He was furious that he had to contend with both land based and seaborne enemy fighters, with nary a whisper of opposition in the skies over the contested islands. At last he heard from his KJ-2000 where it circled far to the west, unknowingly right above the submerged wreckage of the old WWII Japanese battleship Kongo, which had been sunk there by the US submarine Sealion II on 16 November, 1944. The air force was coming though they would not bring their A-game that day.
Two squadrons of Chendu J-10AH multirole naval fighters were up and coming in on afterburners as they raced to the scene, though their haste was only making them more visible on radar. They were very capable planes, with good avionics and excellent speed and maneuverability, but this was their first sortie in anger and they were not quite prepared for the heat of combat. Behind them was another group of six Shenyang J-11B “SinoFlankers” with more experienced pilots, eighteen planes in all.
When the Japanese task force picked them up on radar, they immediately began vectoring in every plane they already had aloft. The three JF-35Bs climbed high while the six Silent Eagles out of Naha, surged in at 30,000 feet. Even with the KJ-2000 assisting, the J-10s were having difficulty acquiring the Japanese planes. They finally got returns on the oncoming Eagles, but as both forces approached the islands, the Japanese pilots had already shouted out the NATO brevity code “Fox Three” and fired their AIM-120C AMRAAMs. The weapon was designed to engage targets well beyond visual range, (BVR), a fire and forget missile that could actively home in on its target. They had fired just inside their maximum range of 105 kilometers, outranging the PL-11 missiles on the Chinese J-10s by thirty kilometers. That small interval of thirty kilometers amounted to no more than a twenty second advantage, as both sides were closing on one another at a whisker over Mach 2. Yet those twenty seconds before the Chinese J-10s could fire was the difference between life or death. The missiles were twice as fast as the planes at Mach 4,and the sky was soon alight with countermeasures and kills.
The first wave of Chinese planes had managed to get their own missiles away, but only seconds later they were in it up to their eyeballs. The J-10’s fared badly, losing five planes to outright hits, and seeing two more damaged by near proximity explosions. Their own barrage of PL-11s failed to find even one Silent Eagle, as the Japanese had peeled off after firing to stay at the extreme edge of the PL-11’s firing envelope. The narrow advantage that made all the difference was a little stealth, better radar, and those thirty kilometers.
As their initial missile barrage disordered the enemy, the Japanese pilots had turned again to close and switched to their shorter ranged AIM-9X Sidewinders, shouting “Fox Two” to signal the use of an infrared guided missile. It was a slower missile at just Mach 2.5, but very maneuverable and could range out to 35 kilometers. They would claim the two wounded J-10s, and one more plane as it banked in a violent turn, its countermeasure sputtering to life in a vain shower of phosphor fire as it attempted to spoof the missile that had acquired it. But the Sidewinders had been fine tuned to recognize the difference between such flares and a plane’s tail pipe, and it was not deceived.
The agile Silent Eagles had swooped in and galled their prey, taking down eight of the twelve J-10s in less than five minutes. Now the last deadly duel was fought as the two sides actually closed well within visual range, (WVR), and began to dogfight. Here the experience and skill of the Japanese pilots, and the amazingly capable plane they were flying proved decisive.
“Fox Four! Guns, guns, guns!” The 20mm Vulcan Gatling cannon was equipped with just 510 rounds in a normal load-out, but they were enough to take down two more before the last two J-10s bugged out, heading west at full throttle to look for their big brothers in the Shenyang J-11s
Called the SinoFlanker by some Western analysts because it was a plane based on the Russian Sukhoi SU-27 Flanker, the J-11 was an able challenger to the Eagles and Fighting Falcons it had been built to oppose. It had Russian avionics, radars and engines, but many indigenous improvements as well. It was bringing a better missile too, the PL-12 that could match the Silent Eagles in range at 100 kilometers.
But the Eagles were not alone.
