Tiger's Claw: A Novel (40 page)

“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.”

T
HE
W
HITE
H
OUSE
S
ITUATION
R
OOM
, W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

T
HAT SAME TIME

“What the hell happened?” President Ken Phoenix asked as he strode into the Situation Room. “What do you have, Bill?”

“Two formations of twelve Chinese H-6 bombers, consisting of four aerial refueling tankers and eight cruise-missile-carrying bombers, attacked Andesen Air Force Base on the island of Guam,” National Security Adviser William Glenbrook said. He motioned to the large wall-sized electronic chart. “The bombers were accompanied by eight J-20 advanced fifth-generation fighters that shot down two F-22 Raptors and an E-3 Sentry radar plane.”

“
What?
” the president exclaimed. “My God . . . !”

“The bombers then launched supersonic cruise missiles believed to be AS-17s from a range of about five hundred miles,” Glenbrook went on. He looked directly at the president, reading the unspoken question in his face. “The cruise missiles were not nuclear tipped, Mr. President, but they destroyed the air base’s command center, fuel storage, electrical grid, put one runway out of commission, and destroyed or damaged a half-dozen aircraft on the ground. The air-to-air missile-armed bombers, fighters, and the Patriot missile batteries installed on Guam probably kept the losses down significantly, but the air base is definitely crippled. We are investigating to see if there’s been any damage to other airfields in the vicinity.”

“Jesus,” Phoenix breathed. Then he said decisively, “Go to DEFCON Two.” DEFCON Two was just two steps away from going to all-out nuclear war: it instructed units to load all nuclear-capable aircraft and ships with nuclear weapons, deploy and disperse assets to alternate operating bases, man command centers and emergency reconstitution sites, increase security at all bases to a wartime posture, and move key military and government personnel and equipment to remote locations to be able to operate in case of attack.

“Secretary Hayes has authenticated the order, and we are at DEFCON Two,” Glenbrook reported a few minutes later. “He is en route to Andrews right now to board the E-4.” The E-4B was the National Airborne Operations Center, or NAOC, a modified Boeing 747–200 loaded with extensive communications and control equipment to be able to direct U.S. forces worldwide in case ground-based command centers were destroyed or rendered ineffective. Formerly based at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska before the base was destroyed by a Russian cruise missile, the four E-4B aircraft were dispersed and moved to other bases around the United States following the American Holocaust; one was always based in the Washington, D.C., area for use by the president, vice president, or secretary of defense. “The vice president is en route to Site-R.” Site-R was the Raven Rock Military Complex, an underground communications and alternate command center in Pennsylvania just a few miles north of Camp David, Maryland.

“How in the hell did those bombers get within range of Guam?” the president asked. “Didn’t we have air patrols up?”

“The Chinese bombers were intercepted by two F-22 Raptor fighters when they were six hundred miles away from Guam,” Glenbrook went on. “While they were making visual identification, they were jumped by the J-20 fighters. Several Chinese fighters were shot down, but our guys were simply outnumbered. They blew past the Raptors and took down the AWACS radar plane, and at that point the Chinese fighters had the advantage. The J-20 is probably equal to the Raptor in every way.”

“Did
any
of our planes survive?”

“Yes, sir,” Glenbrook replied. “Initial reports say we still have one B-2A Spirit stealth bomber, one B-52H Stratofortress bomber, one B-1B Lancer bomber, five XB-1 Excalibur bombers, two F-22A Raptors, two F-15 Eagles, and four tankers,” Glenbrook said.

The president’s mouth dropped open in complete shock. “You . . . you mean . . . that’s
it
?” he asked.

“Those are all the long-range strike and air defense aircraft we have in the entire western Pacific theater, sir,” Glenbrook said. “We have a handful of F-22s and F-15s still in Hawaii, another handful in Alaska, and the six XB-1 bombers are preparing for deployment in Nevada. Sir, under DEFCON Two, I suggest moving the
Nimitz
carrier strike group west of Hawaii. The Chinese crippled Guam—Honolulu could be next.”

“
Honolulu!
” the president exclaimed. “No way in hell I’m allowing any planes to get within cruise missile range of Honolulu!”

“What do you want to do, sir?” Glenbrook asked.

“What are our options?” the president asked. “Where are the carriers?”

“The closest one available is the
Ford,
currently in the Java Sea,” Glenbrook said, referring to information on his tablet computer. “The
Nimitz
is in the western Pacific, but you ordered it back to assist in the defense of the Hawaiian islands. Two Ohio-class ballistic missile subs are also in the western Pacific.”

Glenbrook stopped, and the president’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s
it
?”

“With the threat from China after they released that nuclear depth charge, we didn’t dare send any carriers or subs into the South China Sea,” Glenbrook said. “The bombers on Guam were the only other force we put together other than the few fighters we have deployed in Japan and Korea, and even they were there just as a show of force.”

