Sky Masters – Brown, Dale

SKY MASTERS

 

BY DALE BROWN

 

 

 

 

 

Flight of the Old Dog (1987)

 

Silver



Tower

(1988)

 

Day of the Cheetah (1989)

 

Hammerheads (1990)

 

DONALD I. FINE, INC.

 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS New York G. P. Putnam’s Sons Publishers Since 1838

200 Madison Avenue


New York
,

NY



10016

 

Copyright Qc 1991 by Dale Brown, Inc.

 

All rights reserved.  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced

in any form without permission.

 

Published simultaneously in Canada Endpaper maps and maps on pages 267

and 370 by Lisa Amoroso.

 

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Brown, Dale, date Sky

masters / Dale Brown.

 

p. cm.

 

ISBN 0-399-13705-X

 

(Putnam) I. Title. PS3552.R68543S58 1991 90-56053 CIP 813′.54~c20

 

Printed in the
United States of America

 

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

 

sky Masters is dedicated to General Curtis E. LeMay, the “Iron Eagle”

and the “Father of Strategic Air Power,” a man who envisioned much of

what Sky Masters is all about.

 

Sky Masters is also dedicated to the men and women who served as part of

Operation DESERT SHIELD and DESERT STORM.

 

I wish to especially dedicate this story to my brother, Second

Lieutenant James D. Brown, 3-35 ARMOR, First Armored Division, United

States Army, and his wife, Leah, and all of our military forces serving

ashore, afloat, and aloft for all the sacrifices they made in their

personal and professional lives.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

 

To my friend Lieutenant Colonel George Peck (who was instrumental in the

research for Day of the Cheetah and who, like Loki’s eternal fate in

Norse mythology, seems destined to be forever bothered by my insistent

questions and requests); TSgt Alan Dockery, Captain Harry G. Edwards,

and the other helpful and professional persons in the Office of Public

Affairs, Headquarters, Strategic Air Command (SAC), Offutt AFB,

Nebraska, for their assistance in gathering information on SAC

conventional and maritime operations and the

Strategic



Warfare



Center

,

and for their help in reviewing the manuscript; To all the men and women

of the Strategic Air Command and Pacific Air Forces whom I met during

GIANT WARRIOR ’90, a multinational, multiservice combat strike and

deployment exercise conducted by SAC’s Fifteenth Air Force in August of

1990 at Andersen Air Force Base on
Guam
.  I wish to especially thank

Lieutenant General Robert D. Beckel, Fifteenth Air Force commander, for

allowing me the privilege of observing his super exercise; Brigadier

General DavidJ. Pederson, Third Air Division commander, and Colonel Alan

Cirino, Third Air Division deputy commander, and their staff for their

hospitality and helpfulness in explaining the intricacies of Pacific

theater combat operations; and to Colonel Arne Weinman, Ninety-second

Bomb Wing commander and joint air forces commander of GIANT WARRIOR ’90;

Special thanks to Captain Cynthia Colin, Fifteenth Air Force Public

Affairs, and the other professionals at Fifteenth Air Force Public

Affairs, March AFB, California; MSgt Ron Pack, Ninety-second Bomb Wing

public affairs; MSgt Al Dostal, Ninety-sixth Bomb Wing Public Affairs;

Second Lieutenant Darian “Slick” Benson, Fifty-seventh Air Division

Public Affairs; the feared terrorist-group-turned-media-pool known

throughout the Pacific as the Dream Team; and everyone who helped make

my visit to Guam and GIANT WARRIOR ’90a pleasure and a success; To

Brigadier General Larry Dilda, DCS I Communications and Computer

Operations, HQ SAC, for conducting a very special tour of SAC

Headquarters, where I learned much about the “new” Strategic Air Command

and its people and its new arsenal of weapons; and to Ron Silverstein,

B-2 Project Senior Engineer and Chief Spokesman, and the others at

Northrop Corporation, Air Force Plant 42, Palmdale, California, for an

amazing tour of the B-2 bomber assembly facilities; To Colonel Thomas A.

Hornung, Chief of Public Affairs, Air Force Public Affairs-Western

Region in Los Angeles, for his invaluable assistance throughout the

making of Sky Masters and for arranging a spectacular tour of SAC

headquarters; and to Major Ron Fuchs, former Deputy and Chief of Media

Relations in Los Angeles, for his time in reviewing the manuscript and

offering some valuable comments; To CDR Bruce R. Linder, commanding

officer of the guided missile frigate FFG-55 USS Elrod, who was

extremely helpful in providing details pertaining to naval operations in

the South China Sea, Palawan Passage, and the Philippines; To Richard

Herman, famous author of Warbirds and Force of Eagles, for his technical

knowledge on aerial combat in the F-4E and other facets of fighter

combat; To Rockwell International for information on the B- 1 bomber;

also to Orbital Sciences Corporation for information on the Pegasus

air-launched space booster; To my executive assistant, Dennis Hall, for

his hard work and support.

 

ACTUAL NEWS EXCERPTS Date: 5/21/90 PENTAGON DECLARES PHILIPPINES

“IMMINENT DANGER” AREA WASHINGTON (MAY 18) UPI-The Defense Department

designated the Philippines Friday as an area of imminent danger for

special pay purposes, which means US military and civilian employees

will be getting slightly larger paychecks. The Pentagon said it took the

action because of the “current unstable conditions” in the Philippines,

where three American servicemen have been killed in politically

motivated attacks this month alone. Imminent danger pay is an additional

15 percent of basic salary for American citizens who are department

employees and $110 per month for all US military personnel. Date:

5/22/90 “Well, first in my mind, the communist dream in the Philippines

will always be there. The communist dream of taking over and dominating

the country will always be there because you can’t kill an ideology.”

General Renato S. de Villa, Chief of Staff, Armed Forces of the

Philippines, from Asia-Pacific Defense Forum, U.S. Pacific Command,

Winter 1989-1990 Date: 11/2/90 …  Turmoil in China…  combined with

speculation about U.S. forces departures from the Philippines, have

merged to cause a new appreciation for U.S. regional security presence.

.  .  .  I believe there is a growing realization in the Pacific that

U.S. presence cannot be taken for granted.  If the U.S. presence is

substantially reduced, many Pacific nations perceive the danger of other

nations moving into the vacuum created by our departure, with a

potential result of conflict and instability.” 22 ACTUAL NEWS EXCERPTS

Admiral Huntington Hardisty, U.S. Navy, Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific

