Dancing with the Dragon

Chapter 31

President Macklin placed the phone receiver down and propped his head in the palms of his hands. Everyone in the room was aware of the two kills and the two payload impacts. Even though the missiles weren't as accurate as the experts had thought they would be, and one of the warheads had not detonated, the threat was real. China had nukes that could easily reach Hawaii and Alaska. It was time for a decision.

The president raised his head. "When you consider the potential for disaster, we were damn lucky this time. I'm reconsidering our response."

He looked at Adair. "What's the smart thing to do?"

"Mr. President, if we don't respond forcefully to Beijing, they'll use us as a punching bag. We'll be their new test range. Worse yet, North Korea may decide to attack South Korea if we don't show our resolve."

"Hartwell, what's your thinking about our next move?"

Prost shrugged his shoulders. "If we don't do something to stun them into submission, we could soon have nuclear-tipped DF-5s raining down across the mainland."

"The DF-5 is an old, liquid-fueled missile," Adair said. "How reliable could it be?"

Hartwell was trying to be patient. "Accuracy is apparently not China's forte — range is. The East Wind has an approximate range of five thousand miles, but the DF-5 can travel more than seven thousand five hundred miles. How accurate do you have to be when you're terrorizing your opponent in his own backyard?"

"We have to try diplomacy first," Macklin said. "If we don't have any success, I'll warn them that Beijing will go next — if they launch another attack — then Shanghai, et cetera."

The president frowned. "Sometimes, as history sadly reminds us, you have to get people's attention the hard way."

Silence filled the room as everyone contemplated the enormous havoc and destruction the atomic bombs had caused at Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945.

Prost turned to the president. "In the meantime, we had better get every Aegis-equipped ship we have along the West Coast, Alaska, and Hawaii."

Chalmers nodded in agreement. "And we had better have as many kill vehicles as we can muster standing by in Alaska and Kwajalein."

With Lieutenant General Wentworth minding the store, General Bancroft had managed to slip away for some food, a shower, and a nap. Both men were determined to remain at their posts until the crisis was over. They were privy to the White House plan to retaliate if China fired another intercontinental ballistic missile at the United States.

Feeling refreshed, the Canadian general returned to relieve his deputy commander. "Any news?"

"Not yet. You know, if this situation gets out of control, we could set off a global free-for-all that could kill hundreds of millions of people."

"Or worse," Bancroft added. "With nukes flying in every direction, the planet might not be habitable when it's over."

"We may have to flatten Beijing to get their attention," Wentworth said. "Trouble is, Russia might jump in and do something stupid — then we're all cooked."

"That's the risk… and it's real."

It was early morning, and President Macklin was so angry he could barely contain his rage. After all the hard work by the State Department and scores of people on both sides of the issue, China and the United States were again locked in a standoff.

Liu Fan-ding had unexpectedly issued an ultimatum to the president of the United States. The Panama Canal had to be returned to Panamanian control in the next three hours or China would launch more nuclear missiles at American cities.

"That sonuvabitch," Macklin said through clenched teeth. He turned to his secretary of state. "Brett, I want it made graphically clear to everyone in the Chinese loop — especially Liu. The canal will not be returned to Chinese control, and, if they launch nukes at us, they will rue the day."

"Yes, sir," Brett Shannon said, fatigued from lack of sleep.

Macklin's hand shook as he picked up his coffee cup. "We may take some damage, but their cities — their country — will be flattened like a pancake. Make damn sure they understand that."

"I will, Mr. President."

Macklin turned to General Chalmers. "Les, are you confident if we have to use our Triad?"

"Yes, sir, very much so."

The chairman of the joint chiefs looked directly into the eyes of his longtime friend. "This clash we had over the Taiwan Strait, and the situation that prevails right now, has caused North Korea to go back into their bunkers."

"Good. They better damn well stay there — or they'll be next."

The Joint Chiefs of Staff had gathered and more people were pouring into the building. The official word was quickly spreading. The news of the Chinese president's demands — some called it a case of blackmail — had been leaked to the mainstream media, and the big-name news anchors were rushing to their studios.

At the White House, President Macklin was preparing to leave on Marine One to travel to Andrews Air Force Base and board the E-4B National Airborne Operations Center.

The State Department had sent North Korea a stern warning not to become involved in the situation or they would suffer dire consequences.

NORAD was briefed for the worst, and America's nuclear deterrent Triad, including land-, sea-, and air-based systems, was primed. The most powerful strike force on the earth awaited the president's order.

Scott carefully adjusted the power to climb over some mountains that rose to more than eight thousand feet. "Jackie, you may want to try Hartwell again."

"For sure — we're getting closer to the coast." She tried and still could not maintain a signal. "I'm going to try the one in back."

