by James Rosone
“It looks like the B-2s are approaching the line of control,” Exotic called out as the blue icons denoting their fellow bombers approached from the Gulf.
Miser added, “Yeah, we should be hitting our targets before they get too close to Cuba. The PLA’s radar and C&C should be down, giving them and the rest of the bomber force a clean shot into the country.”
Exotic nonchalantly called out, “Greyhounds appear to be hitting. I’m showing a string of enemy radars going offline.”
They flew on for a few more minutes, the Sentinels above them continuing to feed them more data. Since the ChiComs had started going after the US and European satellite network a few hours ago, the military had switched more and more over to their drone fleet for surveillance.
“Approaching target. Do you want me to start going through the arming procedures?” Exotic asked, nervousness and excitement in her voice. This would be her first real-life bombing mission.
“Yeah, that’d be great, Exotic,” Miser replied, not taking his eyes off the screens in front of him. “I’m getting the first target loaded up now. Double-check the coordinates while you’re at it. We won’t be using laser designators for this run, so those coordinates have to be accurate.”
Their first target was a command-and-control site located fifty kilometers outside of Havana. They planned to strike the bunker with two GBU-28 bunker-busting bombs. Once they hit the bunker complex, they’d move down their target list, hitting eight radar sites across the country and one more bunker complex under the Ministry of Interior. That last location was where intelligence believed the new Cuban president had been relocated.
When those sites were taken out, they’d look for an updated target package from the Sentinel elements. Inside the bomb bay, they were packing four of the five-thousand-pound bunker-buster bombs for the two high-value targets. In addition to the big bombs, they were carrying twenty of the much smaller GBU-38s, which were five-hundred-pound Joint Direct Attack Munitions or JDAMs.
The two B-21s would stay on station over Cuba for most of the first few hours of the attack. As additional ChiCom and Cuban radar sites turned on to replace the ones being taken out, the Raiders would hit them before they could react. This was all part of the SEAD or Suppression of Enemy Air Defenses missions the war planners had developed.
If the B-21s could keep the enemy’s eyes closed, then the B-2s, B-1s, and other attack aircraft could wipe out the Cuban and PLA Air Forces, removing them as a threat. If the Cubans and ChiComs refused to surrender after a few days of heavy bombing, then the Marines and Airborne forces would be sent in to clear them out.
Exotic strapped her oxygen mask back on as they approached the target. It was showtime.
“We’re coming up on the target,” she announced as their icon neared the blinking target icon on the map.
Miser replied, “Confirmed. Go ahead and arm the first set of bombs and get the doors opened. We’re weapons-free in sixty seconds.”
Moments later, the aircraft buffeted a bit from the loss of their aerodynamically smooth underbelly. The lights for the bomb bay doors turned from red to green, letting them know they were open. As if they couldn’t already tell from the way the aircraft was flying.
“Bombs are armed and ready for release,” Exotic relayed.
Miser gripped the flight stick a little tighter as he prepared to drop the first-ever bombs from a B-21 on a hostile nation. Moving his thumb over to the pickle, he depressed the release button once, then twice.
In fractions of a second, the electrical current was sent from the flight stick to the targeting system. It then transmitted another message to the weapon rack holding the GBU-28s that it was time to release the bombs. When the two bombs fell free of the aircraft, the B-21 immediately handled a little softer. It was now ten thousand pounds lighter.
“Weapons-free,” announced Miser, tension in his voice.
“Confirmed, weapons-free. Closing outer doors,” announced Exotic as she depressed the button to seal them back up and make sure they kept their stealth system intact.
Miser turned the big black bird to head toward their next target, the Ministry of Interior in the center of Havana. They’d only be dropping a single GBU-28 on this target to minimize the potential for collateral damage.
At this altitude, it’d take a few minutes for the bombs to reach their target. By that point, they’d be near Havana. Enemy radar sites were still going offline. A steady barrage of Greyhounds pummeled the known sites and the ones currently turned on. It wasn’t a completely one-sided affair, though. Miser and Exotic watched more than four dozen missiles streak out toward the American warships.
“What are those?” Exotic asked as they observed a new track of missiles leaving an area not far from the command post they’d just nailed.
Miser furrowed his brow at the missile tracks; he wasn’t sure right off the bat. As the limited telemetric of the missiles posted, it dawned on him—these missiles were being fired at the homeland.
Returning his gaze to the windshield and some other screens, he said, “I’d say those are land-attack missiles. They’re probably going for our air bases. It’s what I’d do.”
His co didn’t say anything for a moment, then she replied softly, “I never thought I’d see the day when our country would be attacked by enemy missiles. I thought we joined the Air Force and the Navy to keep these kinds of threats away from America.”
“You heard what happened to Langley Air Base and Norfolk,” Miser commented. “Heck, I heard they even hammered Fort Stewart in Georgia.”
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” replied Exotic anxiously. “I mean, how in the heck did we not know those ships and missiles were out there? Someone seriously screwed up if you ask me.”
“Let’s worry about doing our jobs and stay focused on our mission. We can’t control anything more than that, so let’s do the best job we can and take out these targets.”
