“Hydra flight, I say again, this is Armstrong,” the unknown female controller repeated. “We have a visual on your single-ship bogey. How do you copy?”
“Stand by, Armstrong.” The pilot switched over to his interplane frequency. “Lego, you have any idea who this skirt is?”
“Sure, Timber,” the pilot of the second Hornet in the formation replied. “They told us they’d be on tactical freq but they didn’t say they’d be talking to us. You must’ve been late to the briefing.”
“Well, who is she?”
“It’s the space station,” the wingman replied. “Armstrong Space Station. Remember? The big-ass UFO-‘Unwanted Floating Object.’”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, the damned Air Force,” the lead pilot complained. He remembered the briefing now: The Air Force’s military space station, Armstrong-what the Air Force was calling the headquarters of the U.S. Space Defense Force, although there was as yet no such thing-was conducting a test to see if its network of satellites could provide long-range surveillance data to tactical forces around the world. Instead of spying on big targets like enemy military bases, the Air Force wanted to see if they had enough capability to watch over and even direct forces right down to individual aircraft, ships, and squads. “Hey, Hydra One, is this for real?”
“Timber, this is an operational test,” the CAG, or Carrier Air Group commander, radioed from the USS George H. W. Bush, steaming about four hundred miles away. His radio messages were being relayed via an E-2C Hawkeye radar plane orbiting nearby. “If they can’t keep up, we’ll terminate. Otherwise, play along.”
“Rog,” the leader responded resignedly. Back on the tactical frequency: “Armstrong, Hydra flight, what do you got?”
In response, the F/A-18’s MFD, or Multi-Function Display, changed to show the Hornets and the single unidentified aircraft they were pursuing. The Hornet’s radar was in standby, but the display looked as if the radar was transmitting and locked on. The fire control computer was using the information from the space station to compute intercepts, weapon parameters, and was even reporting ready to steer radar-guided missiles-all as if the Hornet’s own radar was providing the information!
“You getting this, Timber?” the wingman radioed. “Pretty fucking cool.”
“We get the same dope from the Hawkeye.”
“Negatory. Select F11.”
The leader noticed the flashing soft key on the edge of his MFD and pressed it-and to his amazement saw a video image of a large fighter aircraft with two immense weapons or tanks under its wings. It wasn’t a still image either-they could actually see the crewmembers through the canopy glass moving about and the ocean racing underneath. “Is that the bogey?” he asked incredulously. He keyed the button for the tactical frequency. “Armstrong, is that our bogey?”
“Affirmative,” the controller aboard the space station replied, the satisfaction in her voice evident. She seemed a lot older than most of the female Navy controllers he was accustomed to working with. “Coming at you at the speed of live. I make it as a Sukhoi-34 Fullback. I can’t verify any markings, and we can’t positively identify what it’s carrying, but they look like antiship missiles.”
Well, the leader thought, that was pretty cool. But it didn’t replace Mark One eyeballs. “I’m impressed, Armstrong,” he said, “but we still gotta go in and do a visual.”
“Roger,” the Armstrong controller said. “I can’t give you bull’ seye vectors, but I can give you BRA picture calls.”
The Air Force gadgets were cool, for sure, and the leader was even impressed that the lady Air Force controller knew the difference between “bull’s-eye” vectors-bearings relative to a prebriefed reference point used instead of the fighter’s own location so an enemy that might pick up their broadcast couldn’t use the information to pinpoint the fighter itself-and less secure BRA calls, or bearing-range-altitude from the fighter’s nose. But this was a real mission, not playtime-it was time to go to work. “Negative, Armstrong, we’ll be talking to our own controller for the intercept. Break. Spinner Three, Hydra One-Two-One flight, bogeydope.”
“Roger, Hydra flight, ‘Wicker’ Two-Zero-Zero at niner-five, medium, single ship,” the weapons director aboard the E-2C Hawkeye airborne radar controller responded. The “bogeydope” call meant that the Hornet pilot was not using his radar but was relying on the Hawkeye’s radar information for the position of the unidentified aircraft he had been sent to pursue. “Wicker” was the designation of the “bull’s-eye” they’d use for the intercept.