“Now we don’t even have that,” the president said. He looked at Glenbrook in astonishment. “Are you saying that the only option we have right now is . . . an attack with
sea-launched ballistic nuclear missiles
?”

“Unless we send in the Pacific carriers, sir,” Glenbrook said. “But we’d have to send them in within a few hundred miles of shore, well within the range of their antiship ballistic missiles and supersonic cruise missiles. They could get overwhelmed. And if we lost even one carrier, the loss of life would be tremendous—almost double that of 9/11.”

“My God,” Phoenix said. “I’m actually going to have to consider a
nuclear attack
on China.” He thought for a moment. “How about limited attacks on targets far from population centers?”

“We have contingency plans available for small-yield nuclear missile attacks on isolated targets in China—long-range radar installations, mobile ballistic missile launch pads, nuclear weapon storage facilities, coal mines, oil fields, that sort of thing,” Glenbrook said. “General Conaway can brief you on those. But I think the better option would be to attack their ballistic missile submarine bases and land-based ICBM silos to minimize the threat to the United States, and then deal with the mobile nuclear missiles as best we can. We would have to coordinate those plans with our Pacific allies—they’re more vulnerable to mobile missiles than we are.” He paused, then added, “There are two more options.”

“What are they?”

“The first: threaten to attack and destroy their cities,” Glenbrook said.

“That’s insane—they know I would never do that unless the United States was attacked with nuclear weapons,” the president said. “What’s the other option?”

“Agree to terms,” Glenbrook said. “No military forces in the South China Sea. China has complete and unfettered control. We don’t interfere with their domination and control of the islands or resources in the South China Sea, what they call the first island chain.”

“What the hell does that give us, Bill?”

“Time,” Glenbrook said. “Time to rebuild our naval, long-range air, and space forces.”

“It sounds like surrender to me, Bill.”

“We have few options, sir,” Glenbrook said. “Either we use our strategic nuclear forces to destroy China’s ability to attack us and our allies with nuclear weapons . . . or we bargain for terms.”

“And hope they don’t attack us anyway,” the president said. “Schedule a meeting with the national security staff right away. I need everyone’s input on this.”

E
ASTERN
C
HINA
,
NEAR
M
ACAU

A
LMOST TWO HOURS LATER

“
Unidentified aircraft inbound!
” the radar controller shouted into his intercom. “Bearing zero-eight-zero, range two hundred kilometers, speed two hundred kilometers an hour! Multiple targets inbound!”

“Issue an air defense alert to all batteries,” the commander of the air defense sector ordered. “Multiple unidentified aircraft approaching at medium speed. Report when all systems ready. What is the target’s altitude?”

“Altitude is steady at one thousand meters, sir,” the controller reported. “Sir, all batteries report ready to . . .” And at that instant the controller’s digital radar scope seemed to waver and freeze for a few seconds . . .

. . . and when it came back, the screen was
filled
with targets, thousands of them, all reporting the same airspeed, direction of flight, and altitude! “Sir, I am being jammed!”

“Shut down, damn you!” the commander shouted. “Transfer intercept to S-300 primary sector engagement control! Alert all radar units to switch to agile frequency mode if they are getting any jamming!”

The first volley of ten AGM-158 Joint Air to Surface Standoff Missiles, two from each XB-1 Excalibur launched simultaneously, took advantage of the jamming and spoofing from the bombers’ SPEAR electronic data intrusion system and plowed into the heart of the Chinese coastal radar network sixty miles southeast of the city of Guangzhou, destroying the large long-range radars and fixed air defense radars and surface-to-air missile emplacements arrayed along the coast.

Still ten minutes from crossing the coast, the formation of XB-1 bombers had fanned out along a sixty-mile front, line abreast, heading in at six hundred miles an hour. They would take turns turning on their AESA radars to update the tactical situation and to look for fighters or other air traffic. They had descended to four hundred feet above the water, high enough to avoid most obstacles like ships but low enough to avoid long-range radars.

Patrick and Brad were in the center of the attacking line, aimed directly at the People’s Liberation Army Navy base at Zhongshan. Brad found himself grasping at the glare shield around the top of the instrument panel at every bump of turbulence or when some light flashed by. He had never gotten airsick before, but he had never flown at almost the speed of sound just four hundred feet above the water either—if they survived this, he thought, I have a lot of cleaning up to do. “You okay, Brad?” Patrick asked.

“I think so,” Brad said weakly. A threat warning appeared on his MFD. “SA-N-12, twelve o’clock, thirty miles.”

“Touch the warning box,” Patrick said. A smaller window opened on the MFD with a diagram of the Excalibur showing the weapons remaining. “Now touch the ‘HARM’ icon, and touch again to confirm. It should give you a request for consent.”