"Yeah, we have to get something going."

She stepped into the cabin, picked up the Honeywell multichannel satcom terminal, and placed a phone call to Prost at his office. Hartwell was greatly relieved to hear from Jackie, and he was very excited about the hard drives. He didn't have any comment about the tragic fate of Dr. Richard Cheung.

Hartwell then gave her a quick overview of the situation with China. Three minutes into the lively conversation, Jackie put the satellite phone down and went to the cockpit to check their position on the GPS. "I caught him just before he was headed to Andrews."

"Good."

She wrote the coordinates on a piece of paper and went back to the phone. Jackie quickly copied the information and gave Hartwell their aircraft satcom identity.

Passing south of Shangtang, Scott began a gradual climb to weave through the mountains in the distance.

When Jackie returned to the cockpit, she sat down and looked at the rising terrain. "The clash with the Chinese has taken on a new twist."

"What now?"

She filled him in on the ICBMs.

"That's crazy."

"I agree, and things aren't looking very promising." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "But it looks like we have an option — if we have enough fuel to get there."

"Well, out with it."

Jackie opened her eyes. "He's extremely happy that we're alive and that we have the hard drives — he couldn't believe it."

"What did he say about Dr. Cheung?"

"Nothing — not a word."

"What about a carrier?"

"The Kitty Hawk, after the crew finishes recovering aircraft, will be on its way to a rendezvous with us. I have their current position and they have ours. It looks like we should be overhead the carrier when they're approximately seventy miles north-northeast of Taipei."

Scott reached for a chart. "We're going to be cutting it mighty close. Is there anything closer — another carrier or a ship we could ditch beside?"

"No, the Kitty Hawk is our only option in the next couple of hours — if we can stretch the fuel that far."

"Well," Scott said, calculating the fuel burn, "we still have to make our way to the coast without being shot down."

"They're sending fighters to escort us from Songcheng."

"Songcheng?"

"It's on the coast just north of our route." Jackie checked the fuel. "We'll be in contact with a Hawkeye — call sign Liberty Bell — in about forty-five minutes."

"That's good news."

"Yeah, but they don't want me to use the radio — a female voice could set off alarms."

"Makes sense. What's our call sign?"

"Kilo Hotel Zero One."

"Kitty Hawk?"

She nodded. "We're the number-one priority at the moment — actually, the hard drives are number one."

The satcom in the back chimed. Jackie stepped into the cabin and sat down. After a brief conversation with Hartwell, she entered the cockpit. "Not good news."

"What?"

"The seas are very heavy and they — the skipper of the carrier and the admiral — recommend that you not ditch the plane. They know you're a tailhooker and they want to 'barricade' you."

Scott allowed himself a brief glance at Jackie. "If the seas are rough, the last thing you want to do is ditch a plane in those conditions. You're taking a much bigger risk than landing in the barricade — plus you don't get wet."

"What's the reason for a barricade?"

"If you have a battle-damaged plane or can't get the landing gear or tailhook down — and you can't make it to a divert field, and airborne refueling isn't an option — then the barricade is better than jumping out or dumping your ride in the water."

"Ah, yes," she said with a smile. "There's just one minor difference in our situation — this airplane wasn't designed to fly from carriers."

He deselected the autopilot and made a heading change. "That's why it's so much more interesting."

Jackie shook her head and began computing time and fuel to reach the carrier. Scott hand-flew the airplane low over the mountains, skimming through shallow passes and hugging the high ground.

"What do your numbers say?" he finally asked. "Are we going to make it to the boat?"

She looked at her calculations for a few moments. "We can probably make it about a hundred twenty, maybe a hundred thirty, miles offshore, but that still leaves us short of the carrier by fifteen to twenty miles."

Scott's curiosity was piqued. "You figured from where the carrier was — the coordinates that Hartwell gave you?"

"Yes." She rechecked her numbers. "I figured the carrier's speed at twenty knots — if the seas are rough."

Scott made another minor heading change to fly directly toward Songcheng and the waiting navy fighter planes. The time dragged on as the fuel steadily declined. Trying to ease her anxiety, Jackie recomputed their relative position to the carrier every few minutes. It was clear that the situation wasn't getting any better.

The Learjet was passing close to a mountain peak when one of the Hawkeye's mission-systems operators finally contacted Jackie and Scott.

"Kilo Hotel Zero One, Liberty Bell — how copy?"

Scott turned the volume up on the cockpit speakers and keyed his radio. "Liberty Bell, Kilo Hotel Zero One reads you loud and clear."

"Roger that, squawk three-seven-five-two and ident."

"Thirty-seven, fifty-two, and ident, Kilo Hotel," Scott said. Jackie assigned the code to the transponder, energized it, and hit the identification button.

