Текст книги "End Game"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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Or, as the metaphor they used had it, reducing a hurri-cane surge to high tide.

“If you need help, we’re here,” said Bullet, the relief copilot behind her.

“Thanks,” said Breanna. “Stand by for EEMWB wave.”

END GAME

373

“EEMWB One—”

“EEMWB One what?” Breanna asked Stewart.

The copilot didn’t answer. The interphone system had been wiped out.

And so had the GPS guidance, and half of the indicators on the systems panel.

Aboard the Wisconsin , over India

0635

DOG CHECKED HIS WATCH. “SIXTY SECONDS TO FIRST

EEMWB,” he told his crew. “Jazz?”

“I’m ready, Colonel. Looks like that SA-2 is trying to lock on us to launch.”

“He’s beside the point now,” said Dog. “Let’s go to manual control. Emergency manual procedure, authorized Bastian 888.”

The computer accepted the code, and Dog reached to the bottom of the center panel to engage the hydraulic controls.

The stick felt almost dead in his hand.

As soon as they calculated that the last EEMWB had exploded, Jazz would remove their backup radio from its shielded case and plug its antenna lead to the auxiliary antenna at the side of cockpit between the copilot’s station and the radar operator. Dog and Jazz would be able to talk on the Dreamland communications network via a pair of headsets.

The Dreamland communications panel buzzed.

“Bastian.”

“Wisconsin, we’ve been hit by an air-to-air missile,” said Breanna. “We’ve lost some systems because—”

The transmission went blank, and the cockpit went dark.

Their first EEMWB had exploded.

X

Tai-shan

Aboard the Abner Read,

in the northern Arabian Sea

15 January 1998

0635

“MULTIPLE HITS! MULTIPLE HITS!”

Storm pulled off the headset. Whatever else happened today, the course of sea warfare had been changed as dramatically as it had at Hampton Roads in 1862, when the Monitor met the Merrimack, or in June 1942 at Midway, when the U.S. and Japanese fleets fought each other completely by air. A small, relatively inexpensive warship had just crippled, and maybe even sank, a large aircraft carrier, until now considered the mainstay of any great naval power.

His name would be written in the history books.

Storm sat on the jumpseat next to the holographic display, staring out the window of the bridge. He wasn’t meditating on history; he was trying to will away some of the pain. Finally, after little success, he pulled the headset back on.

“Eyes—where’s our Sharkboat?”

“They’re under way, but still an hour off.”

“All right.”

“Dreamland Fisher reports the Chinese carrier Deng Xiaoping is launching a new wave of aircraft,” said Eyes. “We have an Indian destroyer thirty-five miles south of us. We should not be on his radar, but he is moving in our direction.”

The Chinese—he’d take them out too. All he needed was an excuse.

378

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Captain?”

“Nothing,” Storm said. “Keep me informed.”

STARSHIP CIRCLED THE WEREWOLF BACK OVER THE AREA where the Indian pilot supposedly had gone down. He couldn’t see anything, not even debris.

“Tac, how long do you want me to keep at this search?”

he asked. “There’s nothing here.”

“Head back to the Sharkboat and escort them toward us.”

“I’d like to refuel first, since I’m nearby and they’re quiet for the moment. We may not get a chance later.”

“Roger that. Come on in.”

Aboard the Levitow ,

over India

0635

BREANNA WORKED THROUGH THE SYSTEMS WITH STEWART, checking for units that had been affected by the electromagnetic pulse weapons or the missile blast. The main flight computer itself seemed fine. She had lost engine four; parts of its shredded housing could be seen from the copilot’s station. Engine three’s temperature was a few degrees higher than normal, but the oil pressure and power output were steady. Two of the compartmented fuel tanks in the right wing had been damaged; the fire retardant system had prevented a catastrophe, but the indicators showed that fuel was leaking. The last three feet of the wingtip on the right side were gone, and the control surfaces were damaged but intact.

