Dancing with the Dragon

Chapter 15

Scott completed a thorough preflight of the Harrier while Jackie stowed her camera and camcorder in the backseat of the plane. The handpicked ground crew, who had no idea what kind of mission the two pilots were flying, helped Jackie and Scott get settled into their ejection seats. Although the aviators were pleasant and seemed to be relaxed, the Marines found it strange that neither pilot wore anything displaying their name or rank.

Scott started the engine and completed his checklists, then keyed his radio to receive his instrument clearance. He copied his clearance to the rendezvous point with the Phantom, then read back his instructions and called for taxi to the duty runway.

Keying the intercom, Scott spoke to Jackie as he began taxiing for takeoff. "Everything okay back there?"

"Couldn't be better."

"Excellent."

"Do I get an in-flight movie?"

"Now, the movies are reserved for the pilot."

Jackie glanced at two F/A-18s taking off in formation. "How are things in the wheelhouse?"

"Well, all the bells and whistles are quiet."

"That's always a good sign."

Scott completed his takeoff checklist as they approached the end of the runway. "Ready to go?"

Jackie keyed her ICS. "Yeah, I just hope everyone is on time."

"They will be."

"You're such an optimist."

He laughed under his oxygen mask. "It's contagious, you know."

"Well, I haven't caught it yet."

Just before reaching the runway, Scott called the tower for permission to take off. The response was immediate.

Dalton keyed his radio. "Spooky Four-Fourteen is on the roll."

He added power and made a normal short takeoff. Seconds after leaving the runway, Scott raised the landing gear and flaps and began accelerating to his climb profile.

"Spooky Four-One-Four, contact departure control."

"Spooky Four-Fourteen switchin' to departure."

After Scott checked in with departure control, he established radio contact on a common frequency with the E-2C Hawkeye and with Wyatt Craine, call sign Rocky Nineteen. Less than two minutes later Dalton leveled off at ten thousand feet and looked at the moon. "At least we'll have some light this evening."

"And so will the Chinese."

Sitting at a universal console, Craine studied his remote control cockpit. It was equipped with a control stick, rudder pedals, wheel brakes, throttle control, and instruments to fly and navigate without reference to any outside stimulus. The integrated target control system employed a nose-mounted television camera on the QF-4S Phantom that allowed the operator to make remote takeoffs and landings.

The drone's capability was the same as that of a regular McDonnell Douglas F-4. The powerful fighter was capable of Mach 2.2 and had a service ceiling of sixty thousand feet. Other specifics of the QF-4S were classified, but the 82d Aerial Targets Squadron (ATRS) from Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida, and Craine's unit had developed proven techniques for safely flying and maneuvering four airplanes in close formation.

Craine keyed his radio. "Spooky Four-Fourteen, say your posit."

"We're seventeen southeast at base plus four." Scott checked his instrument panel. "Ah, lookin' for a turkey."

"You have a bird on the way."

"Copy, Rocky Nineteen."

With Hartwell Prost sitting close to him, Craine taxied the QF-4S onto the runway and carefully aligned the aircraft for takeoff. He held the brakes and turned on the normal exterior lights, then checked his wristwatch for the umpteenth time and keyed his mike. "Prime Time Six-Oh-Two, do you copy Rocky One-Nine?"

"Rocky," the systems operator in the E-2C Hawkeye radioed, "Prime Time Six-Oh-Two has you and Spooky five-by."

"Copy." Craine mentally prepared himself to fly the drone. "Rocky Nineteen is launching a bird."

"We're standing by," the Hawkeye systems operator said, as he watched the Harrier on his radar screen.

Prost adjusted his radio headset and closely watched the former fighter pilot. Craine continued to hold the Phantom's brakes and eased the throttles forward. With the powerful engines winding up to full song, he released the brakes.

The drone rapidly accelerated. Craine waited, correcting for a slight left drift, then eased back on the control stick. Once the console instruments indicated that the. F-4 had a positive rate of climb, Craine raised the landing gear and flaps.

The fighter plane thundered across the water and began a steep climb in the Whiskey-289 Warning Area. Out of ten thousand feet, Craine eased the power back and leveled the Phantom at twelve thousand feet and three hundred knots. He gently banked the aircraft to head toward the appointed rendezvous holding pattern and then began a wide circle to the left.

With only a thin trace of daylight left Scott turned the Harrier's external lights off and began searching for the Phantom. Seen from ten thousand feet, the brightest stars were twinkling like faceted diamonds. Dalton's eyes rapidly adjusted to the dark. The moonscape had slowly changed from pale yellow to diaphanous silver.

