Tiger's Claw: A Novel

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Patrick said. “One-Four, this is Zero-Three,” he radioed on the secure command channel. “Any contact from Cutlass?”

“Negative, Zero-Three,” Tom Hoffman responded. “Nothing from the Patriot engagement control centers either.”

“I’m going to fly over the base and take a look with the Sniper pod,” Patrick said.

“Roger. We’ll stay up here.”

The entire island looked completely dark. Patrick could see a few lights on the base, but it too was mostly dark. He descended to a thousand feet aboveground, mindful of Mount Santa Rosa, Mount Barrigada, and other high hills and obstructions around the base, slowed to approach speed, sweeping the wings forward and lowering flaps and slats to get a good look.

“One-Four, this is Zero-Three, I see several impact points,” Patrick reported. Brad seemed to be frozen in his ejection seat as he watched the horrific Sniper pod images on his multifunction display. “Looks like direct hits on the command center, several on the aircraft parking ramp, fuel farm, and transformer farm. Several aircraft on fire. One crater down about five thousand feet on runway two-four left, but it’s off to the side between the runway and taxiway and I think it’s passable or avoidable. Runway two-four right took a couple hits—I think it’s out of commission.”

“Bastards,” Hoffman responded.

On the secure command channel McLanahan spoke: “Break. Task Force Leopard, this is Masters Zero-Three, how copy?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” replied Lieutenant Colonel Franklin “Wishbone” McBride, the most senior member of the alert birds and task force commander, flying as aircraft commander aboard the B-2A Spirit stealth bomber.

“Did you contact PACAF yet, Wishbone?”

“Negative,” McBride said. “I wanted to get all the alert birds in their orbits and settled down, and then I was going to send a B-1 to look over the runway which you’ve already done, get everybody back on the ground, then ask for instructions. We copied your report about the base, and we could see your Sniper video over JTIDS. Looks like we can still use runway two-four left okay.”

“What are you talking about, Wishbone?” Patrick asked. “We’ve got missions to fly. I’m down to just Sidewinders for air-to-air, but we’ve still got JASSMs and HARMs. Let’s get on it. We’re wasting fuel.”

“What missions, McLanahan?” McBride asked, forgetting to address the retired general with more respect. “I was there when Cutlass explained it to you: the missions on our computers are not real.”

“Cutlass is probably dead, McBride,” Patrick said. “Is that real enough for you? I looked at some of those targets—they looked real enough to me, and when a SAM comes up we’ll be shooting at the real thing.”

“You’re insane, McLanahan!” McBride exclaimed. “You can’t fly that jet all the way to China and back! It’s illegal! You have no authorization! Those planes don’t belong to you!”

“You’re wrong there, McBride—they do belong to me,” Patrick said. “The Air Force just rents them from me. And I’ve never been told by the Air Force that our missions aren’t real. Are you going to fly the strike mission or not, McBride?”

“There are no strike missions, McLanahan!” McBride cried. “Don’t you get it? It’s all for show. Now get off the radios and let me coordinate getting our asses back on the ground!”

“Call up the strike plan, Brad,” Patrick said on intercom. Brad had it loaded in seconds. “Masters aircraft, head for ARCP number one. Check in.” The ARCP, or Air Refueling Control Point, was common to all the strike plans for all aircraft.

“Zero-Five copies,” Ed Gleason responded.

“Zero-Nine, wilco,” Sondra Eddington replied.

“One-One, roger,” replied Sam Jacobs, one of the young nonex-military pilots hired by Sky Masters for the Excalibur project.

“One-Four, roger,” Tom Hoffman replied.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” McBride exclaimed. He obviously saw the XB-1s leaving their assigned parking orbits on his JTIDS display. “Get back in your damned anchors, now!”

“Masters flight, switch to KBAM Uniform,” Patrick ordered.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Punch in Battle Mountain’s UHF tower freq for me, Brad,” Patrick said.

“Done.”

“Masters flight, check.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Five.” Everyone had figured out what Patrick had in mind.

“Why’d you do that, Dad?” Brad asked.

“Because I knew all the Battle Mountain guys would know the frequency, but I’m betting the Air Force guys won’t,” Patrick explained. “I don’t want to listen to McBride yelling at us.”

“So we’re going to bomb China, Dad?”

“Unless you don’t want to do this, Brad,” Patrick said. “I didn’t have any time to ask you. Like you said, you came along just to do an evacuation, not a combat mission. I don’t even know if you know how to work the offensive systems—we won’t have the remote systems operators working with us.”

“I think I can work it.”

Patrick looked over at his son. “Are you okay with all this, Brad?”

“I think so, Dad,” Brad said in a low voice. “I mean, I want to be there for you, and if I say no you’d have to turn around, land, and find somebody else to go—or maybe they wouldn’t let you take off again. I’m . . . I’m just . . .”

“What, son?”

“I’m just afraid if I chicken out,” Brad said. “I mean, I’ve never been in combat before except in the Cybernetic Infantry Device, and that thing kicks butt so bad it’s really not fair to call it combat.” The Cybernetic Infantry Device was a manned robot that gave its pilot incredible strength, speed, vision, and attack capabilities, akin to an entire armored infantry platoon; Brad had been checked out in it and had gotten to use it to ambush and capture terrorists who were out to kill his father. “I’m just worried I’ll wimp out on you.”

“Everyone is worried about that, Brad, no matter how experienced you are,” Patrick said.

“Even you, Dad?”

“Of course,” Patrick admitted. “I’m leading my son and four other crews and four other bombers into battle against the largest army and the fourth-largest air force in the world. You don’t think I’m scared of that? But I think of what we saw back at Andersen Air Force Base, and I think of what the Chinese did and what they’ve done in the past, and I know I need to do something.” Brad fell silent. Patrick keyed the mic button: “Masters flight, I know you might think this is loco. If you don’t want to risk it, you can head back to Andersen with the others.”

“We’re not leaving, General,” Ed Gleason said. “We’re lucky we weren’t on the ground when those bastards hit us. I’m not going back without a little payback.”

“Three,” Sondra radioed.

“Four,” said Jacobs.

“Five,” Hoffman replied. “Goes double for me.”

“Thanks, guys,” Patrick said. He looked at the flight plan. “I’ve got one hour and twenty minutes to the start- countermeasures point. Check over your equipment and weapons and let me know any problems, and study your targets and threats and let’s talk about it. And thanks again for leaning into this with me.”