Command, from Asia-Paczfic Defense Forum, U.S. Pacific Command, winter

1989-1990 Date: 11/6/90 MELEE MARS INAUGURATION OF AUTONOMY IN SOUTHERN

PHILIPPINES COTABATO (Nov 6) REUTER-Police punched and clubbed 17 Moslem

students before dragging them off by their hair on Tuesday after they

disrupted President Corazon Aquino’s inauguration of an autonomous

government in the southern Philippines, witnesses said. The students,

members of an organization supporting Moslem rebels demanding a separate

state on Mindanao island, chanted slogans against the autonomous

government about 20 meters from where Aquino was speaking. Manila has

set up the autonomous government, dominated by Moslems, as a way to end

separatist violence on Mindanao, the second-largest island in the

Philippines. The government, headed by former Moslem rebel commander

Zacaria Candao, can pass its own laws, collect taxes and license fees,

and set up a regional police force in the four predominantly Moslem

provinces on Mindanao island it controls. Manila would retain control of

defense and foreign policy.  -from U.S. Naval Institute Military

Database Defense News. Date: 14 January 1991 AIR FORCE TO CREATE TWO NEW

COMPOSITE AIR WINGS BY 1993 WASHINGTON-The U.S. Air Force will develop

by 1993 two composite tactical air wings that combine different types of

aircraft in the same unit.  The new wings will serve as prototypes for

the possible reorganization of the service’s tactical force structure

along more mission-oriented lines.  .  .  .  [The composite air wings]

would include aircraft that could perform attack, defensive, standoff

jamming, and precision-strike missions.  -from Aviation Week and Space

Technology magazine, p.26 AUTHOR NOTE Although the BIB bomber is now

officially called “Lancer,” the author will still use “Excalibur.” Every

effort has been made to present realistic situations, but all of the

persons and situations presented here are products of my imagination and

should not be considered reflections of actual persons, products,

policy, or practice.  Any similarity of any organization, device,

weapons system, policy, person, or place to any real-world counterpart

is strictly coincidental.  The author makes no attempt to present the

actual military or civil policies of any organization or government. The

author hopes readers will note the chronological setting of this novel

in regards to some of his previous books, most notably Day of the

Cheetah. While certain characters and backdrops in that book appear

here, the events described in this book come a full two years earlier

than those in Day of the Cheetah.  Moreover, this book, like that one,

stands completely on its own-neither a prequel nor sequel. MONDAY, 6

JUNE 1994, 0812 HOURS LOCAL SOMEWHERE OVER SOUTHERN NEVADA < minus two

minutes and counting.  .  .  mark.” Lieutenant Colonel Patrick McLanahan

glanced up at his mission data display just as the time-to-go clock

clicked over to 00:01:59.  Dead on time.  He clicked open the command

radio channel with the switch near his left foot.  “Vapor TwoOne

copies,” he reported. “CROWBAR, Vapor Two-One requesting final range

clearance.”

 

“Stand by, Two-One.” Stand by, he thought to himself-not likely.

McLanahan and his partner, Major Henry Cobb, were flying in an FB-111B

“Super Aardvark” bomber, skimming two hundred feet above the hot deserts

of southern Nevada at the speed of soundevery five seconds they waited

put them a mile closer to the target.  The FBI 1 lB was the “stretched”

version of the venerable F-1 11 Supersonic swing-wing bomber, an

experimental model that was the proposed interim supersonic bomber when

the B-1 Excalibur bomber program was canceled back in the late 1970s.

Only a few remained, and the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center

(HAWC)-the Defense Department s secret test complex for weapons and

aircraft, hidden in the restricted desert ranges north of Las Vegas-had

them. Most F1-11 aircraft were Seeing their last few years of Service,

and more and more were popping up in Reserve unitS or sitting in museums

or base airparks-but HAWC always made use of their airframes until they

fell apart or crashed. But the “Super Vark” Was not the subject of

today’s sortie. Although an FB-111B could carry a

twenty-five-thousandpound payload, McLanahan and Cobb were carrying only

one twenty-six-hundred-pound bomb that morning-but what a bomb it was.

Officially the bomb was called the BLU-96, but its nickname was

HADES-and for its size it was the most powerful nonnuclear weapon in

existence.  HADES was filled with two hundred gallons of a thin,

gasoline-like liquid that was dispersed over a target, then ignited by

remote control.  Because the weapon does not need to carry its own

oxidizer but uses oxygen in the atmosphere to ignite the fuel, the

resulting explosion had all the characteristics of a nuclear

explosion-it created a mushroom cloud several hundred feet high, a

fireball nearly a mile in diameter, and a shock wave that could knock

down buildings and trees within two miles.  Oddly enough, the BLU-96 had

not been used since the Vietnam War, soHAWC was conducting experiments

on the feasibility of using the awesome weapon again for some future

conflict. HADES had been designed as a weapon to quickly clear very

large minefields, but against troops it would be utterly devastating.

That fact, of course, would go into HAWC’s report to the Department of

Defense.  “Vapor, this is CROWBAR, you are cleared to enter R-4808N and

R-4806W routes and altitudes, remain this frequency.  Acknowledge.”

McLanahan checked his watch.  “Vapor acknowledges, cleared to enter

Romeo 4808 north and Romeo 4806 west routes and altitudes at zero-six,

1514 Zulu, remain with CROWBAR.  Out.”  He turned to Cobb, checking

engine instruments and the fuel totalizer as his eyes swept across the

center instrument panel.  “We’re cleared in, Henry.”  Cobb clicked the

mike twice in response.  Cobb never said much during missions-his job

was to fly the plane, which he always did in stony silence. Romeo

4808N-that was its official name, although its unclassified nickname was

Dreamland”-was a piece of airspace in south-central Nevada designated by

the Federal Aviation Administration and the Department of Defense as a

“restricted” area, which meant all aircraft-civilian, commercial, other

military flights, even diplomatic-were prohibited to fly over it at any

altitude without permission from HAWC.  Even FAA Air Traffic Control

could not clear aircraft to enter that airspace unless in extreme

emergency, and even then the violating aircraft could expect to get

intercepted by Air Force fighters and the air-traffic controller

responsible could expect a long and serious scrutiny of his actions.

R-4808N was surrounded by four other restricted areas that were meant to

act as a buffer zone to give pilots ample warning time to change course

if they were-accidentally or purposely-straying toward R-4808N. If one

entered R-4808N without permission, military aircrew members would at

best lose their wings, and commercial and civilian pilots would lose

their licenses-and both would be in for an intense multiday “debriefing”

conducted by teams of military and CIA interrogators, who would discard

most articles of the Bill of Rights to find out why someone was stupid

enough to stray into Dreamland.  At worst, one would come face-to-face

with McLanahan and Cobb’s FB-1 1 lB racing across the desert floor at

the speed of heat-or nose-to-nose with a BLU-96 fuel-air explosive bomb

or some other strange and certainly far deadlier weapon. Several

thousand workers, military and civilian, were shuttled from Las Vegas,

Nellis Air Force Base, Beatty, Mercury, Pahrump, and Tonopah every day

to the various research centers there.  Most civilian workers reported

to the Department of Energy facilities near Yucca Flats, where nuclear

weapon research was conducted; most military members traveled forty

miles farther northeast to the uncharted aircraft and weapons facilities

northeast of Yucca Flats called Groom Lake.  A series of electronic and

human observation posts was set up just south of Groom Lake in Emigrant

Valley, where they could observe the BLU-96 HADES bomb’s destructive

power. At the northern tip of Pintwater Ridge, the navigation com puter

commanded a full 60-degree turn toward the west.  McLanahan clicked on

the command channel: “CROWBAR, Vapor Two-One, 1P inbound, unlocking now

at T minus sixty seconds.  Out.”  It took only seconds to configure the

switches for weapon release, and finding the target on radar was a

snap-it was a six-story concrete tower, resembling a fire-department

training tower, surrounded by trucks, a few surplus tanks and armored

personnel carriers, and surrounded by about a hundred mannequins dressed

in various combat outfits, from lightweight fatigues to bulky chemical

suits.  Obviously, HAWC was not concerned about evaluating the effects

of a HADES bomb on minefields-they had “softer” targets in mind for the

BLU-96.  Surrounding ground zero were several thirty-foot-high wooden

blast fences erected every one thousand feet, which would be used to

gauge the effect of the HADES bomb’s shock wave. McLanahan could shack

this bomb with one eye-it was hardly a test of either his or Cobb’s

skill.  This was going to be a “toss” release, where the bombing

computer displayed a CCIP, or continuously computed impact point,

steering cue on Cobb’s heads-up display; the steering cue was a line

that ran from the target at the bottom of the heads-up display to a

release cue cross at the top, with the release pipper in the middle.

