over the enemy gave a striking advantage.
Lieutenant Harris wiped a wrist across his mouth. America had none of these advantages here. The Chinese particularly were rich as a people and a nation. They had bought the best planes and drones and logged hundreds of hours, perfecting their pilots. Perhaps, America would have tactical surprise tonight—
“Look at that,” a drone operator said.
Harris stopped breathing as he watched his split screen. One side showed him what the V-10’s cameras “saw.” The other was an aerial map of SoCal. The red dots—the Chinese—began to fill the “southern” edge of his screen. More kept appearing, making it a blizzard over there.
“Look at them.”
“I’m looking,” Harris said.
As he did, American wild weasels surged to the forefront. They jammed enemy radar and applied other electronic counter-measures. They attempted to blind the Chinese by throwing a blanket over their early warning stations. Behind the wild weasels followed heavier “Buffalo” drones. These launched flocks of anti-radar missiles, with the missiles zeroing in on Chinese radar and other air-detection stations. These rode the enemy radar beams straight down to their targets. Even if the enemy turned the beams off as a countermeasure, the missiles remembered where their targets were and struck them anyway.
The command came then and Lieutenant Harris and his fellow operators launched their V-10s for the Mexican-Californian border.
Harris took his drone low. He didn’t want to lose his UCAV to enemy flak, tac-lasers or SAMs. Flying low and fast was the way to avoid most of those. The trouble was that this was one of the thickest SAM belts in the world.
Like a swarm of angry bees, the American V-10s raced over the border and lifted their noses to engage the enemy drones, firing anti-air missiles and cannons.
Lieutenant Harris had other orders. As his fellow V-10s engaged the enemy, he raced deeper into Mexico at treetop level. Through his VR goggles, he saw endless splashes and flares of brilliant light. Those were enemy and friendly kills. Twice his threat-receiver blinked, warning him of enemy radar lock-on. Harris released chaff and an echo decoy. It gave off a V-10 signature. Seconds later, a nearby explosion rocked his drone.
In his padded chair in San Diego, Harris’s head wobbled. The action was more noticeable to him because of the weight of his headgear. It felt as if he was in a gym doing a neck exercise. The motion was a reaction to the feedback vibration of the VR system.
Fortunately his threat receiver was quiet now. He’d shaken the radar fix. Grimly, Harris took his drone even lower. He passed a brick building, flashing over it by a mere fifty meters. Since it was a drone, he could take greater chances than a regular pilot could.
His target was an enemy AWACS plane, which stayed well behind the border by several hundred miles. The Chinese had ten up now and could put up more. But that would take time. Whoever had greater air control and better eyes gained a critical advantage for as long as it lasted. And AWACS were high-value targets, expensive, full of specialists, and hard to replace.
The minutes ticked by. The threat receiver blinked. Harris released another packet of chaff. He was deep behind the giant air battle going on over the border. Enemy lasers flashed there, cutting down American aircraft. A thousand Chinese SAMs made it a pilot’s nightmare.
“Come on, baby,” Harris whispered. He wiped a sweaty palm on his pants.
Minutes passed. He was far behind the giant air battle now. He needed to reach the AWACS. There were others like him, he knew, hunting their own AWACS craft. Would any of them make it? If not…it was over for their side.
More time passed. Then it got sticky. A buzzing in his ear told Harris Chinese radar had fixed on him tight. Back here, that would likely mean SAMs.
Harris released his last packet of chaff and two echo decoys. He didn’t have any more now. If the nearby AWACS was smart, it would be turning retrograde, trying to escape.
Harris checked his fuel level. If he used afterburners to catch the enemy, he’d never make it back. “Let’s kiss this bastard,” he said. It was all or nothing tonight.
He kicked in the afterburners and the V-10 became the bat out of hell. Twelve miles from target, ten, eight —Harris lifted his drone sharply. The target acquisition indicator growled in his ear. In his VR goggles, a crosshairs fixed on the enemy AWACS five miles away. Yeah, it was fleeing, racing for the ground, hoping to get lost in the clutter.
“This is with love, baby,” Harris said. He toggled and fired two Sun-stinger missiles. They launched from the V-10 and flashed at the enemy, rapidly building speed at a terrible velocity. A ray burned in the darkness—visible on the V-10’s infrared scanner—and one Sun-stinger disintegrated.
The enemy AWACS was diving hard and it was expelling chaff like a snowfall. Would American electronics in the Sun-stinger defeat that?
Harris watched avidly through his VR goggles. He licked his lips. “Come on,” he whispered.
The speeding Sun-stinger exploded against the enemy’s tail. It was pure ecstasy.
“Hit,” Harris said.
Seconds later, a Chinese SAM scored its own hit, killing his V-10 and taking Lieutenant Harris’s drone out of the opening air battle of the war.
Marshal Nung shrugged on his jacket as he entered the underground command bunker. His hair was still messed up from sleep. He had taken several tranks earlier in order to get a good night’s sleep before the beginning of tomorrow’s invasion. Now he threw two amphetamines into his mouth, slugged back some tea and swallowed the lumps. Afterward, he accepted his military cap from an aide and jammed into onto his head.
“Report!” he barked, noticing that for once Marshal Gang wasn’t here “observing.”
“The Americans,” General Pi said, looking up from the green command screen. “They’re throwing their air at us. It is most bewildering.”
Nung scowled. “A night before our big assault and they attack? That doesn’t make sense. Did they know what we are going to do?”
General Pi shook his narrow face. “No, Marshal. Our lasers and flak are decimating them, and our drones are killing the rest. They’re throwing away what air force they have. It doesn’t make sense.”
“What about enemy missiles?” Nung asked.
“They’ve taken out a few radar stations. Well, a large number of them, but not enough to affect the overall efficiency of our tac-lasers.”
“Sir, they’ve launched satellites,” an operator said. The man watched on one of the many screens in the room.
“Call Space Command,” Nung said.
“We have, sir,” Pi said. “Space Command is targeting the satellites with strategic lasers. The American won’t be watching us from space for long.”
“Are they attempting to create lanes in our airspace for nuclear-tipped missiles?” Nung asked. That was the only thing that made sense to him.
“That is also my impression, sir,” General Pi said. “Otherwise, this is a meaningless attack.”
“No,” Nung said, scowling at the computer table. “It isn’t meaningless. The Americans aren’t fools.” He stared at the situational map as Pi kept changing screen shots. “I find it hard to accept they would go nuclear,” Nung said. “We would shoot down many of those missiles. Afterward, China might well launch a retaliatory strike. But if they’re not going nuclear…” Nung became thoughtful. “Give me a strategic look of the Mexican-Californian border.”
Pi touched the screen, bringing up the strategic map of Southern California.
Nung scowled at it. “Show me the destroyed radar installations.”
Pi tapped the screen several times. Tiny pink lines like threads appeared on the screen.
“Where do those lines lead?” Nung asked.
Pi shook his head.
