Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 06 (47 page)

 
          
“Excellent
suggestion,” McLanahan said. “Never forget to ask someone else in your
formation or task force to help out.”

 
          
“Fat
lot of good asking the Navy for anything does,” Elliott grumbled.

 
          
McLanahan
ignored him. “Do it. Think about what you need to give the Navy pukes first,
get the data together, then call.”

 
          
“Rog,”
Denton nodded, pleased at himself for keeping up with the almost legendary
Patrick McLanahan. He measured out a quick range and bearing from the
prebriefed target reference point, called the “bull’s-eye,” then keyed the
mike: “Crew, OSO is going out over Fleet SATCOM.” He waited for any negative
replies, then switched over to the secure satellite frequency.
“]ames Daniel
' this is Headbanger. ”

 
          
A
sailor with a very impatient voice that sounded as if he were sixteen years old
responded, “Calling
]ames Daniel
on
FLTSATCOM, go ahead.” The voice sounded as if it didn’t recognize the call sign
“Headbanger,” although it was the one briefed to all participants and the one
they had been using since the beginning.

 
          
“Headbanger
requesting a visual or optical ID on radar target bearing two-four-three at
fifty-seven bull’s-eye, over.”

 
          
The
answer came back almost immediately from a different and far more annoyed
operator: “Headbanger, unable at this time due to weather.” The weather was
marginal, but it certainly wouldn’t keep a Navy helicopter from its patrol
under normal circumstances, McLanahan thought. “Keep this channel clear. Out.”

 
          
“Told
you,” Elliott said. “The squids hardly know we exist, and they sure as hell
don’t care.”

 
          
McLanahan
ignored that remark, too, but he was starting to get a little exasperated.
“Okay,” he said, turning his attention back to Denton. “Anything else you can
try?”

 
          
“We
could launch a Striker or Wolverine at it and take a look on the datalink,”
Denton deadpanned.

 
          
“That
sounds like an expensive suggestion,” McLanahan said, “not to mention the fact
that it could cause an international incident—or worse. You might have to just
go with incomplete information. If you had time, you could go through all of
the computer’s guesses and try to get a feel for the analysis; in less hostile
or non-stealth situations, you could turn on the attack radar and get an ID
from the inverse synthetic aperture radar. ”

 
          
“But
Td assume at this point that it was hostile,” Denton interjected. “The computer
guessed at two Russian cruisers; that sounded like the worst-case analysis, so
I’d go with that—either the Russians decided in the past couple days to send a
cruiser down the Strait to see what all the excitement was about, or the
Chinese have a really big destroyer or cruiser patrolling the area.”

 
          
“I’d
buy that,” McLanahan said. “So give us the rundown on your worst-case scenario.
Remember, you’re the surveillance and intelligence officer on the Megafortress,
along with the DSO, as well as the weapons officer—you’ve got to be ready to
sing out with important information the rest of the crew might need to make
decisions on how to press the attack.”

 
          
“Rog.”
He opened a small window on his supercockpit display and hit the voice command
switch: “Display and read order of battle on Slava-class cruiser.”

 
          
SLAVA-CLASS CRUISER, VERTICAL LAUNCH SA-N-6
ANTIAIRCRAFT MISSILES, MAX RANGE 60 MILES, X-BAND TOP DOME DIRECTOR, the
computer began, reading the information as well as diagramming the weapons and
radar information on the supercockpit display. TWO twin sa-n-4 antiaircraft
MISSILES, MAX RANGE FIVE MILES, FOXTROT, HOTEL, AND INDIA- BAND POP GROUP
TARGET TRACKING WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; ONE TWIN 130-millimeter dual-purpose gun,
max range fifteen miles, x-band FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC AND MANUAL BACKUP;
SIX 30-MILLIMETER ANTIAIRCRAFT GUNS, MAX RANGE THREE MILES, X-BAND BASS TILT
FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; SIXTEEN SS-N-12 ANTI-SHIP MISSILES, MAX
RANGE THREE HUNDRED MILES, JULIETT-BAND TARGET TRACKING ...”

           
“That’s good enough,” McLanahan
said, and
Denton
stopped the computerized report. “The
computer always reads the antiaircraft order of battle first, and now you know
the reason—that SA-N-6 system can eat our lunch right now, if they ever got a
lock on us. You should also know that the SA-N-6 is a very devastating anti-ship
weapon, too. You might want to scan through the ship’s radar fit, too—it’s
unlikely that a cruiser has a commercial Furuno or Oki nav radar, but sometimes
the military radars will look like commercial or civilian sets at long range or
low power—”

 
          
Suddenly,
an alarm rang out in all their headsets, and a blinking icon appeared on the
supercockpit display. “What is that?” Elliott asked.

 
          
McLanahan
urged Denton to start talking as they both studied the display: “High-speed
low-altitude missile,” Denton said. “Looks like it came from the Chinese
cruiser... second missile launch, same azimuth... shit, it looks like they’re
headed for the
Duncan
and
James Daniel!
The Chinese are firing
missiles at our frigates! More missiles . . . I’ve got at least four, no, five
... six missiles in the air! ”

 
          
“Brad,
let’s try to get within Scorpion range,” McLanahan shouted. The Megafortress
immediately banked right and began a fast descent in response. “DSO, you got
those inbounds?”

 
          
“No—no
uplink signal, no terminal radar detected,” Bruno reported.

 
          
“We
need the attack radar,” McLanahan said.

 
          
“Rog.
Crew, attack radar coming on,” Denton announced.