Cobb would offset the bomber to one side of the release cue line; then,

at the right moment, would turn and climb so as to “walk” the pipper up

the release cue line and eventually place the release cue cross directly

in the center of the aiming pipper.  When the cross split the pipper,

the bomb would release-the hard turn would add “whip-crack” momentum to

the bomb, allowing it to fly farther than a conventional level release.

It was all a very computer-controlled and rather basic bombing

procedure-hardly a difficult task for a fifteen-year Air Force veteran

bombardier.  But sortie rates were down and flying hours were being cut,

and McLanahan and his fellow flight test crew dogs were sniveling every

flight they could.  Except for a few high-value projects-Dreamstar,

ANTARES, the Megafortress Plus, the A-I 2 bomber, the X-35 and X-37

superfighters, and a few other aircraft that were too weird for words

and probably would never see daylight for another decade-research

activity at Dreamland had almost ground to a halt. Peace was breaking

out all over the world-despite the efforts of nut-cases like Saddam

Hussein, Moammar Quaddafi, and a few renegade Russian generals to

disrupt things-and the military would be the first to pay for the “peace

dividend” that most Americans had been waiting for at least the past

five years. “T minus thirty seconds, final release configuration check,”

McLanahan announced.  He quickly ran through the final seven steps of

the “Weapon Release-Conventional” checklist, then had Cobb read aloud

his heads-up display’s configuration readouts.  Everything was normal.

McLanahan checked the crosshair placement on target, made a slight

adjustment, then told Cobb, “Final aiming…  ready.  My dark visor’s

down.”  McLanahan told Cobb his dark visor was down because Cobb seemed

never to check around the cockpit, although McLanahan knew he did. “Tone

on.”  McLanahan activated the bomb scoring tone so the ground trackers

would know exactly when the release pulse from the bombing computers was

generated. “Copy,” Cobb said.  “Mine too.  Autopilot off, TF’s off.

Coming up on break…  ready…  ready…  now.”  He said it as calmly,

as serenely as if he were describing a china teacup being filled with

afternoon tea-but his actions were certainly not dainty.  Cobb slammed

the FB- 111 in a tight 60-degree bank turn to the left and hauled back

on the control stick.  McLanahan felt a few roll flutters as Cobb made

minute corrections to the break, but otherwise the break was clean and

straight-the more constant the G-forces Cobb could keep on the BLU-96,

the more accurate the toss delivery would be.  Through the steady four

Gs straining on every square inch of their bodies, Cobb grunted, “Coming

up on release .  .  ready .  .  .  ready .  .  .  now.  Release button .

.  .  ready .  .  now.  McLanahan saw the flash of the release pulse on

his weapon control panel, but he jabbed the manual release “pickle”

button just in case the bomb did not separate cleanly. “This is CROWBAR,

good toss, good toss,” McLanahan heard on the command channel.  “All

stations, stand by… Cobb had just completed a 180-degree turn and had

managed to click on the autopilot again when both crew members could see

an impossibly bright flash of light illuminate the cockpit, drowning out

every shadow before them.  Both men instinctively tightened their grips

on handholds or flight controls just as a tremendous smack thundered

against the FB111B’s canopy.  The bomber’s tail was thrust violently to

the left in a wide-sweeping skid, but Cobb was waiting for it and

carefully brought the tail back in line without causing a roll couple.

“Henry-you okay?”  McLanahan shouted.  He could see a few stars in his

eyes from the flash, but he felt no pain.  He had to raise his dark

visor to be able to see the instrument panels.  Cobb raised his own

visor as well.  “Yeah, Patrick, I’m fine.”  After returning his left

hand to his throttle quadrant, he made one quick scan of his controls

and instruments, then resumed his usual position-eyes continually

scanning, head caged straight ahead, hands on stick and throttles.

“CROWBAR, this is Vapor Two-One, condition green, McLanahan reported to

the ground controllers.  “Request clearance for a flyby of ground zero.

“Stand by, Vapor.”  The wait was not as long this time.  “Vapor Two-One,

request approved, remain at six thousand MSL over the target.” Cobb

executed another hard 90-degree left bank-turn and moved the FBI 1 lB’s

wings forward to the 54-degree setting to help slow the bomber down from

superSonic speed.  They could see the results as soon as they completed

their turn back to the target.  There was a ragged splotch of black

around what was left of the concrete target tower, resembling a

smoldering campfire thousands of feet in diameter.  The tanks and

armored personnel carriers had been blackened and tossed several hundred

feet away from ground zero, and the regular trucks were burned and

melted down to unrecognizable hunks.  Wooden blast targets up to two

miles away had been singed or knocked down, and of course all the

mannequins, regardless of what they had been outfitted with, were gone.

“My God..  .”  McLanahan muttered.  He had never seen an atomic ground

zero before except in old photos of Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but guessed

he was looking at a tiny bit of what such devastation would be like.

“Cool,” was all Cobb said-and for him, that was akin to a long string of

epithets and exclamations. McLanahan turned his attention away from the

ugly burn mark and the holocaust below: “CROWBAR, this is Two-One,

flyover complete, request approach clearance. “Vapor, this is CROWBAR,

climb and maintain eight thousand, turn left heading three-zero-zero,

clear to exit R-4806W and re-enter R-4808N to PALACE intersection for

approach and landing.  Thanks for your help.”

 

“Eight thousand, three-zero-zero, PALACE intersection, Vapor copies all.

Good day. Out.” McLanahan set up the navigation radios to help Cobb find

the initial approach fix, but couldn’t shake the pow~ul impression HADES

had left on him.  It was a devastating weapon and would represent a

serious threat and escalation to any conflict.  No, it wasn’t a nuclear

device, but the fact that one aircraft could drop one bomb and kill all

forms of life within a one-to-two-mile radius was pretty sobering.  Just

one B-52 bomber loaded with thirty to forty such weapons could destroy a

small city.  Thankfully, though, there wasn’t a threat on the horizon

that could possibly justify using HADES.  Things were pretty quiet in

the world.  A lot of the countries that had regularly resorted to

aggression before were now opting for peaceful, negotiated settlements.

Flare-ups and regional disputes were still present, but no nation wanted

war with another, because the possibility for massive destruction with

fewer military forces was a demonstrated reality. And for McLanahan that

was just as well.  Better to put weapons like HADES back in storage or

destroy them than to use them. What Patrick McLanahan did not know,

however, was that half a world away, a conflict was brewing that could

once again force him and his fellow flyers to use such awesome weapons.

