plane, Lieutenant Du Weiqing, said on intercom to the officer seated beside him, pilot Lieutenant Commander Bo Xueji. The JH-37 was based on the aircraft carrier Zheng He operating in the northern South China Sea one hundred and fifty miles southeast of Shantou, on routine patrol. It was armed with four Ying Ji (Hawk Attack)-83 missiles, which were sea-skimming ramjet-powered antiship weapons, plus two advanced PL-12 active/passive air-to-air missiles on wingtip pylons. “But these overwater patrols are so damned boring.”

“I agree,” Bo said. “But would you rather be back at the ship doing yet another additional duty?”

Buyongle, xiexie,” Du said. “No, thank you. I got ‘volunteered’ for two more of them yesterday.”

“Which ones?” Bo asked.

“Water survival instructor and assistant flight deck safety officer,” Du said morosely.

“Ah, just more opportunities to excel,” Bo said.

“Of course.” Du put his eyes up to the hood over his attack radar. “I have surface radar contact, twelve o’clock, ninety kilometers,” he reported. He entered commands into his targeting computer, then activated the JH- 37’s electro-optical camera. The MFD on the forward instrument panel showed a large replenishment ship. “Looks like a U.S. Navy oiler,” Du said.

“How far are we from Xisha Dao?” Bo asked.

Du called up an electronic chart on one of his MFDs. “Two hundred and ten kilometers,” he replied.

“All warships are supposed to be three hundred kilometers from shore, from other warships, or Nansha Dao or Xisha Dao,” Bo said. “He is in violation of the agreement!”

“It is just an oiler, not a warship.”

“It is a U.S. Navy vessel, and it is in violation of the agreement,” Bo said. “Send the contact information to the carrier and advise we are going to make contact.” Bo began a descent, allowing the Flying Leopard to accelerate past the speed of sound.

“Target image transmitted to the ship,” Du said a few minutes later. “Operations orders us to make contact with the vessel and ask about their intentions.”

“I will certainly make contact,” Bo said. He leveled off at one thousand feet above the sea and nudged the power up slightly to maintain supersonic speed, and they closed the distance quickly. Still going over Mach one, they overflew the oiler. Bo started a hard left bank. “Do I have your attention now, my friends?” he asked.

“Unidentified aircraft going supersonic, this is the replenishment ship USS Laramie,” came the call on the international maritime emergency channel. “You just overflew us going supersonic! That’s not permitted! Back off!”

“USS Laramie, this is Qianfeng Three-Three,” Bo radioed back. “You are sailing too close to Xisha Dao and are in violation of international agreements. State your intentions!”

Qianfeng Three-Three, we are an unarmed support vessel proceeding to port in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, for refueling and resupply,” came the reply. “We are a solo vessel and not a warship, and there are no restrictions on our movements. Do not overfly us again! We see you have some kind of missiles under your wings, so we will assume you have hostile intentions. Stay clear.”

“Assume anything you like, American bastard,” Bo said on intercom. “You cannot just sail around anywhere you like, especially not around a Chinese island.”

“Operations says they are dispatching a frigate to intercept the American,” Du said. “They order us to maintain contact until we reach return fuel state. They are launching another Leopard to relieve us.”

“As long as we are up here, why not practice some antiship missile attacks?” Bo said. “It will give us something to do.”

“Good idea,” Du said. “Master arm switch is off and switch cover is down.”

“My master switch is off as well,” Bo said, decelerating below the Mach to stay within antiship missile launch parameters.

Du ran his checklists and directed the pilot to fly in different directions, practicing attacks against the oiler from different aspects. It was easy to acquire and target the big oiler from the side, but a bit more challenging to get it from the stern and even harder from the bow. Du tried it with and without the radar and with and without the electro-optical sensor.

“This guy is totally dead,” Du said after their fifth pass. He took his eyes out of the radar hood, checked the navigation and systems readouts, made some flight log entries, and then pulled out a bottle of water and looked outside to relax his eyes. “About fifteen minutes before we have to head back to the ship. We can make one or two more passes and then . . . What in the world is that?” he suddenly shouted. Bo followed his weapons officer’s gaze out the cockpit canopy. There, not a hundred meters away off their left wingtip, was an immense light gray bomber aircraft! “Where did that come from?”

“It’s an American B-1 bomber!” Du said. He noticed the American flag painted on the tail, but at the base of the vertical stabilizer it had a U.S. civil aircraft registration number, N-03SM. The wings were swept at about forty degrees. They could see what looked to be a sensor pod under the fuselage on the right side. “How long has he been sitting out there?”

“I never saw anything until just now. Radio contact in to base and ask for interceptors.” While Du radioed back to base, Bo switched to his secondary radio, which was usually set to GUARD, the international emergency channel. “Unidentified American B-1 bomber aircraft,” he radioed in halting English, “this is Qianfeng Three-Three. We are conducting military patrol operations in this area. Identify yourself immediately.”

“This is Masters Zero-Three,” Tom Hoffman replied, piloting the XB-1 Excalibur bomber. “We’re just going to hang here for a while, check out a few things, and take some pictures. We won’t bug you.”

Although his English was better than most of the pilots in his squadron, Bo was having difficulty understanding the American. “United States Air Force bomber, be advised, we are conducting hazardous military flight operations in this area. You are ordered to exit this area immediately. Acknowledge.”

“We’re not an Air Force aircraft, just a civilian job,” Hoffman said. “We are conducting routine patrol and crew checkout operations in this area. We were told you overflew an American ship going supersonic, and we were sent to check you out. I think it’s time for you to go away and fly back to your carrier.”

“Masters Zero-Three, your request will not be followed,” Bo said, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “This is a People’s Liberation Army Navy military operation. No interference will be tolerated! Exit this area immediately or you may be intercepted by fighter aircraft and fired upon without warning. Acknowledge!”

“Look here, boys,” Hoffman said. “It’s a nice day for flying, so why don’t you just relax and we’ll just have a nice pleasant cruise out here—no reason to start getting all belligerent. Besides, we’re almost inside Taiwan’s air defense zone, and I don’t think they’d appreciate armed bombers flying around so close to their shoreline.”

“No interference will be tolerated!” Bo shouted on the radio. “Leave immediately! Acknowledge!”

“A JN-15 is en route,” Du said on intercom. “About ten minutes out. A JN-20 from the carrier Zheng He is being readied. We are to head back to the carrier to speed up the intercept.”

“Turn tail and run, with this bastard on my ass?”

“The fighters will chase him away,” Du said. “He is just trying to irritate us.”

“Well, he is doing a good job,” Bo said irritably. He forced himself to relax. “That guy has a civilian registration number. Could it be possible for civilians to . . . ?”

Qianfeng Three-Three, Operations,” came a radio call from their home base, “advise you . . .” And just then the transmission cut out.

“Operations, do you copy Striker Three-Three?” Du radioed. But as he spoke, his own words were repeated back to him, but delayed about one second . . . and he found it impossible to keep on speaking. He tried his best to ignore his own voice, but it was simply not possible to keep on speaking while his own voice was stepping on him!

“Say again, Three-Three” the operations officer on the Zheng He radioed. “You were . . .” But the transmission was again cut off.

“We are being meaconed,” Du said. “Someone is interfering with our radios, injecting a different signal onto

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