The satellite radio, the internal communications system, and the navigation gear were all offline. The self-diagnostic on the Megafortress’s native radar—not the larger, more powerful unit installed above the wings—indicated a number of circuit problems, yet the radar seemed to be working, identifying the Pakistani flight they had seen earlier. The END GAME

379

PAF planes were in serious trouble, flying erratically and dropping altitude. They were deep in enemy territory, and their prospects for survival seemed dim.

“Recheck the weapons systems,” Breanna told Stewart.

They’d pulled off their helmets so they could hear each other. “Open the bay. Make sure everything is online.”

“Weapons?”

“Yes.”

Stewart hesitated. “OK,” she said finally. “Testing weapons.”

Breanna looked at the fuel panel. The damage to the tanks added one more level of complexity to the problem of keeping the Megafortress balanced—an important consideration under any circumstance, but especially when you were missing an engine and a good chunk of a wing. The computer was doing a good job directing the flow, however, and Breanna turned her attention to engine three, whose temperature was continuing to sneak higher.

The aircraft shook as the bomb bay doors were opened.

The increased drag cost them nearly thirty knots in forward airspeed, a huge hit. But Stewart was able to rotate the missile launcher and confirm that it was operable.

“Weapons system is in the green,” said the copilot.

Breanna had asked Lou and Bullet—the relief pilot and copilot—to run the diagnostics on the environmental and some of the secondary systems from the auxiliary panel on the starboard radar station. Lou came over and told her that aside from some of the lights and the fan in the upper Flighthawk bay, the systems were functioning.

“Coffeemaker’s gone, though. Ditto the refrigerator and microwave.”

“Don’t tell Zen about the coffeemaker,” said Breanna.

“We have to keep his morale up.”

“There’s probably a pattern to the circuits that took the hit,” said the other pilot. “But I can’t quite figure it out.”

“We’ll save it for when we get home,” Breanna told him.

“Give the scientists something to do. How’s your stomach?”

380

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Much better. I think some of your twists and turns jerked it back into place.”

The Megafortress contained only six ejection seats. If they had to ditch, two people would have to don parachutes and jump from the Flighthawk bay. Ejecting from the Megafortress in the seats was a harrowing experience—

Breanna had done it and been banged around quite a bit in the process. Jumping out without the benefit of the forced ejection was even more dangerous. The slipstream around the big aircraft was like a violent, flooded creek, completely unpredictable. It might give you a decent push downward and away from the aircraft. Or it could bang you against the EB-52’s long body, smacking you like you a rag doll caught under the chassis of a car.

If it came to that, Breanna knew she would make one of the jumps herself. But how to choose the last person?

She pushed the thought from her mind. It wasn’t going to come to that.

NSC Situation Room

2038, 14 January 1998

(0638, 15 January, Karachi)

JED KNEW THE EEMWBS HAD WORKED AS SOON AS THE FEED

from one of their satellites died. He immediately turned to the screen that showed data from one of the ELINT “ferrets,” or radio signal stealers, just outside of the effected area. The screen did not provide raw data, which would have been meaningless to the people in the room; rather, it presented a line graph of the volume of intercepts on frequencies used for missile control. The line had plummeted.

Jed stared at it, willing it to stay at the bottom of the screen.

But it didn’t. It jerked back up, though only to about a fourth of where it had been.

“What’s going on?” he asked the operator.

END GAME

381

“This is in the northern Arabian Sea. It’s too far from the explosions to affect them. But the target area was wiped out totally. Just about over to the coast—better results than expected.”

“Are the nukes down?”

“I don’t know for sure. Too soon.”

Jed went to the screens showing the U-2 feeds over the Arabian Sea. The display from the northernmost aircraft shocked him: Seven missiles had just struck the Indian aircraft carrier Shiva. The photo captured the exact instant of impact of two of the missiles, and showed two more about to strike.

“That’s the Shiva?” Jed asked.

“Yes,” said the technician.

“Wow.”

“That’ll sink her.”

National Security Advisor Philip Freeman had joined the President and his small entourage at the side of the room.

He came and looked over Jed’s shoulder.

“The Chinese struck the Indians?” he asked.

“Those missiles came from the Abner Read,” said the techie.