NEAR THE SPRATLY ISLANDS, SOUTH CHINA SEA WEDNESDAY, 8 JUNE 1994, 2247

HOURS LOCAL nst as fifty-seven-year-old Fleet Admiral Yin Po L’un,

comander of the Spratly Island flotilla, South China Sea Fleet, People’s

Liberation Army Navy of China, reached for his mug of tea from the young

steward, his ship heeled sharply to port and the tray with his tea went

flying across the bridge of his flotilla’s flagship.  Well, evening tea

would be delayed another fifteen minutes.  Sometimes, he thought, his

lot in life was as if the gods had sent a fire-breathing dragon to

destroy a single lam-and the dragon finishes drowning in the sea along

the way. The skipper of Yin’s flagship, Captain Lubu Vin Li, chewed the

young steward up one side and down the other for his clumsiness.  Yin

looked at the poor messboy, a thin, beady-eyed kid obviously with some

Tibetan stock in him.  “Captain, just let him bring the damned tea,

please, ” Yin said.  Lubu bowed in acknowledgment and dismissed the

steward with a slap on the chest and a stern growl. “I apologize for

that accident, sir, ” Lubu said as he returned to stand beside Yin’s

seat on the bridge of the Hong Lung, Admiral Yin’s flagship.  “As you

know, we have been in typhoon-warning-condition three for several days;

I expect all the crew to be able to stand on their own two feet by now.”

“Your time would be better spent speaking with Engineering and

determining the reason for that last roll, Captain, ” Yin said without

looking at his young destroyer skipper.  “The Hong Lung has the world’s

best stabilizer system, and we are not in a full gale yet-the

stabilizers should have been able to dampen the ship’s motion.  See to

it.”  Lubu’s face went blank, then pained as he realized his mistake,

then resolute as he bowed and turned to the ship’s intercom to order the

chief engineer to the bridge.  The most sophisticated vessel in the

People’s Liberation Navy should not be wallowing around in only

force-three winds, Yin thought-it only made the rest of his unit so

unsightly. Admiral Yin turned to glance at the large, thick plastic

panel on which the location and condition of the other vessels in his

flotilla were plotted with a grease pencil.  Radar and sonar data from

his ships were constantly fed to the crewman in charge of the bridge

plot, who kept it updated by alternately wiping and redrawing the

symbols as fast as he could.  His ships were roughly arranged in a wide

protective diamond around the flagship.  The formation was now headed

southwest, pointing into the winds which were tossing around even his

big flagship. Admiral Yin Po L’un’s tiny Spratly Island flotilla

currently consisted of fourteen small combatants, averaging around

fifteen years of age, with young, inexperienced crews on them.  Four to

six of those ships were detached into a second task force, which cruised

within the Chinese zone when the other ships were near the neutral zone.

On the outer perimeter of the flotilla, Admiral Yin Po L’un deployed

three Huangfen-class fast-attack missile boats, capable against heavy

surface targets, and four Hegu-class fastattack missile boats with

antisubmarine and antiaircraft weapons.  He had an old Lienyun-class

minesweeper on the point, a precautionary tactic born of the conflict

with the Vietnamese Navy only six years earlier.  He also had two big

Hainan-class fast patrol boats with antiair, antiship, and antisubmarine

weapons operating as “roamers, ” moving between the inner and outer

perimeters.  All were direct copies of old World War II Soviet designs,

and these boats had no business being out in the open ocean, even as

forgiving and generally tame as the South China Sea was.  The ships in

Yin’s flotilla rotated out every few weeks with other ships in the

six-hundred-ship South China Sea Fleet, based at Zhanjiang Naval Base on

the Leizhou Peninsula near the Gulf of Tonkin. Yin’s flagship, the Hong

Lung, or Red Dragon, was a beauty, a true oceangoing craft for the

world’s largest navy.  It was a Type EF5 guided-missile destroyer that

had a Combination Diesel or Gas Turbine propulsion system that propelled

the 132-meter, five-thousand-ton vessel to a top speed of over

thirty-five nautical miles per hour.  The Hong Lung had a helicopter

hangar and launch platform, and it carried a modern, French-built

Dauphin II patrol, rescue, antimine, and antisubmarine warfare

helicopter.  Yin’s destroyer also carried six supersonic Fei Lung-7

antiship missiles, the superior Chinese version of the French Exocet

antiship missile; two Fei Lung-9 long-range supersonic antiship

missiles, experimental copies of the French-built ANS antiship missile;

two Hong Qian-9 1 single antiair missile launchers, fore and aft, with

thirty-missile manually loaded magazines each; a Creusoit-Loire

dual-purpose 100-millimeter gun; and four single-barreled and two

double-barreled 37-millimeter antiaircraft guns.  It also had a single

Phalanx CIWS, or Close-In Weapon System gun.  Developed in the United

States of America, Phalanx was a radarguided Vulcan multibarrel

20-millimeter gun that could destroy incoming sea-skimming antiship

missiles; from its mount on the forecastle perch behind and below the

con, it could cover both sides and the stern out to a range of two

kilometers.  The Hong Lung also carried sonar (but no torpedoes or depth

charges) and sophisticated targeting radars for her entire arsenal. The

Hong Lung was specifically designed to patrol the offshore islands

belonging to China, such as the Spratly and the Paracel Islands, and to

engage the navies of the various countries that claimed these islands-so

the Hong Lung carried no antisubmarine-warfare weaponry like the older

Type EF4 Luda-class destroyers of the North Fleet.  The Hong Lung could

defeat any surface combatant in the South China Sea and could protect

itself against almost any air threat.  The Hong Lung’s escort ships-the

minesweepers and ASW vesselscould take on any threat that the destroyer

wasn’t specifically equipped to deal with. “Position, navigator, “

Admiral Yin called out.  The navigator behind and to the Admiral’s right

called out in reply, “Sir!”, bent to work at his plastic-covered chart

table as a series of coordinates were read to him from the LORAN

navigation computers, then replied, “Sir, position is ten nautical miles

northwest of West Reef, twenty-three miles north of Spratly Island air

base.”

 

“Depth under the keel?” “Showing twenty meters under the keel, sir, “

Captain Lubu Vin Li replied.  “No danger of running aground if we stay

on this course, sir.” Yin grunted his acknowledgment.  That was exactly

what he was worried about.  While his escorts could traverse the shallow

waters of the Spratly Island chain easily, the Hong Lung was an

oceangoing vessel with a four-meter draft.  At low tide, the big

destroyer could find itself run aground at any time while within the

Spratly Islands. Although the Spratlys were in neutral territory, China

controlled the valuable islands informally by sheer presence of force if

not by agreement or treaty. Yin’s normal patrol route took the flotilla

through the southern edge of the “neutral zone” area of the island

chain, scanning for Philippine vessels and generally staying on watch.

Although the Philippine Navy patrolled the Spratlys and had a lot of

firepower there, Admiral Yin’s smaller, faster escort ships could mount

a credible force against them.  And since the Philippine ships had no

medium or long-range antiship missiles or antiair missiles in the area,

the Hong Lung easily outgunned every warship within two thousand miles.

They were currently on an eastward heading, cruising well north of the

ninth parallel-and as far as Yin was concerned, the “neutral zone” meant

that he might consider issuing a warning to trespassers before opening

fire on them.  The shoal water was also south of their position, near

Pearson Reef, and he wanted to stay clear of those dangerous waters.