Scott keyed his intercom. "It should be at about our one to two o'clock in a wide left orbit."

"I'm looking," Jackie said, rigging her camera and camcorder fog instant use. "I don't see anything."

"Spooky Four-One-Four, Prime Time."

"Spooky Four-Fourteen," Scott replied.

The Hawkeye systems operator studied his radar screen. "Come starboard about fifteen degrees."

"Fifteen right."

"Your playmate is level at base plus six, two o'clock high."

"Copy." Scott had a request for Craine. "Rocky, how about the fireworks? We need some light."

"Stand by."

Three seconds later the F-4 came alive with flashing white strobe lights on each wingtip and the tail. Like the midday sun a bright, reddish-orange glow emanated from the empty cockpit.

"That would get anyone's attention," Jackie said in awe.

"Yeah, it certainly is different."

She snapped a couple of quick photos and reached for the camcorder.

Scott keyed his radio. "Rocky, your boys have certainly outdone themselves."

"Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Oh, by all means."

"Rocky Nineteen," the E-2C operator said, "our pilots want to know how much of California you could power with that system — help them out with their energy problem."

Craine ignored the remark and clicked his transmit button. Spooky, do you think you'll be able to fly form on it?"

"Can you regulate the intensity or turn off part of the package — tone it down some?"

"I'm afraid not. They fabricated the system in record time, and it's all or nothing — sorry about that."

"Okay, no problem. If you'll just turn it off until we rendezvous and position ourselves."

"Lights out. Tell me when you want 'em on."

"We'll do it," Scott said, watching the Phantom momentarily disappear in the sea of flickering stars. "What's the drone's speed?"

"Three hundred even at twelve thousand. I'll keep it in a shallow left bank until you get aboard."

"Thanks." Scott reversed to the left and began climbing and turning inside the Phantom to follow a constant bearing line to the F-4. The radios remained quiet while Scott searched for the drone.

"Do you have it?" Jackie anxiously asked.

"Yeah, barely."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for a midair."

"Don't worry, I can't afford the payments on a new Harrier."

"Yeah, the general would have your ass… ets."

Scott adjusted the Harrier's speed to 315 knots and closed on the left side of the F-4. As Dalton got closer, he eased the power back until he was stabilized in a loose parade position. He smoothly added a touch of power and crossed under the Phantom, then drifted out to a relaxed location at the drone's four o'clock position.

"Lights."

"Comin' on."

Scott studied the glowing empty cockpit of the F-4 and keyed the intercom. "Look, Ma, no pilot."

"That doesn't give me any warm fuzzies. It just isn't natural to see a plane flying around with no one at the controls."

"I feel the same way."

Scott radioed Craine. "Rocky Nineteen, we're finally aboard and ready to head for the carrier."

"Prime Time," Craine said, "what's a good heading for Lincoln?' "One-eight-zero."

"Copy."

Dalton and Craine remained silent while the formation turned south toward the carrier and the cargo ships.

Scott called the Hawkeye. "Okay, Prime Time, Spooky Four-Fourteen is ready for our first look-see."

"We have one ship, the Kapitan Zhirnovsky, at Mother's seven o'clock for fifty-five miles. The other ship is at Mother's three for thirty-seven. Your choice, Spooky."

"We're closer to the Chen Ziyang,"Jackie suggested.

"Let's take the target at Mom's three for thirty-seven." Scott mentally figured a heading of 205 degrees to the cargo ship.

"Steer two-zero-zero," the systems operator said.

"Two hundred on the heading. We'd like to pick up the speed and descend to eight thousand."

"Spooky is cleared as requested," the Hawkeye operator radioed, then added, "the area is clear of traffic, maneuver at your own discretion."

"Copy, Spooky Four-Fourteen." Scott keyed the ICS. "Okay, Jackie, are you ready to make the first pass?"

"As ready as I'll ever get. Let's take it down and see what we find."

"Rocky, we're ready to descend to eight thousand and pick it up to five hundred knots."

Wearing his own headset and microphone, Hartwell Prost nervously chewed on an unlit cigar while he listened to the action.

Craine keyed his radio. "Starting down and coming up on the power."

Hartwell's assistant, Juanita Trujillo, was monitoring a secure link to President Macklin and Secretary of Defense Pete Adair at the White House.

"Prime Time, Spooky."

"Go."

"Do we have all the recon players on line?"

"That's affirm, Spooky. We're good to go — you're the star of the show."

