Fatal Terrain

CHAPTER FOUR

“Contact!” the undersea sensor operator reported. “Slow screws, cavitating, bearing… bearing zero-eight-zero, range… range eight thousand meters and closing, speed eight knots, depth unknown.”

The combat action officer aboard the Chinese aircraft carrier Mao Zedong nodded, then passed along the information to the bridge. The commanding officer of the Mao, Admiral Yi Kyu-pin, picked up the intercom phone himself. “Combat, bridge. Identification?”

“Sea Dragon-class submarine, sir,” the combat action officer responded. “It is the same one that has been shadowing us since we entered the area.”

“You are positive of the identification?”

“Yes, sir,” the combat officer replied. “We are positive. We can even identify the exact vessel — it is number 795, the Hai Hu. This rebel vessel has a distinctive rudder flutter, and the Holec alternators have a distinctive waveform pattern as well. Its identification was confirmed by ASW aircraft before we arrived at Hong Kong, and we have maintained steady contact on it since. Identification confirmed.”

Admiral Yi Kyu-pin swiveled in his seat and noted the sub’s position on the large glass wall chart in front of him. The Chinese carrier was riding at anchor just five kilometers south of Hong Kong; that put the Taiwanese sub well inside Hong Kong territorial waters, which, as far as Yi was concerned, were Communist Chinese waters, and always had been. Since the attack on Quemoy less than two weeks before, Taiwanese subs had been brazenly approaching Chinese warships, trying to sneak as closely as they could without being detected. They were not very good at it. In trying to arrest a rapid closure rate, the Taiwanese sub captain had actually reversed the pitch on his propellers, causing cavitation — air bubbles trapped in the prop wash and sliced apart, causing extreme undersea noise that could be heard for many kilometers (however, if the Taiwanese sub had not cavitated its screw, the Chinese destroyer’s sonar operators probably would not have detected the sub until it moved much closer).

It was all part of the game — except today, the game was about to change. “Very good,” Admiral Yi said. “Maintain passive contact and report when it closes within five thousand meters or opens any outer doors.”

“Yes, sir. I estimate it will close to within five thousand meters in twenty-three minutes on its present course and speed.”

“Very well.” The commander of the Mao hung up the phone, then rose and exited the bridge without issuing any other orders. He made his way quickly to the communications center, dismissed all but the senior officer on duty, sent a single coded message, then made his way back up on deck.

The early-morning air was cold, but Admiral Yi could detect the first scents of summertime warmth on the sea. The air was fresh and clean, not like the putrid air surrounding the port city of Guangzhou, the large industrial city north of Hong Kong. Life on the sea could be exciting, but all but a few of his years in the brown- or green-water People’s Liberation Army Navy had been spent within helicopter range of shore, and most of those had been spent in the thickly polluted inland waterways leading to China’s naval ports.

The admiral walked to the port rail and looked forward, sorry to be missing the fresh air blowing in from the east but wanting to take a look at his charge. He saw its curving “ski jump” bow and the open doors to the twelve missile launch tubes embedded in the flight deck just aft of the ski jump — and he felt sick to his stomach.

Mao, its four escort destroyers, and several smaller escort, support, and resupply vessels had returned to Victoria, Hong Kong, to participate in Reunification Day celebrations leading up to July 1, less than two weeks away, when Hong Kong would officially become part of the People’s Republic of China once again after one hundred years as a British leasee. The carrier’s superstructure and gunwales were covered with festive flags and bunting, and every night they staged brilliant fireworks demonstrations from the carrier’s aft deck. Almost all of the carrier’s combat crews and half of the ship’s complement had been taken off, replaced by nearly a thousand civilians from all over the world, anxious to see what it was like to live aboard an aircraft carrier — especially one that had just seen combat. Instead of performing anti-submarine sweeps, the Mao’s helicopters were being used to shuttle civilians from Hong Kong out to the carrier for rides and tours on the huge warship.

The Chinese government, of course, denied that it had done anything wrong at all during the skirmish near Quemoy, and Admiral Yi had sworn to hundreds of reporters and government officials that he did not launch any attacks against the outlaw rebel Nationalists except to defend his ship and others in his group — the Nationalists and the Americans were to blame. The Taiwanese frigates had attacked the peaceful Chinese group of ships in international waters without warning. It was the rebel frigates and the American B-52 bomber that had launched the nuclear missiles, after unsuccessfully attacking the Chinese ships with conventional weapons. One missile had been destroyed by Chinese antiaircraft fire; the other missile, fired by the American stealth bomber toward the Chinese port city of Xiamen, near Quemoy Island, had detonated early. In the interest of peace, President Jiang Zemin had announced, China would move the peaceful group of ships back south to Hong Kong.