“CIC to bridge, ” the interphone crackled.  “Wenshan re ports surface

contact, bearing three-four-zero, range eighteen miles.  Stationary

target.” Captain Lubu keyed his microphone and grunted a curt,

“Understood, ” then checked the radar plot.  The Wenshan was one of the

Hainan-class patrol boats roaming north and east of the Hong Lung; it

had a much better surface-search radar than the small

Huangfen-classboat, the Xingyi, in the vicinity; although the Xingyi was

equippe~Fei Lung-7 surface attack missiles, often other ships had to

seek out targets for it. Lubu turned to Admiral Yin.  “Sir, the surface

contact is near Phu Qui Island, in the neutral zone about twenty miles

north of Pearson Reef.  No recent reports of any vessels or structures

in the area.  We have Wenshan and Xingyi in position to investigate the

contact.” Yin nodded that he understood.  Phu Qui Island, he knew, was a

former Chinese oil-drilling site in the Spratly Islands; the well had

been capped and abandoned years ago.  Although Phu Qui Island

disappeared underwater at high tide, it was a very large rock and coral

formation and could easily be expanded and fortified-it would be an even

larger island than Spratly Island itself.  If Yin was tasked to pick an

island to occupy and fortify, he would pick Phu Qui. So might someone

else.  . “Send Wenshan and Xingyi to investigate the contact, ” Yin

ordered. “Rotate Manning north to take Wenshan ‘5 position.”  Manning

was the other Hainan-class patrol boat acting as “rover” in Yin’s patrol

group. Captain Lubu acknowledged the order and relayed the instructions

to his officer of the deck for transmission to the Wenshan. Yin, who had

been in the People’s Liberation Army Navy practically all of his life,

was proud of the instincts he’d honed during his loyal career.  He

trusted them.  And now, somewhere deep down in his gut, those instincts

told him this was going to be trouble.  Granted, Phu Qui Island, and

even the Spratlys themselves, seemed the most unlikely place to expect

trouble.  The Spratlys-called Nansha Dao, the Lonely Islands, in

Chinese-were a collection of reefs, atolls, and semisubmerged islands in

the middle of the South China Sea, halfway between Vietnam and the

Philippines and several hundred kilometers south of China.  The

fifty-five major surface formations of the Spratlys were dotted with

shipwrecks, attesting to the high degree of danger involved when

navigating in the area.  Normally, such a deathtrap as the Spratlys

would be given a wide berth.  Centuries ago Chinese explorers had

discovered that the Nansha Dao was a treasure trove of minerals-gold,

iron, copper, plus traces or indications of dozens of other metals-as

well as gems and other rarities. Since the islands were right on the sea

lanes between the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean, the “round-eyes”

eventually found them, and the English named them the Spratlys after the

commander of a British warship who “discovered” them in the eighteenth

century.  It was the British who discovered oil in the Spratlys and

began tapping it. Unfortunately, the British had not yet developed the

technology to successfully and economically drill for oil in the

weatherbeaten islands, so the islands were abandoned for safer and more

lucrative drilling sites in Indonesia and Malaysia. As time progressed,

several nations-Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Philippines-all tried to

develop the islands as a major stopover port for sea traffic.  But it

was following World War II that the Chinese considered the Spratlys as

well as everything else in the South China Sea as their territory. As

oil-drilling platforms, fishing grounds, and mining operations began to

proliferate, the Chinese, aided by the North Vietnamese, who acted as a

surrogate army for their Red friends, began vigorously patrolling the

area.  During the Vietnam War radar sites and radio listening posts on

Spratly Island allowed the Vietcong and China to detect and monitor

every vessel and aircraft heading from the Philippines to Saigon,

including American B-52 bombers on strike missions into North Vietnam.

But the most powerful navy in the postwar world, the United States Navy,

exerted the greatest tangible influence over the Spratly Islands.

Through its sponsorship, the government of the Philippines began

patrolling the islands, eradicating the Vietnamese espionage units and

using the islands as a base of operations for controlling access to the

western half of the South China Sea.  The Chinese had been effectively

chased away from the Spratlys, ending five hundred years of dominance

there. That became a very sore point for the Chinese.  After the Vietnam

War, the American presence weakened substantially, which allowed first

the Vietnamese Navy, and then the Chinese Navy, to return to the Spratly

Islands.  But the Philippines still maintained their substantial

American-funded military presence there, although they had ceded most of

the southern islands to China and Vietnam. The lines had been drawn. The

Philippines claimed the thirty atolls north of the nine degrees, thirty

minutes north latitude, and the territory in between was a sort of

neutral zone.  Things were relatively quiet for about ten years

following the Vietnam War.  But in the late 1 980s conflict erupted

again.  During the war, Vietnam had accepted substantial assistance from

the Soviet Union in exchange for Russian use of the massive Cam Rahn

naval base and airbase, which caused a break in relations between China

and Vietnam.  Vietnam, now trained and heavily armed by the Soviet

Union, was excluding Chinese vessels from the oil and mineral mining

operations in the Spratlys.  Several low-scale battles broke out.  It

was discovered that the Soviet Union was not interested in starting a

war with China to help Vietnam hold the Spratlys, so China moved in and

regained the control they had lost forty years earlier.  Faced with

utter destruction, the Vietnamese Navy withdrew, content to send an

occasional reconnaissance flight over the region. That was when Admiral

Yin Po L’un had been assigned his Spratly Island flotilla.  To his way

of thinking, these were not the Spratlys, or the Quan-Dao Mueng Bang as

the Vietnamese called them-these were the Nansha Dao, property of the

PeopIes Republic of China.  China had built a hard-surfaced runway on

Spratly Island and had reinforced some stronger reefs and atolls around

it enough to create naval support facilities.  Their claim was stronger

than any other nation.  Several other nations had protested the

militarization of Spratly Island, but no one had done anything more than

talk.  To Admiral Yin, it was only a matter of time before all of the

Nansha Dao returned to Chinese control. But the Filipino Navy, such as

it was, still held very tight control over their unofficially designated

territory.  Yin’s job was to patrol the region, map out all sea traffic,

and report on any new construction or attempts to move oil-drilling

platforms, fish-processing vessels, or mining operations in the neutral

zone or in the Philippine sector.  He was also to report on any

movements of the Philippine Navy’s major vessels in the area and to

constantly position his forces to confront and defeat the Filipino

pretenders should hostilities erupt. Not that the Filipino Navy was a

substantial threat to the Chinese Navy-far from it.  The strongest of

the Filipino ships patrolling the Spratly Islands were forty-year-old

frigates, corvettes, radar picket ships, and subchasers, held together

by coats of paint and prayers. Still, a threat to Yin’s territory-no

matter whom it was from-was a threat, in his mind, to all of China.