The two flew on in silence for another ten minutes, getting steadily closer to Havana, the last primary target they had to take out. Once that was gone, they’d be on their own to go after enemy radar sites as they popped up.
A few more radars went down around the city, which made them feel a little better. More of the possible threats to their bomber were going away. Several of the enemy fighters had gotten into quite the dogfight with the Raptors. Miser and his co were astounded when they saw four of the F-22s get shot down—that wasn’t supposed to happen, either. Even a pair of F-35s had been taken out by enemy SAMs.
“We’re two minutes out from the target. I’ll start the arming sequence,” Exotic announced.
Miser acknowledged and kept his eyes focused on the threat board. He was starting to feel a bit better. Two more enemy radars had just gone offline, further reducing the likelihood of their being detected.
“Sixty seconds out. I’m opening bomb bay doors now,” Exotic relayed.
The aircraft buffeted as their aerodynamics changed. Their smooth underbelly was gone for the time it’d take for them to release their bombs.
“Ten seconds,” Exotic called out.
Miser saw the icon telling him it was time to release his bomb. He depressed the pickle once, releasing the bunker-buster to do its business. As soon as the bomb was out, he turned the bomber slightly, not realizing Exotic hadn’t closed the bomb door yet.
A pair of new enemy radars came on and so did several warning bells.
Oh crap, that’s not good, Miser thought as the alarms indicated a ground base’s radar trying to lock on to them. Two more radars then turned on and they started getting hit with more radar beams.
“This isn’t good, Exotic. They’re trying to triangulate us,” said Miser.
“How can they do that? We’re about as small as a marble right now,” replied Exotic.
“We are, but I screwed up. I turned the aircraft before you had the bomb doors fully closed. I think they got a partial reading from our belly and now they’re turning
on more radars to pinpoint where we are,” Miser explained.
Reaching for the throttle, Miser gave the plane a lot more thrust. He also started climbing and banked the aircraft out toward the Gulf. He wanted to put some altitude and distance between those radar sites in hopes that they might lose whatever little bead they had on them.
“Exotic, start looking up the frequency and call signs for some of those destroyers down there. If those enemy radars get a lock on us and fire, they may be able to fire an interceptor and take it out for us. If not, then we’ll go for a morning swim.”
His co only groaned in response as she reached for a notepad. It had the call signs and frequencies of some ships and aircraft they could contact if they got in trouble.
Looking out the window, Miser saw they had left land. They were now officially in the Straits of Florida.
“Missile warning. Missile warning.”
“Crap! They fired a missile…scratch that. They fired two missiles,” Exotic called out, fear in her voice.
“Hang on, I’m going to try something,” Miser said.
He reached over and flicked several switches on. These were their electronic countermeasure pods. They protruded ever so slightly from the belly of the aircraft and remained dormant to minimize the potential of a sophisticated tracking system isolating their position based on any electronic emissions. Seeing as they now had two advanced surface-to-air missiles racing after them, staying electronically silent really didn’t make any sense.
“Try raising one of those Arleigh Burkes down there. See if they can’t intercept those missiles. At current speeds and distance, I’m showing we have five minutes until they reach us.”
Exotic switched her radio over to the frequency the Navy ships were operating on. She eventually got through to someone. After a short authentication process, they said they were tracking the missiles and they agreed to fire a couple of interceptors. They weren’t optimistic about intercepting them, not at their current speeds, though. They did recommend trying to fly the bomber closer to them.
While that was taking place, a Navy EA-18G Growler operating nearby was being vectored toward them. The pilot had been told to accelerate to max speed toward their coordinates. The hope was the Growler’s advanced suite of electronic countermeasures might be able to spoof the enemy missiles and cause them to miss. The Growler carried a much larger suite of ECM tools than the Raider.
The Growler’s Active Electronically Scanned Array or AESA was a unique piece of technology that allowed the EWO or electronic warfare officer in the back seat of the aircraft to focus the jamming power exactly where it was needed. In this case, they needed that jamming power directed at the two missiles homing in on the Air Force’s multibillion-dollar black unicorn.
“Two minutes until missile impact,” Exotic called out, now on the radio with the Growler pilots.
Miser watched as the first SM missile interceptor missed, sailing right past the missile.
“Splash one!” Exotic called out excitedly.
Thank God they got one of them. One more to go, Miser thought. He honestly couldn’t believe the Navy could shoot one of them down like that. He supposed it did help that he was flying in a relatively flat trajectory, which meant the HQ-9 missile was as well.
“Sixty seconds to impact,” the warning system announced in their helmets.
At this point, the Growler was less than five miles from their position. They were doing their darnedest to jam that enemy missile.
“Splash one!” Exotic yelled out in wild excitement. Miser swore if she wasn’t strapped to her seat, she probably would have jumped out of it in excitement.
“Hey, calm down. Stay on your systems. We’re not out of the woods yet,” Miser had to remind her. They were still being actively hunted by those enemy ground radars. However, two more of them had gone offline as another volley of Greyhounds slammed into them.
“Unicorn One, Gauntlet Six. I’ve been instructed to stick to you like white on rice. What’s the plan? Where are we headed next?” asked the pilot of the Growler who had saved their bacon.