As the J-11’s roared in from the west, unseen lightning fell from the skies above when the three carrier launched JF-35Bs suddenly appeared on the screens of the startled Chinese pilots. The F-35s in relied on front-quarter Low Observabilty to gain the all important advantage of ‘first look — first shot — first kill’ beyond visual range. Missiles were away and the Lightnings struck the J-11’s hard, with each plane claiming a quick kill.
Then the scene became a wild dance of inexperienced pilots wheeling super high performance aircraft about in a dizzying display of flying. One of the Japanese pilots lost his concentration, too jubilant after his guns had ripped a J-10 to pieces, and his Eagle was damaged by a near miss from a P-12 fragmentation warhead explosion. He dove, struggled for control and eventually managed to get his plane down low and head east for Naha. The last three were caught up in the chaos of the swirling aerial maneuvers, and soon joined the J-10s bugging out and heading west for friendly shores. It had been the first real combat mission flown by any of the pilots involved, and the small accumulation of advantages possessed by the Japanese planes and pilots had proved more than decisive. Yet the Chinese would learn quickly, and the next time their J-10s sortied that would have better missiles.
Aboard the Akagi, Captain Yoshida had been listening to the frantic calls of the pilots as they engaged the enemy planes. When it was over he heard the report. “Enemy breaking off. We have fourteen kills! Fuel low, returning to base.”
The men on the bridge of Akagi cheered, though the word bonzai was not uttered by a single man. When he heard them Captain Yoshida, raised his voice in a sharp rebuke. “We do not cheer the death of our enemy, nor would we have them do the same when our brothers have fallen in battle.”
He considered the situation, realizing that he now would quickly need to launch his second shotai of JF-35s, and soon the bridge was all business again, the flight boss on the radio giving the order to launch. Yoshida came to the radar operator’s station and pointed.
“Is that the KJ-2000?”
“Yes, sir. It had been orbiting at 40,000 feet for the last hour.”
“Send it home. Vector in a J-35 from the second shotai.”
Yoshida wanted to scratch out the enemy’s eyes, blinding him to the battle space and insuring that he could now move his task force to the Senkaku archipelago with impunity, but he was too late. The Chinese had seen and fixed his position long ago and had a deadly surprise in store for the Japanese that day.
The radar operator shouted out the alarm. “Sir, I have a high speed, high altitude missile inbound!”
The battle was evolving yet again. The Chinese had sent their second string fighters to the fray, fixing the attention of their enemy on the air duel above the islands, but high in space a watching American spy satellite suddenly flashed a warning to Pacific Command in Honolulu, Hawaii indicating ballistic missiles had been launched. While the brave ships had been dueling on the sea, and the planes locked in their deadly dance in the skies, Chinese archers had fired a volley of DongFeng-15C short range ballistic missiles, and their bigger brothers, the lethal DF-21s. Named for the east wind that was a harbinger of good favor, this wind would bring a rain of fire and anger on the unwary enemy.
They were coming for Yoshida’s ships at over Mach 6 terminal velocity, and extremely difficult target to track and hit. With just seconds to react, he gave the order to engage with his SM3 Anti Ballistic Missile system, with a blistering speed of just under Mach 8. Four were fired, but they had seen the incoming missiles too late, and they would claim only one successful interception. Five of the six missiles in the first volley would get through to the target zone, and of these two would fulfill their mission.
The first exploded high above the task force with an electromagnetic shockwave warhead designed to knock down the enemy’s electronics.
The second was a straight conventional warhead, 950 kilograms of rip snorting armor piercing anger coming in at a plunging angle that went clean through the flight deck of the unlucky ship DDH Hyuga, and continued penetrating until it had blown completely through the bottom hull. The resulting explosion of mission ready helicopters, aviation fuel, and munitions was catastrophic. Hyuga had been dealt a fatal blow and the ship would keel over to starboard side, the last of her Seahawks sliding into the ocean, and die an agonizing death within minutes.
While not a true aircraft carrier per se, Hyuga was close enough, the third unit in Carrier Division two, now composed of Akagi, Kaga and the stricken DDH. No aircraft carrier had been sunk in the world since the Japanese carrier Amagi in Kure harbor on July 24th,1945. The sting of bad fate now sent Hyuga to the bottom of the East China Sea, a painful reprisal in exchange for the near lifeless hunks of rock Japan had been so keen to secure.