Thirty minutes later, Yin’s task force had closed to within nine miles

of the contact while Wenshan and Xingyi had closed to within one mile;

Yin positioned his ships so that he could maintain direct, scrambled

communications with his two patrol boats but stay out of sight of the

contact. “Dragon, this is Seven, ” the skipper aboard Wenshan, Captain

Han, radioed back to Admiral Yin.  “I have visual contact.  The target

is an oil derrick.  It appears to be mounted or anchored atop Phu Qui

Island. It is surrounded by several supply barges with pipes on board,

and two tugboats are nearby.  There may be armed crewmen on deck.  They

are flying no national flags, but there does appear to be a company flag

flying.  We are moving closer to investigate.  Request permission to

raise the derrick on radio.” So his instincts had been right An oil

derrick in the neutral zone? How dare they place an oil derrick on

Chinese property.”  Yin turned to Lubu.  “I want the transmissions

relayed to us.  Permission granted to hail the derrick.  Tell Captain

Han to warn the crew that they will be attacked if they do not remove

that derrick from the neutral zone immediately.” A few moments later,

Yin heard Han’s warning: “Attention, attention the oil derrick on Phu

Qui Island.  This is the People’s Republic of China frigate Wenshan on

international hailing channel nine.  Respond immediately.  Over.”

Captain Han on Wenshan was speaking in excellent English, the universal

sailors language even in this part of the world, and Yin had to struggle

to keep up with the conversation.  He made a mental note to congratulate

Han on his resourcefulness-the Wenshan was not a frigate, but if the

crew of the oil derrick believed that it was, they might be less

inclined to resist and more inclined to follow orders. “Frigate Wenshan,

this is the National Oil Company Barge Nineteen on channel nine.  We

read you loud and clear.  Over.” Admiral Yin seethed.  The National Oil

Company.  That was a Philippine company run by a relative of the new

Philippine president, Arturo Mikaso, and headquartered in Manila. Worse,

it was financed by and operated mostly by rich Texas oil drillers.

American capitalists who obviously thought they could, in their

typically imperialistic way, just set up an oil derrick anywhere they

pleased. The audacity. To even attempt to build a derrick in a neutral

zone.  And Yin knew it wasn’t really neutral at all.  It was Chinese

territory.  And the Americans and the Filipinos were trying to rape it.

“National Oil Barge Nineteen, ” Han continued, “you are violating

international agreements that prohibit any private or commercial mineral

exploration or facilities in this area.  You are ordered to remove all

equipment immediately and vacate the area.  You will receive no further

warnings.  Comply immediately.  Over.”

 

“Vessel Wenshan, we are involved in search and salvage operations at

this time, ” a new voice on the radio, young and at ease, replied.

“Salvage operations are permitted in international waters.  We are not

aware of any international agreements involving these waters.  You may

contact the Philippine or American governments for clarification.”

 

“National Oil Barge Nineteen, commercial operations in these waters are

a direct threat to the national security and business interests of the

People’s Republic of China, ” Captain Han replied.  He knew that Admiral

Yin would not approve of his debating like this over the radio-he was a

soldier, Yin would tell him, not a scum-sucking politician-but he wasn’t

going to move a meter closer to the Philippine oil derrick unless

everyone on board understood why. “You are ordered to discontinue all

operations immediately or I will take action.”  There was no further

reply from the barge crew.  “HF radio traffic from the barge, sir, “

Lubu said, relaying a report from his Radio section.  “They may be

contacting headquarters.” Contacting headquarters?  There was no reason

for the people on the drilling platform to do anything other than

dismantle.  And to do it immediately. Yin shook his head in disbelief.

And anger.  China had been forced to cede an island chain that was

rightly theirs, forced to set up a neutral zone and allow free

navigation in the area, only to have it thrown back in their faces.  The

arrogance! “This is unacceptable!”  Yin spat.  “Any idiot knows this is

Chinese territory, whether this is called neutral territory or not.  How

dare they “We can relay a message to Headquarters and report the

violation, sir. Yin bristled.  “This is not a mere violation, Lubu. This

is an act of aggression!  They know full well that the neutral zone is

off-limits to all commercial activity, and that includes salvage

operations-if indeed that is what they are really doing.  This task

force will not sit idly by while these bastards ignore international law

and challenge my authority.” Lubu had not seen his Admiral this angry in

a very long time. “Sir, if we are seriously considering an armed

response, perhaps Headquarters… Admiral Yin cut him off.  “These

people aren’t worth the aggravation of an explanation. Have you

forgotten that I’m in charge of this area?  It is my responsibility to

protect our territory.”  Yin shook his head angrily. “The brazenness of

this is what’s so astounding to me.  Don’t they remember history? Hasn’t

there been enough of their blood shed over these islands?  Have they

gone senile?  Well, let’s remind them of the full power of this force.”

Yin turned to Lubu.  “Captain, relay to Captain Han on Wenshan: ‘You are

ordered to move within one thousand meters of the platform so as to

provide sufficient lighting and covering fire from your deck guns, then

dispatch a boarding crew to take the captain, officers, and other

personnel on board the derrick into custody.  After the crew is removed

from the barge, you will destroy the entire facility with heavy gunfire.

‘To Xingyi: have them move closer and be ready to assist.  To the rest

of this task group: ‘go to general quarters.” Relay the messages and

execute.”

 

“Number-one launch is manned and ready, sir, ” the officer 0f( the deck

reported.  “The chief reports davits for launch number three are fouled;

he recommends switching to launch four.”

 

“So ordered.  I want that launch freed up as soon as possible. Have

other launches checked and report status to me immediately.”  Han wasn’t

going to say why-he was afraid they might need the damned launches for

themselves.  A few minutes later, with the ~nshan barely maintaining a

close and comfortable position away from Phu Qui Island, the motor

launches were lowered overboard.  Each wooden launch, forty feet long

and eight feet wide, carried a crew of three and eight sailors armed

with AK-47 look-alike Type 56 rifles and sidearms. The launches were

only a few dozen meters away from the Wenshan when the world seemed to

explode for Admiral Yin, Captain Han, Captain Lubu, and the rest of the

task force. The engines on the Wenshan had been racing back and forth in

response to the helmsman’s attempts to hold the ship’s position steady.

Han had been watching the number-four motor launch moving away from the

ship and did not hear his crewman’s warning: “Shoal water!  Depth three

meters .  .  depth two meters…  depth under the keel decreasing.” From

the barges on Phu Qui Island, bullets began pelting the starboard side

of the Wenshan as the crewman aboard the oil-derrick barges fired on the

approaching launches and at the Wenshan itself. Captain Han had not

heard the shoal-water warning.  He ran back into the bridge.  “Radio to

Hong Lung, we are under fire from the oil barges. “Captain, depth under

the keel…!” Suddenly the Wenshan was pushed laterally toward the

island and struck a coral outcropping surrounding Phu Qui Island.  The

patrol boat heeled sharply to starboard, the sudden, crunching stop

flinging every crewman on the bridge off his feet.  The gusting winds

only served to push the Wenshan harder against the coral, and although

the brittle calcium formations gave way immediately under the

four-hundred-ton ship, the sound of straining steel combined with the

howling winds and the cries of the surprised crewmen made it seem like

the end of the world was at hand. The officer of the deck had raised his

headset microphone to his lips and shouted, “Comm, bridge, relay to Hong

Lung, we are under fire, we are under fire..  .”  Then amid the tearing

and crunching sounds: “We have hit the reef, we have hit the reef.”  But

the message transmitted to the rest of the task force group by the

startled and terrified radioman was, Wenshan to Hong Lung, we are under

fire.  .  .  we have been hit.” ABOARD THE FLAGSHIP HONG LUNG When the

warning from the Wenshan pierced the air in the bridge of the Hong Lung,

Admiral Yin spun on his heels to Captain Lubu and shouted, “Order

Wenshan and Xingyi to open fire, full missile and gun salvo.” Lubu

wasn’t going to question this order-he had been fearing just such an

occurrence.  He quickly relayed the command to his officer of the deck.