“Our missiles?” asked the President.

The man nodded.

Freeman glanced at Jed in alarm.

“They came under attack,” said Jed.

“Captain Gale is certainly living up to his name,” said Martindale. “It’s too late now, Philip. We’ll deal with Storm later. And Balboa, who probably authorized this.”

“I want Balboa’s scalp,” said Freeman. “It’s way past due.”

“Mr. President, Jed—the NSA just picked up a transmission from China for the carrier,” said Peg Jordan, the NSA liaison. “Tai-shan. It’s a go.”

382

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Wisconsin , over India

0645

THE MEGAFORTRESS’S STICK FELT SURPRISINGLY LIGHT IN

Colonel Bastian’s hand, the big aircraft responding readily to his inputs. They were in good shape; while the plane’s electronic systems were offline, Dog could talk to Dreamland Control via the shielded backup radio. When they reached the coast, Major Cheshire would be able to track them via one of the U-2s that was surveying the northern Arabian Sea. She would guide them to Chu and Dreamland Fisher, or all the way back to Diego Garcia if necessary.

A buzzer sounded in Dog’s headset. He said his name and then his clearance code. The system had to process both before the communication was allowed to proceed.

“Colonel Bastian?” said Jed Barclay, coming onto the line.

“Go ahead, Jed.”

“The Chinese have ordered the aircraft carrier to use the nuclear option.”

“All right, Jed. We understand. I’m in contact with the other aircraft and will be right back with you.”

Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0645

CAPTAIN HONGWU LOOKED AT THE CABLE AGAIN, EVEN THOUGH

it contained only two characters: Tai-shan.

Much was left unsaid in the cable, beginning with the target. The captain knew it to be Mumbai, the large port on the coast that housed a major naval facility. The cable also did not say why the order had been given, though he knew it would only have been issued if the Indians had ignored the Chinese ultimatum not to fire their nuclear weapons.

END GAME

383

The cable was silent, too, on what the consequences of the action would be. These, Captain Hongwu tried to put out of his mind.

“Clear the flightdeck and prepare the Tai-shan aircraft,”

said the captain. “Launch all aircraft.”

The men on the bridge began to respond.

“Captain, Squadron One is reporting multiple missile strikes on the Indian aircraft carrier,” said the air boss. “The missiles have apparently come from the American vessel.”

“The Americans?”

“It’s the only explanation.”

Without their radar helicopters, the carrier had no long-range sensors. While it was an exaggeration to say it was blind, Hongwu and his officers had a very limited picture of the battlefield.

“Investigate. Send two aircraft to find the precise location of the American ship and keep it under surveillance. Make sure they are prepared for surface attack.”

“Are the Americans our allies now, Captain, or our enemies?”

“Perhaps both,” said Hongwu, staring out at the sea.

Aboard the Levitow ,

over India

0645

THE TEMPERATURE IN ENGINE THREE HAD MOVED WELL INTO

yellow. If she’d had three other good power plants, Breanna would have shut it down, but given their present condition, she decided to push it as far as she could.

Managing 390 knots, the Levitow was still about twenty minutes from the coast. They wouldn’t be out of danger once she got there either—the effects of the EEMWBs wouldn’t quite reach that far, and any aircraft operating on the western coast of Indian and to the south would be a threat.

384

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“We ought to head farther south,” suggested Stewart. “If we go back to our original course, we can pick up the Flighthawk.”

“It’ll take too long to get into position to join Dreamland Fisher and watch the Chinese carrier.”

“We’re not going to be able to do that.”

“What?” Breanna turned toward her copilot.

“We’re not going to be able to do it,” repeated Stewart, her eyes welling.

In all the time since the missile struck the Megafortress, Breanna hadn’t even considered the possibility that she would have to scrub her mission. She’d thought of everything else—everything—but that.

“We have to try.”

“If we’re down to two engines, it’ll take a miracle to position ourselves for a Scorpion shot,” said Stewart.

“You’re right,” said Breanna. “We’ll get the Flighthawk.

Zen can make the interception. Plot a course.”

