“I’m aware of that, Major. But this is our duty. If you’re reluctant to fulfill your duty, I’m sure Major-General Wei will be interested to know why, when we return to base.
There was a pause, then, “I’m right behind you, sir.”
Without responding, Hua nosed the SU-37 downward and tried to see what was happening near the water. Unfortunately, visibility was poor at this altitude because golden sunlight hazed the canopy, while the ocean below hid in shadow. On radar, there was no repeat of the fast-moving blip.
He had pretty much given up hope when, at about a thousand meters, he dropped into the shadows. Visibility instantly cleared, and Hua scanned the sea for activity. He immediately spotted a pale, ghostly flicker just above the water, not two miles ahead. It didn’t register on radar, but when a flock of seagulls scattered before it, Hua knew he’d found his aircraft. He flipped on his radio again.
“Tai. There is an unidentified jet aircraft flying at wave level. Do you see it? I’m closing in.”
“Colonel… is this Headquarters’ order?”
Hua was surprised. His wingman was usually not much interested in what Headquarters said; Tai was fond of quoting the historic general Sun Tzu’s famous edict: “No evil is greater than commands of the sovereign from the court.”
“There is no need to report to Headquarters,” Hua said. “Not until I’m sure the situation warrants it.”
“
“I feel lucky.” Hua was closing in on the intruder now; he eased the SU-37’s throttles back to reduce speed slightly as he descended along the fighter pilot’s favorite attack vector — behind and above.
He was frustrated that he couldn’t immediately discern the intruder’s exact shape or size; like any fighter pilot, he was trained to recognize enemy airframes. All he could see was a dim, rakish shape so vague it actually seemed to
Hua moved in slowly, a tiger stalking its prey. The intruder still didn’t seem to realize it was being shadowed; it kept zipping along at wave-top level without any deviation in course, heading straight toward the big island. Hua frowned. Perhaps the intruder’s radar was faulty. Or…
Perhaps this whole thing was a trap, and Hua had jumped right into it. He quickly scanned his radar. There was the faintest trace of an image dead ahead — the kind of return a seagull might create.
He eased closer, closer. Finally, at a distance of only two hundred meters, his heart began to pound faster. Now he could really see the intruder. In size it was considerably smaller than his own SU-37. In shape it was a kind of boomerang, thickened in the middle, and with no tail surfaces at all. Each wing ended in an upright, inward- canted winglet. It reminded him of both the American F-117 and the B-2 Bomber, yet the actual shape was distinctly different from both.
“Tai,” he said over tactical, almost whispering. “Do you see this?”
“Yes, sir.” His wingman’s voice sounded a bit thin.
Hua eased forward a bit more, then held position, thinking. Who was to say this was not some super-secret, experimental Chinese aircraft, something so secret not even the PLA Air Force had been notified that it would be overflying the area? That was possible. And if it were true, and he shot the plane down…
He should call this in, but he was loathe to surrender control of the situation. Finally, he settled on a compromise. He switched his radar into targeting mode and his microphone to the international air distress frequency monitored by every aircraft in the civilized world and said, in Cantonese, “Unidentified aircraft, this is SU-37 221 of the People’s Liberation Army Air Force. You are in the national airspace of the People’s Republic of China. I have you in my gun sights. Please state your nationality and intentions. Over.”
There was no response. He repeated the challenge in English. Still no response. The intruder just kept flying along, low and level, with the big island rising out of the water in front of it.
In a minute or two the plane would enter SAR airspace, which would complicate matters considerably.
Hua banked to the left and pushed his throttles forward, drawing up parallel with the intruder, but at a wary distance. Still, he was close enough to notice stealthy details like top-mounted air intakes and a slit-shaped exhaust. He couldn’t quite make out the shape of the canopy. It must be tinted to match the camouflage paint; an interesting idea. Regardless, the pilot had to have seen him by now.
Yet there was no deviation in course or speed.
Growing angry, Hua keyed the radio on and issued his challenge again.
No response.
“Excellent,” Hua said, and pulled back up into killing position. He switched the radio to tactical. “Tai, you are my witness that I repeatedly challenged this aircraft and received no acknowledgment. It is time to end this.”
“You still haven’t checked with Headquarters?”
“When an unidentified military aircraft invades PRC territory and refuses to acknowledge official contact, I have to assume its intentions are hostile. There is no need to contact Headquarters. Now, prepare to fire.”
“As you wish.”
The blurry roar of a high-speed cannon caught him by surprise. Had he pushed the trigger? Then his control stick began pounding against his gloved palm, and he heard the scream of alarm sirens and saw warning lights flashing all over his panel. The plane yawed violently to the left. Hua immediately kicked the right rudder pedal to the floor but the SU-37 kept rotating the wrong way, the intruder vanishing from sight.
A horrible ratcheting sound came from the left engine, and blistering heat washed over Hua’s shoulder and back. A moment later the canopy imploded in a shower of Plexiglas shards. Hua’s left knee turned into red mist. The instrument panel disintegrated. As Hua threw his head back in anguish, he saw his wingman’s plane flash overhead, completely intact, cannon blazing. Through his agony, Hua was briefly confused: At this angle Tai couldn’t possibly be shooting at the intruder — so what
The answer must be important. But while he tried to figure it out, the sky vanished, replaced by the glassy indigo surface of the South China Sea. The water was so smooth and dark he could clearly see the reflection of his beloved plane in it, blazing like a meteorite, growing larger and larger and —
Not a meteorite. A dragon.
Falling from heaven.
The E-2C Hawkeye cut lazy circles in the sky, cruising at its most economical speed of 269 knots. Deployed from the USS
“Now, what do you guess that was all about?” Fingers asked in her down-east accent as she stared at the her radar scope.
“Define ‘that’, Fingers,” the pilot, Rabbit, asked.
“Those two Flankers we were watching dropped down to the deck, and now only one of them is coming back up.”
“The other one must be lost in surface clutter.” Rabbit’s yawn was clear over the ICS, the internal communication system.
“I don’t know, but the one I see is really hightailing it home.” Fingers worked the radar controls with the deft touch of a violinist playing an arpeggio. She tweaked the resolution, added a filter to clear up the surface clutter, then swore softly. Still only one Flanker — where the hell was the other one? “Makes me nervous when our PLA friends play hide-and-seek.”
“Relax, Fingers. This is Hong Kong, not the Spratleys. The PLA isn’t going to do anything stupid this close to