Seconds later the stormy night sky erupted with flashes of light and

streaks of fire off in the distance.  Using their sophisticated Round

Ball fire-control radar, the fast attack craft Kingyi had maintained a

continuous attack solution on the barges with their Fei Lung-7

surface-to-surface missiles.  As soon as the warning cry had been issued

by Captain Han on Wenshan, Captain Miliyan on Xingyi had ordered all

missiles and guns made ready for action.  When he received the message

from Admiral Yin, the Fei Lung guided missiles were in the air. The

Flying Dragon missiles received initial course guidance from the Round

Ball targeting radar, and a small booster engine ignited that punched

the twenty.two-hundred-pound missile out of its storage canister.  After

flying a hundred yards away from the ship, the big second-stage

sustainer motor kicked on, accelerating the missile to Mach one.  A

radar altimeter kept the missile precisely at one hundred feet above the

choppy waters until it hit the easternmost barge and exploded six

seconds after launch. The pointed titanium armor-piercing warhead

section thruster cap of the Fei Lung missile allowed the missile to

drive through the thin steel hull of the outermost barge before

detonating the warhead.  The four-hundred-pound high-explosive warhead

created a massive firestorm all across the Philippine oil platform,

spraying red-hot chunks of metal and propellant for hundreds of yards in

every direction.  A wall of fire caused by a wave of burning petroleum

washed across Phu Qui Island, swirling into an inverted tornado that

defied the late summer rains and stabbed skyward. Captain Han watched

the spectacular firestorm that was once a Philippine oil derrick for

several moments until he realized that the Wenshan had returned to an

even keel and that the forward 76-millimeter gun had opened fire on the

platform, pounding the mountain of flames with twenty kilogram

radar-guided shells.  “Cease fire!”  Han shouted at his officer of the

deck, who was staring in rapt fascination out the forward windshield at

the maelstrom.  “Cease fire!”  he repeated before the forward 76 was

silent.  “Helm!  Move us out to two kilometers from the island.  Signal

the motor launches and the Hong Lung that we are maneuvering out of

shoal water.” As Wenshan eased away from the huge fires still raging on

the Philippine oil barges, Xingyi launched two more missiles at the

barge until Admiral Yin on the Hong Lung ordered him to stop.  One Fei

Lung missile was quite enough to suppress any hostile fire from the

small oil facility, and two missiles would have completely destroyed

it-four missiles, half the Xingyi ‘s load, could devastate an aircraft

carrier. Admiral Yin’s intent was clear-he wanted no one alive on that

platform. “Seven, this is the Dragon, ” the radio message began.

“Recover your boarding parties and rejoin the group.  Over.” Captain Han

picked up the radio microphone himself.  “I copy, Dragon, ” Han replied.

“I recommend that one of my motor launches search for survivors.  Over.”

“Request denied, Seven, ” came the reply.  “Dragon Leader orders all

Dragon units to withdraw.” One hour later, all traces of the Philippine

oil derrick and barges were swept away in the rising tide of the

windswept South China Sea currents.  Except for a few pieces of pipe and

half-burned bodies, the oil platform had ceased to exist. MALACANANG

PALACE, MANILA, THE PHILIPPINES THURSDAY, 9 JUNE 1994, 0602 HOURS LOCAL

Since the Marcos years, the official residence of the Philippine

President, Malacanang Palace, had undergone a major transformation.

Concerned for his security, Marcos had transformed the graceful

eighteenth-century Spanish colonial mansion into an ugly fortress-he had

blocked most of the windows and replaced stained glass and crystal with

steel or reinforced bulletproof glass.  Wishing to distance her

government from the dictatorial excesses of the Marcos regime, Corazon

Aquino had chosen to live in the less pretentious Guest House and had

turned the palace into a museum of shame, where citizens and tourists

could gape in wonder at Marcos’ underground bunker-some called it his

“torture chambers”-and Imelda’s cavernous bedroom, stratospheric canopy

bed; her infamous shoe closets and her bulletproof brassiere. The new

President of the Philippines, seventy-year-old Arturo Mikaso, changed

the Malacanang Palace back into a historical landmark that his people

could be proud of, as well as a livable residence for himself and a

workable office complex 46ions of Malacanang Palace were now open for

tours when they were not in use by the President.  In time the palace

again became a symbol for the city of Manila itself. But now, in the

growing summer dawn, the palace was the scene of a hastily arranged

meeting of the President’s Cabinet.  In Mikaso’s residential office,

where the President could see the Pasig River that wound through

northern Manila, President Mikaso sipped a cup of tea. Mikaso was the

elder statesman, a white-haired man who was taller and more

powerful-looking than most Filipinos, a wealthy landowner and ex-senator

who was immensely popular with most of his people.  Mikaso had been

elected as President of the nation when Corazon Aquino’s second

four-year term came to an end.  He won the election only after forming

an alliance with the National Democratic Front, the main political organ

of the Communist Party of the Philippines; and the Moro National

Liberation Front, a pro-Islamic political group that represented the

thousands of citizens of the Islamic faith in the south Philippines.

“How many were killed, General?”  Mikaso asked.  “Thirty men, all

civilians, ” the Chief of Staff of the New Philippine Army, General

Roberto La Loma Santos, replied somberly.  “Their barge came under full

attack by a Red Chinese patrol.  No orders to surrender, no quarter

given, no attempts to offer assistance or rescue the attack.  The

bastards attacked, then slinked away like cowardly dogs.” A tall,

dark-haired man, standing alone near the great stone fireplace, turned

toward General Santos.  “You have still not explained to us, General, “

Second Vice President J~~e Trujillo Samar said in a deep voice, “what

that barge was doing in the neutral zone, anchored to Pagasa Island.  .

“And what are you implying, Samar?”  First Vice President Daniel

Teguina, who was seated near the President’s desk, challenged.  Teguina

was politically an ally of Samar but ideologically a complete opposite.

Part of the coalition formed during the 1994 elections was the

appointment of forty-one year-old Daniel Teguina.  Much younger than

Mikaso, Teguina was not only a vice president, but also the leader of

the Philippine House of Representatives, an ex-military officer,

newspaper publisher, and leader of the National Democratic Front, a

leftist political organization. With General J~~e Trujillo Samarwho

besides being the second vice president was also governor of the newly

formed Commonwealth of Mindanao, which had won the right to form its own

autonomous commonwealth in 1990-these three men formed a fiery coalition

that, although successful in continuing the important post-Marcos

rebuilding process in the Philippines, was stormy and divisive.  “Those

were innocent Filipino workers on the barge..  .”  said Teguina. Samar

nodded and said, “Who were illegally drilling for oil in the neutral

zone.  Did they think the Chinese were going to just sit back and watch

them work?”

 

“They were not drilling for oil, just taking soundings, ” said Teguina.

“Well, they had no business there, ” Samar insisted.  “The Chinese

Navy’s actions were outrageous, but those workers were in clear

violation of the law.”

 

“You’re a cold bastard, ” Teguina cut in. “Blaming the dead for an act

of aggression “Enough, enough, ” the elderly Mikaso said wearily,

gesturing for the men to stop.  “I did not call you here to argue.

