close to the centerline in case the bogeys make an incursion.”
“Roger that,” said Trash, and he followed Cheese’s descent and turn. He did not think for a moment that the two Chinese pilots were going to do anything more than what he’d seen the past four days, and he knew Cheese felt the same, but Trash also knew Cheese was careful enough to not get caught with his pants down, finding himself and his wingman out of position if the Chinese fighters entered Taiwanese airspace.
The Hawkeye updated Cheese. “Magic Two-One. Bogeys zero-two-zero, four-zero miles, ten thousand… climbing.”
“Magic Two-One, roger,” responded Cheese.
A moment after this transmission, the Hawkeye air combat officer notified Cheese that the bogeys approaching the Taiwanese F-16s to the south were following a similar flight path.
Trash said, “Looks like this could be coordinated.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” replied Cheese. “That’s a different tactic from what they’ve been doing. They’ve been sending up flights of two. I wonder if two flights of two at the same time in adjacent sectors means they are raising the stakes.”
“We’re about to find out.”
Cheese and Trash widened their formation and pulled out of their descent at fifteen thousand feet. The Hawkeye divided its time between sending them updates on the two unknown bogeys heading toward them and passing on information to the ROC Air Force F-16s forty miles to the south of the Marines’ sector over the strait.
Just after the Hawkeye announced that the two bogeys heading toward Magic Two-One and Magic Two-Two were twenty miles away, the ACO added, “They are still heading toward the centerline of the strait. At current speed and heading they will breach in two minutes.”
“Roger,” said Cheese. He squinted into the distance to try and pick them out in front of the white clouds and gray of the mainland in the distance.
“Magic Two-One, Hawkeye. New contact. Four bogeys taking off at Fuzhou and approaching the strait. Climbing rapidly and turning south, angels three and climbing.”
Now things were getting complicated, Trash realized. He had two Chinese fighters of unknown type heading directly toward him and his flight leader, two more threatening the sector just south of him, and now four more bogeys heading in behind the first group.
The ACO announced he had a flight of four Navy F/A-18 Super Hornets finishing up air-refueling over the east of Taiwan Island, and he would expedite moving them to the Marines’ sector in support just as soon as he could.
Cheese said, “Trash, I’ve got the bogeys on radar, they are just off my nose. Are you tally?”
Trash clicked a button and removed most of the digital data projected on his heads-up display and his helmet-mounted cueing system, then squinted as he peered ahead out past the HUD into the sky.
“No joy,” he said, but he kept looking.
Cheese said, “Sixty seconds to intercept, let’s fly heading zero-thirty, a twenty-degree offset so they can see we aren’t threatening them.”
“Roger that,” replied Trash, and he tipped his wing to the right, following Cheese’s turn so that the bogeys were no longer directly on their nose.
Within a few seconds Cheese said, “Bogeys are jinking left to come back on an intercept course. Descending, let’s speed it up.”
“Sons of bitches,” said Trash, and he felt a new level of tension instantly. The Chinese pilots were screaming toward the centerline and overtly pointing their noses, which meant their radars and their weapons, directly at the two Marine aircraft.
With an intercept speed of more than twelve hundred miles an hour now, Trash knew things were about to start happening very, very quickly.
Cheese said, “Turn heading three-forty; let’s pull away from them again.”
Trash banked with Cheese back to the left, and within ten seconds he could see on his radar that the Chinese were mirroring the maneuver. He reported, “Bogeys are jinking back to us, bearing oh-one-five, two-eight miles. Fourteen thousand.”
Trash heard the Hawkeye ACO acknowledge this and then immediately divert his attention back to the ROC F-16s, who were seeing similar moves from their bogeys.
“Spike,” said Cheese now, indicating that one of the bogeys had locked on Cheese’s plane with his radar.
Trash heard the spike warning for his own jet just a moment later.
“I’m spiked, too. These guys aren’t fucking around, Cheese.”
Cheese gave the next order with a tone of seriousness that Trash seldom heard from the major: “Magic Two-Two, Master Arm on.”
“Roger,” said Trash. He flipped his Master Arm into the armed position, ensuring all his weapons were hot and he had the launch of his air-to-air missiles at his fingertips. He still did not think he was about to get into a fight, but the level of threat had gone up precipitously with the enemy’s radar lock, and he knew he and Cheese needed to be ready in case this devolved from an incident into a fight.
The ACO announced almost simultaneously that the Taiwanese had reported a spike.
Trash followed Cheese’s turn yet again, away from the centerline and away from the approaching aircraft. He looked out the side of his canopy now, using his “Jay-Macks,” his joint helmet-mounted cueing system, a smart visor on his helmet that gave him much of his heads-up information even when he looked left, right, and above his HUD. Through it he saw two black specks streaking in their direction over a backdrop of a puffy white cloud.
He spoke quickly and energetically, but he was a pro, there was no unnecessary excitement in his voice. “Magic Two-Two. Tally two bandits. Ten o’clock, just slightly low. Possible Super 10s.” No American had ever come up against China’s most advanced operational frontline fighter, the Chengdu J-10B Super 10, a newer version of the J-10 Annihilator. Trash knew the J-10 airframe used composite materials just like his own and its reduced radar signature was designed to make a radar missile lock difficult. The B model supposedly had an upgraded electronic warfare suite that helped in this regard as well.
It was a smaller aircraft than the F/A-18 and it possessed only a single engine to the Hornet’s two, but the Russian-built turbofan gave the nimble fighter plenty of power for air-to-air engagements.
“Roger that,” said Cheese. “Guess it’s our lucky day.”
The Chinese had more than two hundred sixty J-10s in service, but probably fewer than forty B variants. Trash did not respond; his game face was on.
Cheese said, “They are turning back hot! Thirty seconds from the centerline and displaying hostile intent.”
Trash expected to hear the Hawkeye ACO acknowledge Cheese’s transmission, but instead he spoke in a loud voice, “Magic flight, be advised. ROC flight south of you is under attack and defensive, missiles in the air.”
Trash spoke with astonishment into his radio: “Holy fucking shit, Scott.”
Cheese saw the J-10s in front of him now and reported that he had visual. “Tally two on my nose. Confirmed Super 10s. Hawkeye, are we cleared hot?”
Before the Hawkeye answered, Trash said, “Roger, two on your nose. Tell me which one to take.”
“I’ve got the one on the left.”
“Roger, I’ve got the guy on the right.”
Cheese confirmed, “Roger, Two-Two, you have the trailing aircraft on the right.”
Now Trash’s HUD and his missile warning system announced that a missile launch had been detected. One of the J-10s had just fired at him. He saw in his HUD that the time-to-target of the inbound missile was thirteen seconds.
“Missile in the air! Missile in the air! Breaking right! Magic Two-Two defensive!”
The legs of his g-suit filled with air, forcing the blood in the upper part of his body to stay there so his brain would continue to think and his pounding heart would continue to pound.
He grunted against the g-forces.