Scott checked again to make sure his exterior lights were turned off. "Jackie, I have an idea."

"Shoot."

"Let's keep the camcorder on the ship and continuously record until we break off and depart."

"You don't want any still photos?"

"If we're dealing with a laser-based weapon, we'd probably miss it with a regular camera, even if you were snapping pictures as fast as possible."

"Makes sense — I've got the camcorder ready."

"Good."

Scott moved farther away from the Phantom while his eyes darted around the cockpit. Convinced that everything was normal, he glanced at the altimeter. They were descending through 8,400 feet. Dalton continued to move away from the drone. Leveling at 8,000 feet and 505 knots, Scott judged his distance from the F-4 at 200 yards.

"Spooky," the controller radioed, "Prime Time."

"Go."

"Come right five degrees, your target is at twelve o'clock, ten miles."

"We're looking."

"Spooky, we have confirmation that the ship is slowing and that it isn't showing any lights."

"Copy." Scott looked for any sign of a ship's wake. "They're probably monitoring all of our frequencies."

"Yeah, for sure," the Hawkeye operator said. "They obviously know something is up."

"But the question is," Scott said to Jackie, "will they show their hand?"

"We won't know until we try."

"Rocky," Scott radioed, "I can't see much from here. Let's take it down to four thousand."

"Down to four." Craine eased the drone's nose down and tweaked the throttles. "Still want five hundred knots?"

"You can leave the power where it is, uh, and come back left a few degrees — need to be in a little closer."

"Rocky Nineteen."

"Six miles," the Hawkeye operator warned.

"Do you have anything yet?" Jackie asked, trying to sound calm. "Not yet."

Seconds later Scott caught a telltale glimpse of a ship's wake. "There, down to the left — see it?"

Jackie surveyed the ocean, and then saw the slowly vanishing wake. "I have it — the video is running."

"Great," Dalton said, then switched to the radio. "Rocky, let's ease it out to the right a little bit, about five degrees of bank."

"Coming right." Craine expertly maneuvered the F-4 Phantom away from the ship.

Hartwell Prost chewed his cigar and watched the remote control panel.

"Three miles," the systems operator said.

"Okay, Rocky, level the wings," Scott said calmly. "I have a tally on the ship, looks like it's almost dead in the water and completely blacked out."

Craine concentrated on flying the Phantom as smoothly as humanly possible. "Just let me know when you want to come left."

"Will do."

Scott concentrated his attention on the Chen Ziyangand leveled off at 4,000 feet. Abeam the ship and a mile away, Dalton keyed the mike. "Okay, Rocky, let's start a shallow, climbing turn to the left."

"Coming up on the power." Craine banked the F-4 to the left. Flying in very loose formation, Scott glanced at the ship and keyed the ICS. "Keep your eyes open."

"Open? I haven't blinked in three minutes."

Passing through ninety degrees of the turn and 9,300 feet, Jackie sharply sucked in her breath. "Nine to ten o'clock high."

"I see it!" Scott focused on the brilliant bluish-white object. It streaked down from high above the jets and made an astonishing turn, then shot directly over the Phantom.

"Prime Time, we have a visitor! Do you have anything on radar?"

"Negative, but our recon folks have the bogey visually."

"Keep the camcorder on the ship."

"I'm trying." Jackie twisted around in her ejection seat. "Tighten the turn to give me a better angle."

Scott glanced at the darkened ship. "Rocky, tighten the turn and bring your nose up about five degrees."

"Copy, what does the object look like?"

"A circular, bluish-white light that's being manipulated by someone. It made a sharp turn and flew over the Phantom, then quickly disappeared, going straight up."

"Here it comes again," Jackie said.

The eerie-looking bogey reappeared and flashed under the drone.

"Rocky, could you give us a nice, lazy barrel roll to the left?"

"Yeah, here goes." He added power and brought the nose up. "Are you out of the way?"

"Affirm, low and to the right."

"Copy."

The F-4 began a roll to the left and completed a revolution about the longitudinal axis while the direction of flight was approximately maintained.

"Nice, very nice," Scott said, moving another fifty yards away from the drone. "How about giving us a five-G loop?"

"Comin' up."

Suddenly the bright object streaked across the star-studded sky and made a slashing move at the Phantom as it was passing the vertical.

"I'll be damned," Scott said over the ICS. "This thing is all over the place. It's coming back."

The F-4 was on its back in afterburner with the nose falling through the horizon when the bluish-white bogey made a sharp turn and headed straight at the Phantom.

