“Your dot.”
The first missile dropped off the Tomcat’s wing, and shot unerringly for the lead of the two Chinese fighters.
In short succession, lead and his wing fired off another three missiles. If that didn’t do it, they were prepared to get serious.
“You see?” Goforth shouted, almost jumping up and down to get Chang Tso-Lin’s attention. “They’re taking on the Chinese fighters — not you! They turned as soon as the fighters were inbound!” He stepped two respectful paces back, kept his eyes lowered, trying desperately to sound like a respectful officer conscious of the power of his captain. “Captain, I’m simply asking permission to contact my admiral. He has inadvertently created a misunderstanding that I know he would be most sorrowful about. He said, watch what we do, not what we say.” He pointed to the screen. “That’s who we are, sir. And that’s how we value our alliance with your nation.”
“Break right! break right!” the lead howled, throwing his own aircraft to the left in a nose-down attitude. His altimeter wound down as he peeled off altitude.
The missile zoomed between them, traveling too fast to make a turn and come back on them. When it tried to search the area for another target, it confronted a snowstorm of chaff and decoys in the air, including two infrared flares. It paused, unable to find the sweet hot target it had been following before, then picked the most probable location and detonated. Its bundle of expanding rods ripped through the air, shredding the chaff into even smaller pieces and further confusing the second missile coming.
“Get by the chaff, get by the chaff!” the lead shouted, doing just that as he snapped the aircraft back up into a hard drive, kicking in the afterburners. The afterburners were a risk, providing an enticingly clear target should the Americans fire the heat seeker, but it was a risk he had to take. It was more dangerous to remain alone in the air without the sheltering fog of chaff.
His wingman, however, was not so lucky. As the second missile turned, catching a glimpse of them with its seeker head, he panicked. He turned away from it and ran, kicking in full afterburners, making it an even more attractive target. The missile had no doubt about what it should do. It homed in unerringly, and, moving at twice the maximum speed of the aircraft, caught it within seconds. The result was a blinding fireball of orange, red, and metal sparking off into the air.
The lead felt a rush of pain, as his wingman was an old friend, but there was no time for sentiment, not if he was going to get out of this alive. He pumped out more chaff, making a trail back to where the fireball was, hoping that would distract the subsequent missile. He jockeyed to stay behind it as long as it was burning, and popped up more chaff and flares to create an additional distraction. On his heads-up display, he saw two more missiles inbound.
All measures — they said all measures. He screwed up his courage, shot up above the sheltering cloud of chaff, and bore directly down on the missiles.
“What’s that crazy bastard doing?” the RIO asked. “He’s heading right for us. Doesn’t he know he’s outnumbered?”
“He couldn’t miss his wing going down,” the pilot answered. “He’s a gutsy bastard, I’ll give him that.”
As they watched, the Chinese fighter headed directly for the two missiles. Then the pilot felt a creeping sensation of uneasiness. “Head-to-head — the closure rate of Mach 5. If he—”
Just then, his HUD anticipated his next words. The Chinese pilot let the missiles get so close he could almost touch them, then jerked violently upward, then down, porpoising around them. The missiles tried to make the turn, but the first one nicked the second, and both exploded.
“Okay, we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the pilot said. He punched in the afterburners, and headed for the MiG.
The wingman circled around, coming in at an angle, and intended to trap the Chinese fighter and take him out with guns. But before he could get in position, the Chinese fighter took a shot at him, and a missile found its mark.
The wingman saw the missile inbound and did his best to avoid it. But in the last seconds, he could see that it was in vain. Just before the missile reached them, his hand closed on the ejection seat, and he and the RIO left the aircraft to the mercy of the missile.
TWENTY-THREE
Without a word, Captain Chang reached up and turned the speaker to tactical back on as well as the circuit he shared with Ho on board the carrier. Combat was immediately flooded with a babble of American voices, which sounded particularly like music to Goforth’s ears.
But one voice booming out over both circuits cut through everything else. Captain Chang recognized it as that of Coyote.
“
Captain Chang picked up the mike, then turned to face the American officer. “Courage — yes, you have courage.”
“
Coyote’s voice came back over the circuit. “Roger, sir. But would you care to explain what just happened? I’ve got two helos damn near the wave tops who are a little bit reluctant to return to your command and control, Captain.”
“A great error on my part, Admiral,” Chang said, his voice deadly serious. “I will explain later — but you’ll forgive me if I concentrate my attention on getting your men out of the water right now. The explanations can wait, sir. I assure you, I will pay for my mistake later.”
“Roger, then, Captain,” Coyote’s voice said. “You coordinate the SAR — I may have some matters to take care of down here. And as for the submarine—”
“Pardon, Admiral,” Chang interrupted, and everyone stared aghast at the rudeness. “Consider the submarine gone.”
He turned back to his watch section, and began giving orders again. Goforth felt the ship heel over hard as the nimble frigate turned. “The SAR — shall I talk to them?” he asked.
Chang handed him the mike. “Major Ho Kung-Sun has made a very grave mistake as well,” he said. “Extend my apologies — I am deeply sorry. But it is imperative, whatever their feelings, that they obey my orders immediately. We must get these men out of the water within the next three minutes.”
“Roger, sir — but to be blunt, what’s the hurry? They have survival gear and the water is relatively warm.”
The captain shook his head. “You do not understand. I have been patrolling this area for about a week now, in my home waters. I know everything about this part of the ocean, and know it well. I have watched this over countless missions. The problem is not the temperature of the water. It is what follows in our wake.” His face reflected his concern. “Sharks. Great white. And after feasting on our trash for several weeks, they will find the morsels such as your pilots quite tasty. Now, tell your helos to obey me or be prepared to bear responsibility for