The sudden, swift, ignominious withdrawal from the Quemoy Island attack plan really hurt Yi’s pride. He felt as if his entire crew, his entire battle group, felt he had betrayed and abandoned them. True, the American stealth bomber had taken a swift, heavy toll on the battle group, but the attack plan itself was still alive, and chances for success had been good. But no more.

Now the carrier Mao Zedong, China’s greatest warship, was little more than a pony for children to ride — and the rebels on the island of Formosa were thumbing their noses and baring their asses toward mainland China. The thought really upset Yi and his fellow commanders. The world believed the Republic of China was the bright and promising young star, and that the People’s Republic of China was the cruel governess seeking to stunt the younger nation’s growth and aspirations. Everyone believed unification would eventually happen, but the world now mandated that it be subject to Taiwan’s timetable, not the People’s Republic of China’s. China would have to disavow communism and somehow “catch up” to Taiwan’s fast-growing capitalist economy before unification could become a reality.

This could not, would never, be tolerated. Lee Teng-hui and his bastard government on Taiwan had to come back into the Communist fold. It was ludicrous, ridiculous, to ask over a billion Chinese Communists to change their form of government over the desires of twenty-one million money-grubbing Taiwanese capitalist rebels. They would be surrendering their way of life simply because of money, and no true friend of the workers of the world would ever tolerate that.

The captain’s walkie-talkie beeped, and he raised it to his lips. “Speak.”

“Message from headquarters,” the watch officer on the bridge reported.

“Read it.”

“Message reads, ‘Starb right.’ End of message.”

“Very well,” Yi said. “Out.”

The walkie-talkie beeped again: “Target one has moved within specified range, sir,” the combat action officer reported, referring of course to the Taiwanese submarine trying to sneak in close to the Mao Zedong.

“Very well,” the captain replied. “Continue to monitor.” He picked up the binoculars on the leather strap slung around his neck and scanned the horizon to the south. He saw nothing but a few large fishing vessels far out on the horizon, their net booms extended, hauling huge nets out of the South China Sea. He often wondered about the hard but peaceful lives those men experienced, and wondered if destiny would ever allow him the luxury of choosing such a life for himself and his family. Yi loved the sea and had always wanted to be near it, part of it, but it seemed as if his desires and dreams had never been a factor in what sort of life he led.

If Yi had continued to watch, he would have seen the crew of the two fishing boats use their fishing net tackle to hoist four huge steel canisters off their decks and into the sea; seconds later, both boats were departing the area in considerable haste. The four canisters they had tossed overboard were American-made surplus Mk 60 CAPTORs (enCAPsulated TORpedoes), which were Mk 46 acoustic-homing torpedoes enclosed in a launch tube. The Mk 60s were remotely activated ten minutes after being dropped overboard. The torpedoes’ sonars locked onto the largest vessel in its sensor field — the carrier Mao Zedong, less than ten miles away — and then automatically launched themselves at the target.

The captain saw the need to force the Taiwanese Nationalists to submit to rightful Chinese government rule; he understood the need first to break down this cult of protectionism that had formed around Taiwan since they had claimed independence, that Taiwan was in the right and should be permitted to ignore and contradict Chinese authority simply because it was smaller or richer or more Western-like. But he would never understand all of it, all the politics and ideologies involved, all the various dynamics in the government and in the military that seemed to threaten to tear apart the very fabric of Chinese life.

The tours had just started. Today was “Our Children, Our Future Day” on the carrier Mao. The decks were crawling with hundreds of children of important Chinese Communist Party officials, foreign businessmen and politicians, and special invited guests. The kids could sit inside a Sukhoi-33 fighter that had been set up on one of the one-hundred-meter launch points, crawl around the anti-submarine helicopters, pretend they were launching off the deck or shooting antiaircraft missiles and guns, play with signal lights, and generally invade almost every square centimeter of the huge vessel. A large group of children had walked up the steep twelve-degree ski-jump incline and were peering nervously over the edge as a crewman explained how fighters launched from the carrier. A few brave boys even stepped right up to the rounded lip of the ski jump and looked down over sixty meters to the sea below.

The image made Yi smile. He was proud of those brave children, he thought — he didn’t know them, did not know their families, but he was proud of how brave they were. Too bad…

Yi’s walkie-talkie beeped several times — the ship-wide alerting system. “All hands, all hands, this is the bridge, stand by for emergency action stations. Captain to the bridge.”

The captain keyed the mike on the walkie-talkie: “Captain here. Report.”