ZEN FOLDED HIS ARMS, LEANING BACK AGAINST THE STIFF

seat. He hadn’t completely given up the chance to walk, just put it off.

The docs might be pissed, Vasin especially. But they’d get over it.

Was he afraid to walk?

They might accuse him of that. But he knew why he was here.

“Hey, Major, Lieutenant, we’re changing course again,”

said Bullet, the relief copilot who’d climbed down from the upper deck. “Bree wanted you to know. We’re going to try and pick up the Flighthawk if we can. Have it target the Tai-shan aircraft.”

“Sure,” said Zen. “How’s the engine?”

“Not very good. I’m surprised it’s gotten us this far. Breanna’s babying it, but unless she can crawl out on the wing, it’s a goner.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t suggest that to her.”

END GAME

385

*

*

*

“COLONEL, WE MAY NOT BE ABLE TO MAKE IT TO THE CARRIER

in time for the intercept,” Breanna said, speaking over the Dreamland communications network to the Wisconsin.

“Engine four is gone, and I’m going to have to shut down engine three in a few minutes. We’re going to try and rendezvous with our Flighthawk. Once we hook up with it, we’ll head that way. I’m sorry, but I can’t give any guarantees. We’re going too slowly.”

“All right, Breanna. We have Chu and the Abner Read.

Your priority is your aircraft and crew. Hear?”

Maybe it was because he was her father, but she thought he sounded as if he were telling her to hurry home after a late date.

“Thanks,” said Breanna. She killed the connection.

“Engine three’s going critical,” said Stewart.

“All right, let’s shut it down. Work with me, Jan. Let’s do this together.”

Aboard the Wisconsin,

over India

0646

DOG CLICKED INTO CHU’S CHANNEL ON THE FISHER.

“Wisconsin to Dreamland Fisher. Chu? What’s your situation?”

“I have two J-13s shadowing me, Colonel. The Chinese carrier has launched a dozen planes within the last ten minutes. They’re headed in the direction of the Indian task group.”

“How close are you to the Deng?”

“Sixty west. You wanted me to back off.”

“The Tai-shan order has been given. Set up an intercept on the aircraft after they come off the carrier.”

“Fisher.”

386

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Abner Read,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0647

STORM RELENTED AND LET THE CORPSMAN TREAT HIS WOUND, daubing at the ripped flesh with gauze that felt as if it had been dipped in kerosene. He squeezed his fingers into a fist and ground his back teeth together, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the pain.

“Sir, communication from Dreamland Wisconsin for you,” said the commo officer. “Colonel Bastian.”

Never had Storm been so glad to talk to Bastian. He put up his hand, stopping the corpsman mid-swipe.

“I have to talk.”

“Sir, if it hurts—”

“It doesn’t hurt,” snapped Storm, holding the headset up.

“Gale here.”

“The Chinese have issued the Tai-shan order. Levitow has been hit and won’t be able to help in the attack. Dreamland Fisher is moving into position for the intercept.”

Storm struggled to his feet. “All right. Good. We’ll proceed. We have to move farther east.”

“You all right, Storm?”

“Don’t worry about me, Bastian.” Storm reached to the communications controller. “Eyes—the Chinese have issued the Tai-shan order. Move us east. Get ready to intercept those aircraft. We have roughly twenty minutes.”

“We’re not in good position for the intercept, Captain.

The action against the Shiva took us away.”

“Then get us back into position. We have to back them up.”

“Aye aye.”

Storm leaned against the hologram table, orienting himself. They weren’t that far out of position. Granted, taking the aircraft was a long-range shot from here, but they were still within the targeting area.

He was close enough to sink the damn carrier. That’s what he should do. Sink the damn thing. His order justified it.

END GAME

387

“Captain, Dreamland Fisher reports two J-13s coming hot at us,” said Eyes a moment later. “Dreamland’s radar analysis shows they’re armed with antiship missiles.”

The bastards knew what they were up to! They were going to sink them so they couldn’t interfere.

Attack. Attack them now!

“You’re sure about this, Eyes?”