Teguina glared at both men.  “Well, we can’t just sit back and do

nothing.  The Chinese just launched a major act of aggression.  We must

do something.  We must-“

 

“Enough, ” Mikaso interrupted.  “We must begin an investigation and find

out exactly why that barge was operating in those waters, then. “Sir, I

recommend that we also step up patrols in the Spratly Island area, “

General Santos said.  “This may be a prelude to a full-scale invasion of

the Spratlys by the Chinese.”

 

“Risky, ” Samar concluded.  “A naval response would be seen as

provocative, and we have no way of winning any conflict with the

People’s Liberation Navy.  We would gain nothing… “Always the general,

eh, Samar?”  Teguina asked derisively. He turned away from him to the

President.  “I agree with General Santos.  We have a navy, however

small-I say to send them to protect our interests in the Spratlys.  We

have an obligation to our people to do nothing short of that.” Arturo

Mikaso looked at each of his advisers in turn and nodded in agreement.

Little did he realize the extraordinary chain of events he was about to

set into motion with that slight nod of his head. OVER NEW MEXICO, 100

MILES SOUTH OF ALBUQUERQUE 9 JUNE 1994, 0745 HOURS LOCAL with his boyish

face, long, gangly arms and legs, his baseball cap, and his

thirty-two-ounce squeeze bottle of Pepsi-Cola-he drank five such bottles

a day yet was still as skinny as a rail-Jonathan Colin Masters resembled

a kid at a Saturday afternoon ball game.  He had bright-green eyes and

short brown hair-luckily, the baseball cap hid Masters’ hair, or else

his stubborn cowlicks would have made him appear even younger, almost

adolescent, to the range officers and technicians standing nearby.

Masters, his assistants and technicians, and a handful of Air Force and

Defense Advanced Research and Projects Agency (DARPA) officials were on

board a converted DC-10 airliner, forty-five thousand feet over the

White Sands Missile Test Range in south-central New Mexico.  Unlike the

military and Pentagon officials, who were poring over checklists, notes,

and schematics, Masters had his feet up on a raised track in the cargo

section of the massive airliner, sipping his cola and smiling like a kid

who was at the circus for the first time. “The winds are kicking up

again, Doctor Masters, ” U.S. Air Force Colonel Ralph Foch said to

Masters, his voice one of concern. Masters wordlessly tipped his soda

bottle at the Air Force range safety officer and reached to his control

console, punched in instructions to the computer, and studied the

screen.  “Carrier aircraft has compensated for the winds, and ALARM has

acknowledged the change, ” Masters reported.  “We got it covered,

Ralph.” Colonel Ralph Foch wasn’t mollified, and being called “Ralph” by

a man-no, a kid-twenty years his junior didn’t help.  “The

one-hundred-millibar wind patterns are approaching the second-stage ‘Q’

limits, Doctor, ” Foch said irritably.  “That’s the third increase over

the forecast we’ve seen in the past two hours.  We should consider

aborting the flight.” Masters glanced over his shoulder at Foch and

smiled a dimpled, toothy smile.  “ALARM compensated OK, Ralph, ” Masters

repeated.  “No need to abort.”

 

“But we’re on the edge of the envelope as it is, ” Colonel Foch reminded

him. “The edge of your envelope, Ralph, ” Masters said.  He got to his

feet, walked a few steps aft, and patted the nose of a huge,

torpedo-shaped object sitting on its launch rail. “You established your

flight parameters based on data I provided, and you naturally made your

parameters more restrictive.  ALARM here knows its limits and it still

says go.  So we go. “Doctor Masters, as the range safety officer I’m

here to insure a safe launch for both the ground and the air crews.  My

parameters are established to-“

 

“Colonel Foch, if you want to abort the mission, say the word, ” Masters

said calmly, barely suppressing a casual burp.  “The Navy doesn’t get

their relay hookup satellites on the air until tomorrow, you can spend

the night at the Blytheville, Arkansas, Holiday Inn again, and I can

bill DARPA another one hundred thousand dollars for gas.  It’s your

decision.”

 

“I’m merely expressing my concern about the winds at altitude, Doctor

Masters .  . “And I replied to your concerns, ” Masters said with a

smile.  “My little baby here says it’s a go.  Unless we fly somewhere

else to launch, away from the jet stream .  .  “DARPA is very specific

about the launch area, Doctor.  These satellites are important to the

Navy.  They want to moni tor the booster’s progress throughout the

flight.  The launch must be over the White Sands range. “Fine.  Then we

continue to monitor the winds and let the computers do their jobs. If

they can’t properly compensate without going outside the range, we turn

around on the racetrack and try again.  If we go outside the launch

window, we abort.  Fair enough?” Foch could do nothing but nod in

agreement.  This launch was important to both the Navy and Air Force,

and he wasn’t prepared to issue a launch abort unilaterally. The object

called ALARM that Masters so lovingly regarded was the Air Launched

Alert Response Missile; there were two of the huge missiles on board the

DC-10 that morning.  ALARM was a four-stage space booster designed to

place up to three-quarter-ton payloads in low-to-medium Earth orbit by

launching the booster from the cargo hold of an aircraft-in effect, the

DC-10 was the ALARM booster’s first stage, with the other three stages

provided by powerful solid-fuel rockets on the missile itself. The ALARM

missile had a long, slender, one-piece wing that swiveled out from its

stowed position along the missile’s fuselage after launch. The wing

would supply lift and increase the effectiveness of the solid rocket

motors while the booster was in the atmosphere, which greatly increased

the power and payload capability of the booster.  An ALARM booster could

carry as much as fifteen hundred pounds in its ten-foot-long,

forty-inch-diameter payload bay. On today’s mission, each of Masters’

ALARM boosters carried four small two-hundred-pound communications

satellites, which Jon Masters, in his own inimitable way, called

NIRTSats-“Need It Right This Second” satellites.  Unlike more

conventional satellites, which weighed hundreds or even thousands of

pounds, were placed in high geosynchronous orbits almost twenty-three

thousand miles above the Equator, and could carry dozens of

communications channels, NIRTSats were small, lightweight satellites

which carried only a few communications channels and were placed in low,

one-hundred-to-one-thousand-mile orbits.  Unlike geosynchronous

satellites, which orbited the Earth once per day and therefore appeared

to be stationary over the Equator, NIRTSats orbited the Earth once every

ninety to three hundred minutes, which meant that usually more than one

satellite had to be launched to cover a particular area.  But a NIRTSat

cost less than one-fiftieth the price of a fullsized satellite, and it

cost less to insure and launch as well. Even with a constellation of

four NIRTSats, a customer with a need for satellite communications could

get it for less than one-third the price of buying “air time” on an

existing satellite.  A single ALARM booster launch, which cost only ten

million dollars from start to finish, could give a customer instant

global communications capability from anywhere in the world-and it took

only a few days to get the system in place, instead of the months or

even years it took for conventional launches. NIRTSats could be

repositioned anywhere in orbit if requirements changed, and Masters had

even devised a way to recover a NIRTSat intact and reuse it, which saved

the customer even more money. Masters’ customer this day was, as it

usually was, the Department of Defense, which was why all the military

observers were on hand. Masters was to place four NIRTSats in a

four-hundred-mile-high polar orbit over the western Pacific to provide