Of course, the pilot already had the target’s information, because the digital electronic datalink between all American aircraft around the world displayed the Hawkeye’s radar data on the Hornet’s primary flight display as if he was using his radar. The Hornet pilot was an old stick-in fact, he was the squadron operations officer-so he kept on using voice brevity codes even though his reports were all redundant. But the weapons director on the Hawkeye was a veteran, too, and he still liked the voice reports. As long as the radios weren’t saturated and the situation was routine, a little chatter was allowed.
The unknown aircraft had been detected by the E-2C Hawkeye while over five hundred miles from the aircraft carrier George H. W. Bush and its battle group, and the Bush had immediately launched the “Ready-5” F/A-18E Super Hornet fighters, put more fighters on the number one and two catapults, and prepared to launch buddy air refueling tankers as well. All of the alert Hornets were armed with two radar-guided AIM-120 AMRAAM air-to-air missiles under each wing, one AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking missile on each wingtip, and 578 rounds of twenty- millimeter ammunition for its cannon, plus a 480-gallon fuel tank on a centerline stores station.
By the time the Hornets caught up with the bogey it was inside three hundred miles to the carrier and still closing. “Flying less than four hundred knots, Timber-gotta be a patrol plane, not a Sukhoi-34,” the wingman radioed, reading the datalinked information streaming from the Hawkeye. “It looked like a fighter, but he’s flying awfully-”
Just then the radar warning receiver bleeped. “Not so fast, Lego,” the lead pilot responded. “X-band radar- airborne fire control. He’s tracking us. Going active.” The lead pilot activated his APG-79 radar and immediately locked onto the aircraft. “Fence check, Lego, pull ’em tight.”
“I’m ready to rock-and-roll, Lead,” the wingman reported a moment later.
“Roger that. Take spacing.” As the wingman moved away to a higher altitude and dropped back a little to be able to launch an attack on the unknown aircraft if necessary, the leader switched his number two radio to the international UHF emergency channel: “Unidentified aircraft, this is U.S. Navy interceptor aircraft, we are at your eleven o’clock position and one thousand feet above you. You are heading toward an American warship. We are maneuvering around you for visual identification. Please acknowledge.”
“American Navy interceptor aircraft, this is Yu One-Four of the People’s Liberation Army Navy,” a heavily accented voice responded after a slight but disconcerting silence. “We have you on radar contact. Please identify type aircraft.”
“Yu One-Four, this is Hydra One-Two-One flight of two, F/A-18 Hornets, United States Navy.” Normally he wouldn’t say how many planes were in his flight, but that was a pretty powerful radar this guy had-no doubt he already knew. “Say your type aircraft, please.”
“Yu One-Four is a Jian Hong-37N, single ship.” The tone was conversational and pleasant, almost jovial.
“A JH-37?” the wingman remarked. “What the hell is that? Is that like a JH-7?”
“Yu One-Four, roger,” the leader responded. “Please say armament if any.”
“Repeat, please, Hydra One-Two-One?”
“Are you armed, One-Four? Any weapons?”
“Weapons. Yes. We have weapons. Am not permitted to reveal type.”
“Yu One-Four, you are headed directly toward an American warship in international waters,” the leader said. “We will conduct a visual inspection of your aircraft.”
“Please stay well clear, Hydra One-Two-One. Do not approach.” The tone now was still pleasant, like a friend gently reminding of possible danger ahead.
“If you continue your present course, Yu One-Four, we will conduct a visual inspection. Please reverse course, or maintain present speed and altitude for our visual inspection.”
“Close flying is not permitted, Hydra One-Two-One.” More officious now, but still pleasant.
“Hydra, Spinner, threat, ten o’clock,” the Hawkeye weapons director radioed on the number one radio, advising the Hornets that they were within ten miles of an unidentified aircraft.
“Hydra One-Two-One flight is ‘judy,’ going in for a closer look,” the leader radioed back. On the secondary radio he said, “I say again, Yu One-Four, do not make any sudden maneuvers.”