Exotic looked at Miser. “We aren’t going back in there, are we?”
Miser could tell she was scared and nervous. He also knew if he said they were going back in, she’d comply and do her best to complete their mission.
“Gauntlet Six, Unicorn Actual. We will RTB. Can you give us an escort to Barksdale?” Miser asked.
There was a short pause before the other pilot came on. “Unicorn Actual, Barksdale took a beating. They’re currently nonoperational. All heavies are being redirected to Moody Air Force Base. If you have enough fuel, you could try for a bomber base.”
Enough fuel? Couldn’t we just top off our tanks and head back home? Miser thought.
“Gauntlet Six, are there any fuel stations nearby? We’d kind of like to head back home,” Miser inquired.
“Unicorn Actual, three tanks were shot down twenty minutes ago, and another six destroyed on the ground at MacDill. The AWACS loitering over Robins was also shot down, along with the other one near Corpus Christi.”
“What the hell? How did we lose all those aircraft?” Exotic said aloud to herself.
“Gauntlet Six, that’s a good copy. We’ll head to Moody and see what they want us to do after we land. Thank you again for the help and now the escort. Oh, by the way—how did we lose so many aircraft this far from Cuba?”
A short pause ensued before they got a reply. “Unicorn Actual, an unknown number of J-20s slipped through our defenses and got in close enough to shoot two of the AWACS and several tankers down.”
“Thank you for the update. Let’s continue on to Robins, then, and see what they want us to do next.”
Turning to look at his co, Miser said, “Well, I guess that’s it for us. I can tell you this—until we’re able to take out more of those air defense radars, there’s no way they’ll risk us going back in there again. Not after we nearly got shot down.”
For the next couple of hours, they flew in relative quiet. Neither of them said much. They were running through the mission in their minds—what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what they would do differently next time.
They knew once they landed, they’d be debriefed for hours on end. This was the first combat mission of America’s newest bomber. In addition to the Air Force reps wanting to know everything about the mission and the aircraft performance, the manufacturer would want to know as much as they could. This mission had given all parties involved the chance to work out any previously unknown bugs in the system.
Judging by how surprisingly effective the HQ-9 radar system was, Miser had to believe they had lost a lot of aircraft over the last few hours. Heck, they had seen several Raptors and Lightnings fall victim. If they’d had a problem, he hated to think how poorly the B-2s and any nonstealth aircraft had performed.
Chapter Thirty
Collateral Damage
US Strategic Command
Omaha, Nebraska
The leaders of the United States held their third emergency meeting of the day, the mood bleak in the dry, frigid air of the command bunker.
Will this day never end? thought Blain Wilson as he snuck a glance at the clock on the wall. The clock bar, as Wilson called it, showed the times across the world: NATO headquarters in Brussels, London, Washington, D.C., Omaha, Hawaii, and Tokyo.
Right now, the clock said it was 1:32 in the morning of the second day of the war. Things couldn’t be going worse if they had intentionally planned this out themselves.
“For God’s sake, someone turn the damn temperature up in this room. I shouldn’t have to wear a parka to these briefs,” President Alton complained.
“Mr. President, the heads of state in NATO want to know what our next move is. They’re looking for leadership and a strategy on our part,” General Lisa Yeager said. She looked as tired and haggard as the rest of them.
Wilson could tell the President wasn’t sure what to say or do, so he ste
pped in and asked a question that might help guide him. “General Yeager, what are the Europeans saying about the situation as it stands on their end? How are they responding to the deepfakes and this recent military attack by the Chinese?”
“There’s a lot of confusion right now. The Germans insist that the Rheinland-Pfalz did not attack the Chinese naval vessels in the Gulf of Aden. They are furious these ships were sunk. The Chinese Navy announced three hours ago that they recovered forty-two sailors of the one hundred and thirty-four—they are officially classifying them as prisoners of war.
“In Italy, a Chinese self-unloading dry-bulk carrier freighter suffered a series of explosions and eventually sank off the coast of Gioia Tauro, where the freighter was originally heading. The Chinese are claiming the Italian frigate Carlo Bergamini attacked their freighter in international waters. What’s caught everyone by surprise was how rapidly images of these naval engagements appeared on the internet. In each case, the video shows the German and Italian warships firing on the unsuspecting Chinese ships. In the case of the battle between the German and Chinese warships, the video is extremely believable. The videos are causing a lot of confusion within the EU about what really happened,” General Yeager explained.
“Some leaders are even asking if the US intentionally attacked the Chinese and Cuba. I heard a report from an MP in the UK asking if these videos might actually be a false flag scenario being orchestrated by us to get NATO to side with the US against China.”
“That’s a load of crap,” the President barked angrily. “What would we have to gain from doing something like that? I mean, Norfolk, Groton, Pearl Harbor, and San Diego got plastered. Is that something we’d do to ourselves? I don’t think so.”
Wilson had noticed President Alton becoming moodier than normal this last week. The election was just days away. Not only was America under the threat of attack, but the homeland had been hit multiple times over the last twenty-four hours, from cyberattacks and deepfakes to direct kinetic attacks on military installations and even a few cities. People were scared.