“High-speed screws detected by passive sonar, sir,” the officer of the deck responded excitedly. “Torpedoes in the water, bearing one-niner- five, range four thousand two hundred meters and closing. Additional torpedoes detected at bearing three-zero-zero.”

The captain closed his eyes. It had begun. Although not as he would have envisioned the Battle For Chinese Reunification to commence, it had finally happened. “Sound general quarters,” he ordered. The ship-wide mechanical alarm bells began ringing immediately. “Clear the flight deck, launch the ASW helicopters, prepare to retaliate against the rebel submarine. Haul anchor and prepare to get under way. Warn the rest of the fleet that we will be maneuvering for ASW air combat operations and ready all submarine countermeasures. Send a flash satellite emergency message to Eastern and South China Sea Fleet headquarters and advise them that the Mao carrier group is under attack by Taiwanese submarine forces.”

The first explosion occurred less than six minutes later, on the port side forward. Yi was surprised to feel how much the deck shook and rolled. His big, beautiful, 6,000-ton ship heeled and shuddered like a wooden toy boat wallowing in a summer monsoon thunderstorm.

The civilians crowding the flight deck thought that the alarm bells were part of some demonstration or drill staged for their amusement, and so it seemed that no one was reacting to his orders. Crewmen tried to herd the civilians to stairwells, but they all stood around or moved closer to the helicopters, gun mounts, and access hatches, waiting to watch the new demonstration they thought was about to begin. He looked on with absolute horror as several children on the ski jump, bowled over by the force of the explosion, fell overboard — the deck-edge safety nets had been retracted into their stowed positions. He could not hear the children s screams over the clanging of the emergency alarm, but in his mind he could hear them all too plainly. Clouds of smoke began to billow out from the port side, completely obscuring the forward flight deck. Civilians were running everywhere in a panic, hampering the damage control party’s response. A second explosion erupted, just a few dozen meters aft of the first, also on the port side.

It had finally begun, the captain thought again as he raced for the bridge. It seemed a rather ignoble way to start such a glorious war of liberation and reunification, but nonetheless it was finally under way…

As soon as the crowds of confused civilians could be cleared away, four ex-Soviet Kamov-25 helicopters on the deck of the Mao began turning rotors and preparing to get under way; each helicopter was armed with two E40-79 air-dropped torpedoes. Also launching from the fantail of the carrier Mao was a Zhi-8 heavy shipboard helicopter, carrying a dipping sonar array for searching for submarines.

The five helicopters flew a precise course eastward in a tight formation. The crowd of civilians watched in fascination as the formation hovered less than five miles away. The large helicopter hovered close to the surface of the South China Sea and reeled out its sonar transducer at the end of a cable; it let it dangle in the ocean for several seconds before reeling it back in, flying several hundred yards away, then hovering and dunking again. After the second dunk, one Ka-25 helicopter zipped south a few hundred yards, and the crowd of onlookers could see the splashes as it released both its torpedoes.

Not every detail of the attack could be seen from the decks of the Mao, but as if they were hosting some kind of sporting event, a radio operator was giving a running commentary on the chase: “Search One has detected an unknown target, bearing one-niner-zero… Attack Two, transition south five hundred meters and stand by… Search One, target one bearing two-eight-three, Attack Two, do you copy…? Attack Two copies new target fix, stand by for weapons release… torpedoes away, torpedoes away, all units be advised, remain clear… torpedoes running, both torpedoes running… torpedoes going active, all units, new target bearing, mark, target data transmitting…” Moments later, the crowd screamed and shouted in surprise when two terrific explosions and huge geysers of water erupted from the ocean near where the helicopter had dropped its deadly load.

The attacks continued for nearly an hour, until all of the torpedoes had been exhausted. In the meantime, the carrier Mao had lifted anchor and had begun maneuvering toward where the helicopters were operating. The carrier was creeping toward them at minimum steerageway power until they received the news — the enemy submarine had been hit, and it was on its way up to the surface. Several minutes later, the crowd of civilians still on board the Mao was treated to an unusual sight: a crippled and smoking submarine bobbing on the surface. It was announced to all that it was a Dutch-designed Zwaardvis-class attack submarine, with a crew of 67 and a combat load of 28 wire-guided U.S.-made Mk 37 torpedoes.

It was also announced that the submarine was identified as the Hai Hu—an attack submarine owned and operated by the rebel Nationalist government on the island of Formosa.

It was without a doubt one of the most beautiful, yet one of the most dangerous outposts in all the world, Chung-Kuo KungChuan (Republic of China Air Force) C-130T transport pilot Captain Shen Hung-Ta thought. Once they got below the clouds, the islands looked so warm and inviting from the air — one might easily forget the dangers hidden nearby.