“They’re just coming into our radar range now. Should I target them?”

He had four Standards left. He wanted to fire two apiece at the Tai-shan planes, guarantee a hit.

Two now? Two later?

If they sent another wave of planes, he’d be defenseless—or he’d fail his mission.

“Target the carrier Deng Xiaoping. Same mix we used against the Shiva. Have the Sharkboat fire as well.”

“The carrier?”

“They’ve just launched an attack on us, Eyes. And they’re about to drop a nuke. We have to take them down.”

“Agreed,” said Eyes. “But if we use the same mix, we won’t have any missiles left for air defense.”

“We’ll use the close-in weapons against these two airplanes. If we sink the carrier, we won’t need anything else.

Do it. Give it everything we’ve got.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Storm steadied himself against the holographic display.

Two aircraft carriers in one day? His name would be linked with Nimitz, with John Paul Jones.

“Captain, you have to let me treat you, sir,” said the corpsman. “We need to clean the wound.”

“Later.”

388

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Fisher ,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0648

LIEUTENANT CHU HAD EIGHT SCORPION AMRAAM-PLUSES

in his bomb bay, but even twenty more would do him no good if he wasn’t close enough to use them. The planes would be most vulnerable when they came off the carrier, and to guarantee a hit he wanted to be as close as possible.

At the same time, the Chinese were watching him carefully—they’d sent two J-13s to shadow him, and the four planes flying combat patrol above the carrier were prowling the area he wanted to be in. Chu decided that his best approach would be to extend his patrol area as noncha-lantly as possible, widening his orbit and flying south before going farther east.

“The J-13s are right on our wings, Tommy,” said his copilot. “I’m afraid that once we open the bay to fire the Scorpions, they’re going to pounce.”

“The Flighthawks will hold them off,” said Chu. “We’ll hang in and fire everything we’ve got.”

“Everything?”

“Too important to take a chance.”

“What about the patrol near the carrier?”

“We’ll go toward the Abner Read, get coverage from them. The Flighthawks can hold them off in the meantime.”

Chu told the Flighthawk pilots what they were going to do. Neither man said anything more than “Understood.” He started his turn, focusing on the heads-up display in his windscreen. A calmness settled over him; his muscles relaxed; he felt almost as if he were watching himself from the comfort of a living room sofa far away.

END GAME

389

Aboard the Abner Read,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0649

THE MISSILES FLEW FROM THE FORWARD TUBES IN QUICK SUCcession, spiraling upward in a glistening arc of white against the brilliant blue of the sky. Storm waited until the last one had gone before turning back to the holographic display where they were being tracked.

The other ships would come for them, he realized. He had to prepare.

“Take us south, Helm,” he said, reaching for his communications controller. “Eyes—the Sharkboat. Tell them we’re going south. We want to put some space between us and the Chinese.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

STARSHIP TOUCHED THE WEREWOLF DOWN ON THE HELIPAD

behind the Abner Read’s low-slung superstructure, killing the engines. The two seamen assigned to fuel the robot ran out and began tending to her.

He turned and looked behind him in the Tactical Center.

Eyes was standing only a few feet away, a perplexed look on his face as the men around him took turns shouting information in his direction.

Starship waited a few seconds, hoping for a calm patch.

When none came, he asked, “Eyes, do you want me to attack the carrier when I’m topped off?”

“The carrier?”

“The Deng Xiaoping. With my Hellfires.”

The Tac commander’s mouth squirreled up, his cheeks puffing out. “Hellfires?”

“It’s something. I can get up there in fifteen minutes tops, once I’m reloaded. That should be ten minutes from now.”

“Too late.” Eyes’s frown turned into a forlorn smile. “But thanks for the offer. Get back in the air as soon as you can.

We’ll need you to show us what’s going on.”

390

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Fisher ,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0650

“MULTIPLE MISSILE LAUNCHES FROM THE ABNER READ!”

shouted the surface radar operator, his voice rattling Tommy Chu’s headset. “Eight missiles—more from the Sharkboat. Targeted—they’re going after the carrier!”