"There you go," Scott said.

A few seconds passed before the E-2C systems operator made contact with the Lear again. "Kilo Hotel, we have a lock — stop squawk."

"Copy stop squawk, Kilo Hotel."

"Keep truckin'," the Hawkeye operator said. "Your course to Mother looks good for right now."

"Kilo Hotel."

A Chinese AWACS, a modified version of the four-engine Russian Ilyushin 11–76, orbited high above the sea near the coastline. Assigned to the 13th Air Division in Hubei Province in south-central China, the aircraft was monitoring the Taiwan Strait and the activities of the Kitty Hawk battle group. The AWACS was also waiting for a flight of four Chinese navy fighter planes to check in.

Equipped with an Israeli-designed Phalcon early warning and airborne control system, the Chinese AWACS had detected the evasive Learjet when the E-2C Hawkeye identified the plane.

Fifteen miles west of the AWACS, four of the Chinese navy's new F-8-II fighters finished refueling from an airborne tanker. The flight leader checked in with the AWACS for a vector to the airplane carrying the American spies.

Based on Hainan Island between the Gulf of Tonkin and the South China Sea, the highly touted planes had been sent to Fuzhou to patrol the Taiwan Strait during the ongoing conflict with the United States.

The message for the Chinese squadron commander and his three talented and experienced pilots was very clear. Whatever it takes, shoot the Learjet down — or ram it — before it reaches safety.

"Kilo Hotel, Liberty Bell." The voice was very tense.

"Kilo Hotel," Scott said.

"Ah… you have — I'm seeing multiple bandits at your one o'clock, seventy-five miles and rapidly closing."

Scott and Jackie had a sinking feeling.

"Well, that's just dandy," Scott said to Jackie, and keyed the radio. "What about our fighters — can they engage them?"

"Stand by."

Dalton's frustration suddenly flared. "Hey, we're gonna be confetti if we don't have some help — like immediately."

Another voice, calmer and steadier, came over the radio. "Your original escorts are refueling. Two of the BARCAP Hornets are on their way and the Hawk is launching the Alert Five birds as we speak."

"Tell 'em to buster every chance they get!" Scott said, easing the Learjet closer to the terrain. He checked to make sure their exterior lights were off.

"They're in burner," the mission systems operator said, and talked to someone else on another radio. "We suggest that you get down in the grass and try to make yourselves invisible."

"We're workin' on it," Scott said, and looked at Jackie. "The barricade idea looks better all the time."

"Say hallelujah!"

"Kilo Hotel, bandits still at one o'clock," the Hawkeye operator said, checking his scope. "Now sixty miles."

"Where are my heroes?" Scott asked.

"Twelve o'clock, seventy miles — goin' at the speed of heat." Scott keyed the radio. "I just hope the cavalry gets here before we're turned into chop suey."

"Kilo Hotel, our Hornets — your original escorts — have just this moment engaged the Chinese fighters, but two of the Gomers have slipped away to hunt for you."

"What about the other fighters — ours?"

"We have two more Hornets headed toward you and a tanker to support them — just hang in."

"We're running out of time."

"Kilo Hotel, Liberty Bell," a new voice said. "Our fighters should be getting close to you — should be with you in a matter of seconds."

"I hope so."

While the E-4B National Airborne Operations Center taxied for takeoff, President Macklin, Hartwell Prost, Brett Shannon, and Pete Adair conferred with various people from NORAD, the State Department, the Pentagon, the Joint Data Exchange Center in Moscow, and various civilian and military authorities. General Chalmers was at the Pentagon with the other joint chiefs.

The media outlets were offering a menu of breaking news stories every few minutes. The deadline from Beijing was rapidly approaching. Panicked by the impending disaster, and knowing what had happened in Hawaii and Alaska, millions of Americans were trying to get out of major cities and vacation centers like Honolulu.

Gridlock, worse than any seen before, had set in at U.S. airports, and the crowds were growing at a rate that was alarming. The scene was the same in cities in China. Millions of people were vacating their homes, businesses, and hotels to escape the looming nuclear exchange.

The hotels in Beijing, Shanghai, and many other cities were rapidly emptying. After all the years of the Cold War Era, and then the horrors of nuclear proliferation, the genie was finally out of the bottle and all bets were off.

When the E-4B lifted off from Andrews AFB and climbed into the blue sky, Cord Macklin looked out the window at the unbroken chains of automobiles and then turned to Prost. "The freeways are packed — worse than any rush hour I've ever seen."

"They'll be at a standstill before too long."

The secretary of state placed his phone receiver down and looked at the president. Brett Shannon's puffy eyes were red and sad. "Still no change, Mr. President."

"Keep trying."