"Uh — too close," Dalton said when the frightening object barely missed the drone. "Turn out the lights and come out of burner!"

"Roger."

In an instant, the F-4 was almost invisible.

"I'm going to ease out to the right," Scott said to Jackie. "It'll give us a little extra room if the Phantom gets out of shape."

"Sounds like a great plan."

In the blink of an eye, a bright flash startled Jackie and Scott. "I saw it — I got it!" she said. "A laser beam! It came from the ship!"

"Are you sure?" Scott asked as the bogey shot straight up and disappeared in a mass of stars.

"Yes! It was maybe a half second to a second in duration, but it was definitely a laser beam! We've got it on video!"

Scott was curious. "Rocky, is the Phantom okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just recovering from the loop, level at three thousand."

"Okay, give me the lights for a few seconds so I can join on you."

"You got it."

The drone's lights flashed on.

Scott keyed the radio and tried to sound calm and professional. "The ship, the Chen Ziyang, fired a laser at the drone."

"Did you get it on video?" Hartwell asked.

"We're pretty sure we did."

"Good work."

"Spooky, Prime Time."

"Go."

The Hawkeye systems operator was talking more rapidly than before. "The Ball and the satellites got it."

"Super."

"Spooky, Rocky Nineteen."

"Spooks up."

"Stand by one."

"Copy," Scott said, moving closer to the F-4. "Lights out."

The Phantom became a phantom, an illusory form barely visible against the backdrop of stars.

"Ready to break it off and return to base?" Scott asked. "Negative RTB," Craine said in a hushed voice. "Mr. Prost is on the horn — go ahead, sir."

"Scott, the president and SecDef would like for you to check the other ship, if you have the fuel."

"Jackie?" Scott asked, surveying the fuel.

"As long as we're up here, we might as well."

"Roger that," Scott said to Prost. He instantly calculated the heading to intercept the Kapitan Zhirnovsky. "Rocky, let's come right, say about zero-six-zero, I'm aboard."

"Zero-six-zero."

"Prime Time, how's the heading?" Scott asked.

"Close enough, and your target is sixty-three out."

"Spooky, copy."

Jackie keyed the ICS. "What do you think the odds are that the other ship is equipped with a laser weapon?"

"Given what we've seen, both ships departing around the same time, I'd say they probably have the same technology."

"I'll bet you're right."

"We'll find out in a few minutes."

"What was that thing?" Jackie asked.

"I don't know, but I can assure you that extraterrestrials are not working in unison with the Red Chinese."

Jackie glanced at the Phantom. "Could it have been some kind of advanced holography? A continuous-wave holographic image, or something like that?"

"Yep, that's what it looked like." Scott thought about the bogey's ability to maneuver and accelerate. "I think what we have is a three-dimensional holographic image — an optical illusion."

"You're positive, huh?"

"As positive as deductive logic can be," Scott answered, rechecking the fuel. "In my mind, what we saw was an object that appeared to be solid, but it was a hoax — an illusion. It's like pointing a flashlight beam on a wall and making the beam stop, start, reverse course, climb, dive, and disappear in a matter of seconds."

"But it looked so real. It's like watching an old-fashioned searchlight scan the night sky over a drive-in movie."

"I know, but think about the physics, the energy, and the impossible-to-believe maneuvering. The bogey aspect of the weapon is simply an illusion to camouflage the laser — distract people and keep them guessing."

"Yeah, chasing something that doesn't exist."

Scott paused and then keyed the ICS. "That's what Sammy was doing."

"I know," she said painfully.

"Spooky, come left five degrees," the Hawkeye lieutenant said. "Left five degrees. Rocky, let's start an easy climb to four thousand and turn on your lights."

"Roger," Craine said a second before the F-4's strobes and cockpit glow lighted the night.

The Hawkeye operator studied his radar screen while listening to the crewman in the RC-135S Cobra Ball spy plane. "Spooky, the ship is slowing and has gone black."

"Copy."

"Your target is at your twelve, uh, for fifteen."

Scott clicked the mike twice and keyed the ICS. "This time let's see if we can capture the bogey on video."

"I'll do my best."

"Scott," Hartwell said, "the president wants the F-4 to be a sitting duck. He suggests two-fifty on the speed at five thousand feet in a wide circle around the ship."

"That's fine with us," Scott said, and then talked to Jackie. "I think we'll stay farther away this time."

She raised the camcorder. "No argument from this gallery."

"Let's go to five thousand," Scott radioed.