Aboard Akagi Captain Yoshida stared aft in shock and dismay, watching the Hyuga burn and capsize within minutes. He had more on his hands now that he had first thought when he mused over the launch of those first three JF-35s. Just when the battle seemed to be within his grasp, the missiles had found his task force at sea, a feat that had been considered, planned for, and yet not believed possible until this very moment. China had sunk a fast moving ship with a single ballistic missile. He knew that the systems that had guided this missile to its target were high above in the airless domain of outer space, with satellite GPS navigation playing a major part in the success of the attack.
If this “incident” actually expanded to a general war, something would have to be done about that, but Japan did not have the means to insure ABM defense that involved taking out enemy satellites. It would be a task for the Americans, pledged to defend Japan by treaty since the conclusion of WWII. And if the Americans come to the fight, he thought, how long before the Russians come?
Yoshida could not think about that now. The electromagnetic shock warhead had caused its own measure of additional trouble, though it did not function as intended. A number of his unshielded systems were affected, but his essential electronics weathered the pulse and continued to function. Still, it was enough to cause some disruption to his operations, and the loss of Hyuga was a hard blow to ship’s morale.
Yoshida looked sullenly at his bridge crew now, reinforcing the lesson he had barked out earlier. “Who now wishes to hear the jubilant song of our enemies?” His dark eyes found one officer after another. “This is only the beginning,” he said. “And should war come to our homeland again in earnest, believe me, we will not find him a welcome guest.”
Yoshida did not know it at that moment, but that uninvited guest was already knocking on the back porch of the Japanese homeland. The salvo of deadly missiles that had blown in on the east wind was just the first fitful stirring of the storm to come. China had burrowed into the ancient soil of its homeland, digging up the bones of dynasties past to build an amazing network of over 3,000 miles of underground tunnels and hardened bunkers. Slow mobile launchers were creeping through the dark subterranean tunnels, moving to deploy for the main event that had been planned long ago.
In a matter of minutes, China had taken the deadly tactical duel for the islands to a new level. What began as a potential small unit engagement by a few squads of Naval Marines, had soon escalated to a wide area air/sea battle, and then to a strategic strike against the bases that were most essential in supporting further Japanese operations in the area. The one saving grace had been the fact that no nuclear weapons had been brought to bear. Both sides were still wearing gloves in the fight, and the “rules” of combat had been assiduously followed.
China had been unprepared for the ferocity and determination of the Japanese counter to their planned occupation of the Diaoyutai islands, and had been beaten in a fair duel of ships, planes and missiles over the deep blue sea. Yet to beat them the Japanese had played out their very best assets in the region. The odds would get much steeper, and the Chinese promised to be a much more formidable fore than the brief action had foreshadowed. They boldly played a trump card that the Japanese had not expected this early in the game, and to the discerning minds of the military analysts back in Honolulu watching from their KH-11 satellites high in space, more was afoot than this limited hot engagement at sea.
The battle Captain Yoshida would claim as a pyrrhic victory was nothing more than shadow play on the wall, a mere distraction meant to draw the eye and ear of the enemy, and lead him astray. That afternoon the first missiles fell on Okinawa, longer range DongFeng-21s that employed terminally guided maneuvering re-entry vehicles and brought a rain of incendiary and high explosive warheads to the Japanese air base at Naha. The US base at Kadena was spared for the moment, but it remained on the target list should the Americans enter the fray any time soon. It was a subtle signal to the Americans—stay out of it and we will have no quarrel with you. The little battle that began with troops landing on distant, deserted Pacific islands had ended with ballistic missiles on Japanese soil in a strange mirroring of the last great war. But Yoshida’s rebuke to his bridge crew had been truly prophetic. This was only the beginning.
The alarm clock bomb was ticking loudly now, and the second hand sweeping ever closer to a chaos that would soon become all but uncontrollable. Within minutes of the attack, the ringing of telephones from Beijing to Vladivostok to Honolulu to Washington DC chimed out their warning on one desk after another.
