m not in position to do that. Why did you launch the attack without telling us?”
“I need you to intercept those planes.”
“I can’t. Why did you launch without contacting us first?”
“I don’t need your permission to accomplish my mission.”
The screen blanked. Chu angrily smacked at the kill button anyway.
“The Abner Read has launched an attack on the Chinese carrier Deng Xiaoping,” he told the rest of the crew. “We’ll take down the J-13s before they realize what’s going on, then remain on course in case the strike fails.”
Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0651
TWELVE MISSILES HAD BEEN FIRED AT THE DENG XIAOPING. Captain Hongwu listened closely as the threats were identified: A total of eight Harpoon missiles had been fired, four from the Abner Read and four from the small patrol boat, along with four SR-2 or Standards from the Abner Read. The threats had to be prioritized; they no longer had enough missiles to intercept them all.
He turned to the officer in charge of targeting the weapons.
“Target two of the SR-2s with our anticruise missiles. Target all of the Harpoons from the Abner Read. Attempt to intercept the missiles from the small patrol craft with our fighters, and turn the close-in weapons on everything else.”
“Yes, Comrade Captain.”
He had known it would come to this. But there was no satisfaction in being proven correct. Hongwu folded his arms, demonstrating to the others that they must be resolute and calm.
“Have the aircraft aloft engage the American warplane. Shoot it down immediately. The two planes observing the Abner Read—divert them and have them attack the Megafortress as well. The warship will be easier to deal with once the radar plane is gone.”
Aboard the Fisher,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0652
“READY?” CHU ASKED THE COPILOT.
“Ready. Flighthawks will go on your signal.”
“Now!” said Chu, and he pushed the stick forward, tucking the Megafortress away.
The air roiled as the two robot planes closed in for the kill. Chu began a sharp turn south, then cut back.
“Missiles in the air!” warned the copilot. “Heat-seekers!”
“Flares.” Chu pushed the plane onto its wing, unsure exactly who had fired the missiles.
“Russian AA-12 type missile launched,” added the copilot. “Not a factor. The two planes that were tracking toward the Abner Read are turning in our direction.”
“Splash one J-13!” said one of the Flighthawk pilots.
“The other plane is on our tail,” said the copilot.
“Stinger air mines,” said Chu as the air around him began to percolate with tracers.
Aboard the Abner Read,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0654
“TWO STANDARD MISSILES INTERCEPTED. ONE HARPOON lost.”
Storm stared at the hologram, letting the report sink in. Already, the Chinese had done much better than the Indians, who had managed to shoot down only one of his missiles.
Another of the Harpoons disappeared from the display. That might not mean it had been shot down; the ship’s systems occasionally lost track of the missiles as they dipped toward their target.
God, his head hurt worse than he thought possible.
“Dreamland Fisher is under attack,” said Eyes.
Storm nodded, as if his tactical commander was standing on the bridge next to him.
“Standard missile three has struck the carrier,” said Weapons. “Standard missile four has struck the carrier.”
Two out of four. Acceptable against such an accomplished opponent. As an opening volley.
“Harpoon One is on target. Harpoon Three is on target. Harpoon Four is off our screen, possibly intercepted.”
Another two out of four performance?
He should have been closer. He should have reserved more of his missiles. He should have made better use of his people.
“Harpoon Three has struck the Deng Xiaoping. Harpoon One—unknown.”
“Unknown?”
“Sorry, sir. We’re working on it now. At this range—”
“The Sharkboat?”
“SB Harpoon One is off course. SB Harpoon Two and Three running true. SB Harpoon Four has been intercepted.”
“Where are those planes that were attacking us?” said Storm.
“Turned off—going after the Fisher.”
“Can we help them?”
“Too far. We have no more missiles.”
“Very well,” said Storm. “They’ll come out of it. Those Dreamland people always do.”
Aboard the Fisher,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0654
CHU TRIED TO SHUT OUT EVERYTHING BUT THE SKY IN FRONT of him, concentrating on getting the Megafortress away from its pursuer. He knew eventually the Stinger air mines would take the J-13 down; the trick was to survive until then. The plane rocked up and down as he zigged south. He knew one of his engines had been hit, but this wasn’t the time to deal with it; a fresh warning indicated four AA-12s had been fired by the planes coming up toward his nose.
He wanted to use all eight of his Scorpions against the Tai-shan aircraft, but it would be at least fifteen minutes before the planes were in the air. He’d never make it that long if he didn’t knock down some of the J-13s nearby.
“Target those fighters,” he told his copilot. “One missile apiece.”
“Hawk Six has been shot down,” said the copilot.
“Bay.”
“Bandits are targeted. We have two missiles coming for us.”
“Fire. ECMs. Hawk Five, stay with me,” added Chu as the air around him exploded with shells from the Chinese aircraft.
The first Scorpion clunked from the dispenser. Chu kept the plane steady as the next rotated into position and fired. The plane began to shake.
“Hawk Five, we’re going north,” said Chu. He sank deeper into the sofa, even calmer.
“Following.”
“Missile closing.”
“Chaff, ECMs.”
Chu pushed the Megafortress’s stick hard to the left, trying to get away from the missile. The Megafortress shuddered and began dropping. He couldn’t hold the plane steady; alarms sounded, warning him that engines one and three had been damaged, warning him that there were holes in the fuel tanks, warning him that he was surrounded and faced certain death.
“Target the carrier with our AMRAAM-pluses,” he told the copilot. “Fire as soon as you’re locked.”
“Engine one is gone.”
“The hell with the damn engine. Fire the missiles!”
The left side of Chu’s face imploded. He saw red and then black, and felt himself relaxing again, sinking back on his couch, easing back, enjoying a nice scotch for one last time.
Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,