"Going to five. We'll slow after we level off."

The radio remained strangely silent until the Hawkeye called. "Target's at twelve, three miles."

"Back to two-fifty," Scott said, spotting the Kapitan Zhirnovsky. "I have the ship in sight."

Dalton called for a slight heading change to bring the flight up the starboard side of the ship. He matched the speed of the Phantom and descended two hundred feet below it. Scott glanced at the cargo ship as they passed abeam. He waited a few seconds and keyed the mike. "Okay, a shallow turn to the left for a three-sixtysee what we have."

"Coming left."

As the wide turn slowly progressed, nothing was happening, not even a radio call from anyone.

Scott keyed his ICS. "This is like trolling for the 'Creature from the Black Lagoon.'"

Jackie was intently searching the sky. "Yeah, but what do you do when you catch it?"

"There it is!" Scott said. "It's at seven—"

"I got it, I got it." Jackie worked hard to keep the bright bluish-white object in her viewfinder.

"Rocky," Scott said excitedly, "we have another bogey, an exact duplicate of the last one, making erratic passes."

The radios came alive while the Phantom completed two full circles around the ship. The bright, mysterious object made several passes at the Phantom, always appearing to narrowly miss the fighter, then shot straight up and disappeared.

At the beginning of the third circle, Scott keyed the radio. "Rocky, I don't know about the Phantom, but we're getting tight on gas."

"Scott," Hartwell Prost said, "the president has requested that you make a high-speed low pass over the ship. Would that be a problem?"

"Stand by, sir."

"Jackie, you have a vote here."

"Well, they've fired a weapon at the Phantom and he's trying to intimidate them, trying to get them to take a swing. I'm game, but one pass and we're out of here."

Scott switched to the radio. "We have enough fuel for one pass."

"That's all he wants," Prost said.

"Rocky, lights out, take up a heading of two-three-zero and descend to five hundred feet."

Craine immediately extinguished the lights and read back the instructions. Descending more rapidly than normal, the F-4 and the Harrier quickly accelerated to 420 knots and leveled off at five hundred feet.

"Okay, let's have a nice thirty-degree bank to the right and we'll roll out on a heading of zero-five-zero."

"Here we go," Craine said, totally absorbed in flying the drone. "Looking for zero-five-zero and five hundred feet."

"Three miles," the Hawkeye systems operator prompted.

After rolling wings level, Scott hurriedly called for a minor course correction and an easy descent to two hundred feet. "Come up on the power, we're looking for five hundred knots."

"Copy five hundred."

At a mile and a half from the ship, the jets were screaming across the water at 250 feet, still descending at 490 knots. When they were one mile from the Kapitan Zhirnovsky, the planes were level at 200 feet and the dark bridge of the ship was centered in Scott's windscreen.

At three quarters of a mile from the ship, Scott keyed his radio. "Lights on and afterburners — now!"

The Phantom belched twin yellowish-orange flames from the burner cans while the brilliant strobes lit the surface of the water and reflected off the windows on the bridge of the Kapitan Zhirnovsky.

Approaching the ship at 515 knots, Scott called for a gradual climb. "Ease it up, nice and easy on the pull."

"Oh, shit!" Craine said in mind-numbing shock. "I lost it — I lost the plane — too low!"

Scott frantically pulled up as the QF-4S crashed into the ship's bridge with the force of tons of TNT. The thunderous explosion shook the Harrier and temporarily blinded Jackie and Scott. In stunned silence, Dalton keyed his mike. "Rocky, I just put the Phantom through the ship's bridge."

"What? Say again."

"The Phantom just bull's-eyed the ship's bridge. It's my fault — I took us in too low."

"Spooky, it's just one of those deals," Craine said.

"Yeah," Scott said, rolling into a tight turn over the burning Kapitan Zhirnovsky. "I just made a big mistake."

"How bad is it?" Prost asked.

"The bridge is gone, completely wiped out, and the ship is on fire."

The radios became unreadable as everyone tried to talk at once.

Scott interrupted the chaos. "Prime Time, the ship just exploded in a huge fireball. We'd better get help to them quickly."

"Roger, we're on it."

"Rocky, we're at bingo fuel and headed toward Miramar."

"Copy," Craine said.

Prost informed the president of what had happened.

Jackie keyed the ICS. "Well, do you think we might be able to find positions as mercenary fighter pilots with some banana republic?"

"That'd be too much to hope for." Scott pulled the throttle aft to save fuel. "We're probably looking at something along the lines of the Pakistani Civil Air Patrol."