“Yes.”

Patrick reached over to his left instrument panel, opened a red safety cover, and flipped a switch. “Pilot’s consent on.”

Brad did the same on his right instrument panel. “Consent switch up.”

“Hit the ‘ENGAGE’ box, then watch your eyes.” Brad hit the screen, and seconds later there was a tremendous flash of light as a HARM missile shot from its launch rail and sped off into the dark sky. Patrick looked over and saw Brad rubbing his eyes. “I warned you. That missile motor is pretty big. Your eyes should be okay in a minute.” Seconds later, just as his eyes cleared, the “SA-N-12” warning went away. “Good shooting.”

“It’s just like a video game,” Brad said. Another warning sounded. “
Missile launch!
SA-11, one o’clock!”

“Unreel the decoy,” Patrick said. Brad touched a computer soft key on the screen, which deployed the ALE-50 towed decoy from a canister in the tail. Patrick glanced out the right windscreen. “See that bright light that looks like a really bright star? That’s the SA-11.”

“
You can see it coming at us?
” Brad exclaimed.

“We’re not sure if it’s homing on us—it could be one of the other Excaliburs,” Patrick said. “Watch that spot on the windscreen. If it doesn’t change positions, it’s heading for us.”

“I don’t see it moving . . . it’s gone!”

“The motor burned out. Now it’s coasting in on us. Give me a burst on the AESA.” Brad activated the radar with a nervous touch on the screen. “Left chaff, now,” he said calmly, and as Brad hit the touch screen, Patrick threw the bomber into a tight right turn. Brad thought his head was going to snap off his neck! “Check trackbreakers and SPEAR!”

Brad had to refocus his eyes on the proper MFD. “Trackbreakers active!” he said finally. “SPEAR active!”

“Right chaff,
now
!” Brad fumbled but finally hit the soft key, barely in time before Patrick started another hard break. “I think it missed.”

“It missed us, but it got the decoy,” Brad said. “The ALE-50 is down. Should I send out the other one?”

“Better hold it for our egress,” Patrick said. “Looks like we’re feet-dry.”

“Huh?”

“Back over land,” Patrick said. “One more squeak of AESA.” Brad activated the radar until they got a nice clear radar image that was almost photograph quality, then switched it to standby. “Well, well, looks like we have our first ship at one o’clock. Looks like a big one. Can you make it out on the Sniper?”

Brad activated the Sniper targeting pod and zoomed in on the target. “It’s big, that’s for sure. Can’t tell if it’s a carrier or what.”

“Designate it and let’s see how she sails with a JASSM in her,” Patrick said. Brad touched the image on his screen, selected an AGM-158, and confirmed the selection. The middle bomb doors came open. “Missile away!”

As they flew closer, it was apparent now that the target was not a warship, but a container ship. “You have a few seconds,” Patrick said. “Scan left and right and see if there are any better targets.

Brad swiped his finger on the Sniper image left, which tracked the camera in the same direction. “There!” he shouted. “That
definitely
looks like an aircraft carrier!”

“Designate it,” Patrick said. “It’ll ask if you want another launch or redesignate the missile in the air. Select ‘RE-DESG.’ Good . . . right on time. Switch to the missile seeker.” Brad did, and he got to watch the JASSM plow right into the aircraft hangar opening on the left side of the carrier. “I don’t know if that was the Chinese or Russian carrier,” Patrick said, “but you nailed it.” A tremendous fireball erupted off in the distance, and on the Sniper image it appeared as if the carrier listed almost all the way to the right like a toy boat caught under the faucet in the tub as more explosions erupted.

“Good shooting, Brad,” Sondra radioed. Her Excalibur was ten miles to the south. “We’re releasing on Fushan air base now. Give us a couple seconds before you launch.”

“Roger,” Patrick replied. He saw the brief indication of Sondra’s AESA radar being activated, then the alerts that two JASSMs were in the air. He waited a few seconds, then said, “Clear to release on Fushan, Brad.”

“Roger.” Brad touched the green triangle around Fushan air base, selected and confirmed two JASSMs, and let them fly. At the same moment, Brad saw a blinking box around one of the other Excaliburs. “What does that mean, Dad?” he asked.

Patrick looked, then took a deep breath. “Blinking coffin box—Jacobs got hit,” he said. Patrick threw the Excalibur into a hard right turn. “Get your head back in the game, Muck,” he told himself half aloud. “Two more JASSMs and three HARMs left. Let’s see if we can find where they supposedly moved those DF-21Ds around Huizhou.”

“Fighters inbound!” Brad shouted excitedly. Two airplane icons appeared to their north, both with triangles on their nose indicating the approximate detection range of their radars. “J-15s. They’re heading right for us!”