A new storm was coming to the Pacific, and the first darkened squalls had flashed the lightning of war over its restless waters. It would begin there in a squabble for undiscovered oil, one tiny lit fuse that would soon ignite many others. The real war would be fought where the crude already ran thick, in the Persian Gulf, the Gulf of Mexico, and the vast new superfields of Central Asia in Kazakhstan.
Part VI
MEN OF WAR
“…The release of Atomic energy has not created a new problem. It has merely made more urgent the necessity of solving an existing one… He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice.”
~ Albert Einstein
Chapter 16
Kamenski flipped slowly through the book, quietly shaking his head within as he did so. It was the History of the Japanese Navy in WWII, and he had come here to the library in Vladivostok to chase an itch he had been scratching for the last twenty years. He had learned a great deal about a mysterious incident in the Coral Sea that the history never fully explained. The Japanese had tried to cover things up, but as the years went by, more and more evidence slowly came to light. Something has happened, like a ripple of lightning across the blackened storm clouds of war. Something came out of the Indian ocean and struck through the heart of the Japanese offensive in 1942 like a steel javelin.
It started off the coast of Melville Island, where he had read reports made by coast watchers that the Japanese had engaged an Allied surface ship running east away from Darwin. The problem was that there were no allied warships worth the name in Darwin at the time, and no one seemed to be able to identify what this ship was. Yet the Japanese had pursued it through the Torres Straits and into the Coral Sea, expending the considerable power of their entire 5th Carrier Division to do so, and leaving the battleship Kirishima a half sunken wreck on the coral reefs of the strait. He remembered the text he had read on the incident, still vague and non-specific:
“Unaccountable losses sustained by Hara’s Group prevented them from reinforcing Yamashiro’s carriers at a vital moment, and the Americans were therefore able to deal with each arm of the Japanese offensive in detail.”
Unaccountable losses? That was all that was to be said about this after eighty long years? Then the mystery deepened when Admiral Yamamoto split his heavy covering force for the counter invasion of Guadalcanal and sailed west into the Coral Sea… aboard the battleship Yamato. That was most unusual. T
he Yamato was the symbol of Japan’s prestige and power at sea, named for the ancient homeland itself. What could have possessed Yamamoto to commit it to action like that? And more—what sent it back to Kure harbor a broken and damaged ship? That had been kept very secret by the Japanese. In fact, it was never known that Yamato had been engaged and sustained heavy damage until well after the war.
Something mean and powerful had sailed those waters. Something capable of defending itself from an entire carrier air wing and then bludgeoning the most powerful battleship the world had ever seen. Even now the details of that battle were very shady. It still remained a mystery. The initial accounts were that Yamato struck a mine off Milne Bay, and then this was revised a few years later by an American historian who claimed The USS Sea Dragon was returning to Australia from her third war patrol in the South China Sea and came across the Yamato, promptly putting two torpedoes into the mighty ship.
Kamenski took both versions of that history with a grain of salt, particularly when he managed to dig up hidden records of the damage sustained by Yamato. One of the guns on an aft turret had been put out of action and replaced with a barrel that had been originally machined for the Shinano. She also had extensive fire damage above the water line on her superstructure, damage that could only have been produced by large caliber weapons. There had been snippets of reports of naval rockets used in an engagement, which in themselves were very odd, and then he came across something that stunned him, a photo of two Japanese engineers holding up a piece of charred metal where an engraved serial number was quite evident.
Kamenski kept that number in his head for many, many years, but he could never run it down until the year 2020. He was more than a curious old man. He had spent forty years in the service of his government, with posts in the Navy, and in intelligence as well. He still had access to things a normal person would never have seen, and he had been going over some weapons production information for the new navy Moskit-II missiles when he came across the number—the exact same number he had carried all those years, and it was assigned to a missile that was mounted on none other than the battlecruiser Kirov, the very same ship he had taken Alexi to gawk at in the harbor that afternoon.
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