“What the hell are they doing?” Chu reached to the communications panel to contact the Abner Read. Before he could, the screen indicated an incoming message from the ship. The Abner Read’s tactical officer’s face appeared in the screen. “What the hell’s going on?” Chu demanded.

“We’ve launched our attack on the Chinese carrier. We need you to intercept the two fighters.”

“I’m not in position to do that. Why did you launch the attack without telling us?”

“I need you to intercept those planes.”

“I can’t. Why did you launch without contacting us first?”

“I don’t need your permission to accomplish my mission.”

The screen blanked. Chu angrily smacked at the kill button anyway.

“The Abner Read has launched an attack on the Chinese carrier Deng Xiaoping,” he told the rest of the crew. “We’ll take down the J-13s before they realize what’s going on, then remain on course in case the strike fails.”

Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0651

TWELVE MISSILES HAD BEEN FIRED AT THE DENG XIAOPING.

Captain Hongwu listened closely as the threats were identified: A total of eight Harpoon missiles had been fired, four from the Abner Read and four from the small patrol boat, along with four SR-2 or Standards from the Abner Read.

END GAME

391

The threats had to be prioritized; they no longer had enough missiles to intercept them all.

He turned to the officer in charge of targeting the weapons.

“Target two of the SR-2s with our anticruise missiles.

Target all of the Harpoons from the Abner Read. Attempt to intercept the missiles from the small patrol craft with our fighters, and turn the close-in weapons on everything else.”

“Yes, Comrade Captain.”

He had known it would come to this. But there was no satisfaction in being proven correct. Hongwu folded his arms, demonstrating to the others that they must be resolute and calm.

“Have the aircraft aloft engage the American warplane.

Shoot it down immediately. The two planes observing the Abner Read—divert them and have them attack the Megafortress as well. The warship will be easier to deal with once the radar plane is gone.”

Aboard the Fisher ,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0652

“READY?” CHU ASKED THE COPILOT.

“Ready. Flighthawks will go on your signal.”

“Now!” said Chu, and he pushed the stick forward, tucking the Megafortress away.

The air roiled as the two robot planes closed in for the kill. Chu began a sharp turn south, then cut back.

“Missiles in the air!” warned the copilot. “Heat-seekers!”

“Flares.” Chu pushed the plane onto its wing, unsure exactly who had fired the missiles.

“Russian AA-12 type missile launched,” added the copilot. “Not a factor. The two planes that were tracking toward the Abner Read are turning in our direction.”

392

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Splash one J-13!” said one of the Flighthawk pilots.

“The other plane is on our tail,” said the copilot.

“Stinger air mines,” said Chu as the air around him began to percolate with tracers.

Aboard the Abner Read,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0654

“TWO STANDARD MISSILES INTERCEPTED. ONE HARPOON

lost.”

Storm stared at the hologram, letting the report sink in.

Already, the Chinese had done much better than the Indians, who had managed to shoot down only one of his missiles.

Another of the Harpoons disappeared from the display.

That might not mean it had been shot down; the ship’s systems occasionally lost track of the missiles as they dipped toward their target.

God, his head hurt worse than he thought possible.

“Dreamland Fisher is under attack,” said Eyes.

Storm nodded, as if his tactical commander was standing on the bridge next to him.

“Standard missile three has struck the carrier,” said Weapons. “Standard missile four has struck the carrier.”

Two out of four. Acceptable against such an accomplished opponent. As an opening volley.

“Harpoon One is on target. Harpoon Three is on target.

Harpoon Four is off our screen, possibly intercepted.”

Another two out of four performance?

He should have been closer. He should have reserved more of his missiles. He should have made better use of his people.

“Harpoon Three has struck the Deng Xiaoping. Harpoon One—unknown.”

“Unknown?”

“Sorry, sir. We’re working on it now. At this range—”

END GAME

393

“The Sharkboat?”

“SB Harpoon One is off course. SB Harpoon Two and Three running true. SB Harpoon Four has been intercepted.”

“Where are those planes that were attacking us?” said Storm.