 
          
“What
do you got, Muck?” Elliott shouted on interphone.

 
          
“Six
supersonic ballistic missiles,” McLanahan said. “Not sure, but I think they
were fired from the large ship cruising west of the Navy frigates.”

 
          
“What
do you mean, you ‘think’ they were fired from that cruiser?”

 
          
“Because
we didn’t get an exact ID on the ship and they didn’t come exactly from that
ship’s azimuth,” McLanahan explained.

 
          
“But
it’s the only warship around, right?”

 
          
“I’m
not sure if it
is
a warship, Brad.”

 
          
“I
think we can assume six supersonic anti-ship missiles were fired from a ship
that big,” Elliott said. “Spin up the Strikers and let’s take that sucker
down.”

 
          
“Missiles
will impact in less than one minute,” Denton reported. “We should be in range
to intercept with Scorpion missiles.”

 
          
“I’ll
get on the horn with the Navy and warn them of the inbounds,” Nancy Cheshire,
the crew copilot, said.

 
          
“What
kind of ship is that out there?” Elliott asked.

 
          
“It’s
a cruiser,” Denton responded.

 
          
“We
don’t have an exact ID on it, I said,” McLanahan corrected him. “Computer
couldn’t match it, and we couldn’t get an eyeball.”

 
          
Elliott
was on the secure satellite channel in an instant: “Atlas, this is Headbanger,”
he radioed. “Are you getting the picture here? We’ve got six inbounds heading
for our frigates.”

 
          
“Headbanger,
this is Atlas,” the operator at the U.S. Pacific Command headquarters responded.
“We copy. Stand by.”

 
          
“Stand
by?” Elliott retorted. “Where the hell is Allen—having dinner with the Chinese
ambassador? We need a decision up here, Atlas!”

           
“The
James Daniel
reports they have contact on the inbounds,”
Cheshire
reported.

           
“Checks—both frigates opening fire,”
Denton
shouted as he watched missile icons
speeding away from the frigates toward the incoming Chinese missiles. “Looks
like they got a clear—”

 
          
“Fighters!”
Bruno shouted. “Large formation at four o’clock, five- zero miles, high . . .
another large formation at one o’clock, four-seven miles and closing, high.”

 
          
“This
is starting to smell like a trap,” Elliott said. “Secure the attack radar and
let’s—”

 
          
“More
fighters! ” Atkins reported for Bruno, who appeared to be getting a little
overwhelmed by this sudden attack. “Three o’clock, five-zero miles and closing
... first formation is breaking into two, we’ve got four formations of fighters
inbound on us! ”

 
          
“Attack
radar down,” McLanahan said, as Denton deactivated the Megafortress’s radar.

 
          
“The
inbound Chinese missiles disappeared!” Denton interjected. “Just before the
frigate’s missiles hit, they vanished!”

 
          
“Stallions,”
Atkins said. “Russian-made rocket-powered torpedoes. They’re sea-skimmers until
they get within SAM range of a target, then dive underwater.”

 
          
“More
fighters inbound!” Bruno shouted. “Two fighters, very high speed, two o’clock,
four-five miles and closing
fast!
Range forty miles ... they might have a radar lock on us! ”

 
          
“Might
be a Foxbat or Foxhound,” Elliott said. The Russian-made MiG-25 Foxbat and
MiG-31 Foxhound fighters, designed to intercept the American B-70, B-56,
FB-111, andB-1 supersonic strategic bombers, were all-titanium built Russian
superfighters, the fastest fighters in the world, capable of high-altitude
supersonic dashes well over three times the speed of sound; they had been on
the international export market for many years. “Get those damn things! ”

           
“C’mon, Ashley, get on ’em ... stand
by for pylon launch, crew! All countermeasures systems active! ” Atkins shouted
over interphone, reaching over Bruno’s shoulder and activating the Scorpion
antiaircraft missiles. Seconds later, he had designated two missiles apiece
against the incoming fighters, and the AIM-120 missiles were on the way . . .

 
          
.
. . but Bruno’s delay in launching the antiaircraft missiles proved decisive.
The incoming fighters started a descent at thirty miles that accelerated to
well over three times the speed of sound, heading directly at the Megafortress.
The Scorpion missiles expended all of their thrust in powering toward the
attackers, so by the time the missiles closed in on their targets, they had no
energy to maneuver and exploded several dozen yards aft of the high-speed
attackers.

 
          
“Clean
misses,” Atkins said. “Stand by for pylon ...” But just then, they heard a
fast-pitched
deedledeedledeedle!
warning tone. “Missile launch!” Atkins shouted.

 
          
“Break!”
Bruno shouted.

 
          
Just
as Elliott was going to ask which way to break, Atkins interjected, “Hold
heading, pilot! They’re trying a nose-to-nose launch—very low percentage,
especially against us. I’ve got the uplink shut down!” The Megafortress’s
powerful jammers shut down the fighters’ attack radar and the steering signal
between the missile and the launch aircraft; when the missiles’ own terminal
homing radar activated, the jammers shut them down too. At the same time, the
HAVE GLANCE active countermeasures system destroyed the missiles’ seekers with
laser beam blasts. But the Megafortress’s own attack radar automatically shut
down so the enemy missiles couldn’t home in on it, so they were temporarily
blind again. “You see them out there, pilot?”

 
          
“Negative
... wait, I got them! ” Cheshire shouted. “They’re headed right for us! Twelve
o’clock, about five miles, coming down fast! Ready to break!”