“Keep on looking for the DF-21s,” Patrick said. “I’ll keep an eye on the fighters.” But it was obvious the fighters were headed right for them. “Their radar isn’t painting us, but they’re still heading in—they must be tracking us with infrared,” he said. He selected both aircraft icons, then selected and confirmed one AIM-9X for each bandit. “Forward bay doors coming open.” Two missiles dropped free of the forward bomb bay and streaked off into space. Both fighters peeled off in different directions after obviously detecting the missile launches.

“Got it, Dad!” Brad shouted. There in the Sniper image on Brad’s MFD were what appeared to be two transporter-erector-launchers, sitting in an open field barely concealed by trees. “I’m going to select them . . .”

“Hold on,” Patrick said. “That looks fishy. They’re just sitting out in the open. Scan around a little.” Brad moved the camera left and right, and, sure enough, several hundred yards farther east there was another set of two launchers, but these appeared to be concealed with camouflage netting, they had more vehicles surrounding them, and there were warm spots on the engine compartment and in various places around the vehicle—Brad could even see a few persons walking nearby.

“But which one is it?” Brad asked. “They both look real.”

“You’re the gunner today, Brad,” Patrick said. “Choose one and . . .”

The “MISSILE WARNING” alert sounded. Distracted by the DF-21 discovery, Patrick had allowed the two J-15 fighters to close in directly behind them! “
Chaff! Flares!
” he shouted, and as soon as he saw Brad’s finger touch the screen he yanked the stick left and back and hit the afterburners, starting a rapid climb into their pursuers. They felt a loud hard thrumming on the left wing, and seconds later they got a “FIRE NO. 1” warning message on their MFDs. “Fire on number one!” Patrick shouted. He pulled the throttles out of afterburner, retarded the number one engine throttle to cutoff and hit the fire extinguisher button. Seconds later, the fire warning went out.

“What do I do? What do I do?” Brad shouted.

“First,
relax,
” Patrick said. “Check the engine instruments. I’m going to try to find that fighter.”

“Say your status, Zero-Three,” Sondra radioed.

“Got one on my tail somewhere,” Patrick said.

“On the way.”

Patrick activated the AESA radar briefly, but there was no sign of the Chinese fighter. “No sign of him,” he said. “Do you still have the DF-21s locked up?”

Brad checked his displays, and sure enough the Sniper pod was still indicating it was locked on. “Yes!”

Patrick made a slight left turn until they could see the image of the DF-21. “Nail them,” he said, and seconds later the last two JASSMs were in the . . .

And at that instant a thunderous
BRRRAAAPPP!
sound could be heard that seemed to run up the length of the left side of the Excalibur from tail to nose. The pilot’s side window and left windscreen exploded, showering Patrick first with glass and then with triple hurricane-force winds. His body was being shoved left and right like a rag doll held outside a moving vehicle by the massive wind pressure.

“
Dad!
” Brad screamed. His flight training immediately took over, and he put his hands on the control stick and throttles, pulled back power, pushed the wing-sweep level forward, and started a climb. It sounded as if he was standing inches away from a freight train thundering past him at full speed. He couldn’t tell the extent of his father’s injuries, only that he was helpless and wounded, and he was just inches away and couldn’t do anything for him. “Oh, God,
Dad! . . .”

Brad then saw it on his MFD—the J-15 was back, lining up for another missile shot. Brad tried to turn into the fighter, but it was as if the controls were half frozen, and he had no maneuverability. They were almost inside the radar cone . . . the “MISSILE WARNING” was blaring, now blinking . . . they were well inside the radar cone now . . .

. . . and just then a coffin box appeared around the J-15, then disappeared.

“Looks like your tail is clear, Zero-Three,” Sondra radioed. “You guys okay?”

“We got one engine shut down, and we got hit up the left side,” Brad said. “I don’t know if Dad got hit, but he’s out.”

“Roger,” Sondra said. Brad couldn’t believe how calm she sounded, and that helped him start to get control of his shaking arms and knees. “I’ve got you in the NVGs. I’ll come up on your left side. You just fly the airplane. Head east.”

The farther east they headed, the more radar warnings they got, and soon the radar warnings were almost constant—and then the indications of fighters approaching from both the north and south began.

Sondra pulled up alongside Brad’s stricken bomber, and Lisa Mann, her copilot, examined the damage. “You’re leaking fuel, you might be getting an engine fire on number two, and you might not be able to fully sweep your wings all the way forward,” Mann said.

“What do we do, Sondra?” Brad asked.

“You just fly the airplane, Brad,” Sondra said. “Your job is to stay on my wing.”

“But those fighters! . . .”

“Stay on my wing,” Sondra repeated. “If we get hit, remember your ejection procedures.”

“But what about my dad!”

“Brad, don’t think about that,” Sondra said. “Stay on my wing, and if we get hit, remember your ejection procedures.”