“Turned off—going after the Fisher. ”

“Can we help them?”

“Too far. We have no more missiles.”

“Very well,” said Storm. “They’ll come out of it. Those Dreamland people always do.”

Aboard the Fisher ,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0654

CHU TRIED TO SHUT OUT EVERYTHING BUT THE SKY IN FRONT

of him, concentrating on getting the Megafortress away from its pursuer. He knew eventually the Stinger air mines would take the J-13 down; the trick was to survive until then. The plane rocked up and down as he zigged south. He knew one of his engines had been hit, but this wasn’t the time to deal with it; a fresh warning indicated four AA-12s had been fired by the planes coming up toward his nose.

He wanted to use all eight of his Scorpions against the Tai-shan aircraft, but it would be at least fifteen minutes before the planes were in the air. He’d never make it that long if he didn’t knock down some of the J-13s nearby.

“Target those fighters,” he told his copilot. “One missile apiece.”

“Hawk Six has been shot down,” said the copilot.

“Bay.”

“Bandits are targeted. We have two missiles coming for us.”

“Fire. ECMs. Hawk Five, stay with me,” added Chu as the air around him exploded with shells from the Chinese aircraft.

The first Scorpion clunked from the dispenser. Chu kept 394

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

the plane steady as the next rotated into position and fired.

The plane began to shake.

“Hawk Five, we’re going north,” said Chu. He sank deeper into the sofa, even calmer.

“Following.”

“Missile closing.”

“Chaff, ECMs.”

Chu pushed the Megafortress’s stick hard to the left, trying to get away from the missile. The Megafortress shuddered and began dropping. He couldn’t hold the plane steady; alarms sounded, warning him that engines one and three had been damaged, warning him that there were holes in the fuel tanks, warning him that he was surrounded and faced certain death.

“Target the carrier with our AMRAAM-pluses,” he told the copilot. “Fire as soon as you’re locked.”

“Engine one is gone.”

“The hell with the damn engine. Fire the missiles!”

The left side of Chu’s face imploded. He saw red and then black, and felt himself relaxing again, sinking back on his couch, easing back, enjoying a nice scotch for one last time.

Aboard the Deng Xiaoping,

in the northern Arabian Sea

0654

CAPTAIN HONGWU NEARLY LOST HIS BALANCE AS THE SHIP

absorbed the blows of the Harpoon missiles. The lights blinked off but came back.

There were three more missiles. Hongwu heard the air boss trying to direct the aircraft to intercept them. The Harpoons were subsonic and flew relatively predictable patterns, but shooting them down was exceedingly difficult, and it did not seem that his pilots could accomplish the task.

Still, if only one was intercepted, he felt they could survive.

The close-in weapons were so loud that Hongwu could END GAME

395

hear them even here as they aimed at the incoming missiles.

He grabbed the nearby table, sensing they would miss. The ship shook with an explosion, this one much closer than the others.

The lights went out. Captain Hongwu found himself on the deck, the emergency lights on. Someone helped him up.

“We’ve taken two more strikes to the hull below the hangar deck,” said the damage control officer. “Compartments 103, 105, 107, are taking water. We have not heard from—”

“Can the Tai-shan aircraft take off?” asked Captain Hongwu.

“We believe so, sir. They are still being prepared.”

“That is of primary importance. Deal with the damage expeditiously, but those aircraft must launch.”

“Air Group One reports that the Indian aircraft carrier has begun to sink at the bow,” said the air boss. “Should they attack alternative targets?”

“Have them attack the American warship,” Hongwu told him. “They are our priority now.”

NSC Situation Room,

Washington, D.C.

2101, 14 January 1998

(0701, 15 January, Karachi)

ALL OF THE MISSILES LAUNCHED FROM BOTH PAKISTAN AND

India had been disabled by the T-Rays. But the attack on the Deng Xiaoping, though it left the aircraft carrier on fire, had not stopped preparations to launch the Tai-shan aircraft. A near-real-time photo from the U-2 spy showed a swarm of men prepping the planes, even as a damage control party played a fire hose on a piece of decking a few yards away.