Air Force Captain Shen was just twenty miles out from Matsu Air Base, the northernmost military base belonging to the Republic of China. Matsu Air Base was on Pei-Kan-Tang Tao, one of a cluster of eight islands lying just ten miles off the coast of mainland China. Just forty miles to the west was the city of Fu-Chou, a city of one million residents, plus its air force, army, and naval coastal defense bases with another six to twelve thousand troops. The Matsu Islands had a grand total of fifteen thousand Taiwanese troops stationed here, mostly in underground bunkers and air and coastal defense sites — and that number probably included a few goats, Shen thought.

Whatever it was, the number didn’t matter. Matsu was officially a Taiwanese “coastal defense” outpost, with Taiwanese-made Hsiung Feng (Male Bee) anti-ship cruise missiles and U.S.-made Improved-HAWK antiaircraft missiles stationed there, along with one special forces group and a light infantry division. Unofficially, Taiwan had several sophisticated intelligence-gathering listening posts in the Matsu Islands, along with special communications systems, the National Security Bureau of Taiwan could tap into China’s telephone, telegraph, and telex network from the Matsu Islands, and a string of undersea sensors in the East China Sea were monitored from Matsu so Taiwan could remotely monitor the movement of Chinese ships north of Taiwan. Matsu also stationed a few S-2T Tracker submarine hunters there on occasion to search for Chinese and North Korean submarines cruising the Formosa Strait and East China Sea, and the main long-range radar array atop Matsu Mountain monitored the movement of Chinese ships and aircraft between the South and East Fleet headquarters.

“Matsu Approach, Transport One-Five, approaching intersection Bravo… now,” Shen reported as he flew his cargo plane inbound to Matsu North. Each phase of the approach into Matsu had to be carefully and exactly executed; any deviation could trigger an air defense alert from Matsu and also from Yixu Air Base in mainland China. Shen knew that almost one hundred Chinese fighters, mostly Chinese copies of Russian MiG-17, -19, and -21 interceptors, were based there, along with HQ-2 surface-to-air missiles and numerous antiaircraft artillery units. Shen’s approach into Matsu North Air Base put him only thirty miles east of Yixu Air Base in mainland China, well within radar and antiaircraft missile range.

“Transport One-Five, Matsu Approach, you are cleared to point Charlie.”

“Cleared to Charlie, One-Five, wilco,” Shen replied, using the American phrase “wilco” for “will comply”; American aviation slang was considered acceptable terminology to all ROC controllers, even in this very sensitive area so close to the mainland.

Along with electronic encoders and precise control of flight time and navigation, security checkpoints were established all along the approaches to the two airfields in the Matsu Islands; the checkpoint coordinates were changed with every inbound flight and issued to the crew prior to departure. Each checkpoint had to be reached within a quarter- mile and reported plus-or-minus one-tenth of a mile or the aircraft might be considered hostile. The final checkpoint was within visual range of ground spotters so positive visual identification could be made before final landing clearance was issued. Many times, Shen and his crew had to break off a picture-perfect approach because they forgot to report over a checkpoint.

But such serious errors were fortunately rare, and in general flying so close to the mainland, so close to the enormous military might of the Peoples Republic of China, was very routine, almost mundane. The key was in a careful cross-check. Captain Shen double-checked that the proper tower control frequency was set — it was. Double-check the ILS (Instrument Landing System) frequency, get a good Morse code ident — got it. Double-check the inbound course set — got it. Double-check the NDB (Non-Directional Beacon) frequency set, get a good ident, then check that the marker beacon lights were working — got it. Gyro heading indicators checked with the “whiskey” compass — done, both within five degrees, which was a lot but acceptable. Double-check the ILS with the VOR (Very-high-frequency Omnidirectional Receiver) on the copilot s side, in case the glideslope went out — done. If there was any big deviation, the copilot would call it out and they’d decide as a crew which approach to use. In this weather, losing the ILS might mean returning back to Taipei because the VOR was never as accurate as the ILS, but both appeared to be working fine. Shen wished he had a GPS (Global Positioning System) satellite navigation receiver, but this old transport wasn’t slated to get one for several weeks.

Now the business of shooting a “no shit” instrument approach got under way. For any pilot, even one with as many hours as Shen, flying totally on instruments, without one single reference outside the cockpit, was always tension-filled. The C-130’s autopilot was a simple heading-hold system, not coupled to the ILS, so Shen was hand-flying it on this approach. It was like playing a video game, maneuvering the sixty-thousand- pound plane in order to keep two needles on the HSI (Horizontal Situation Indicator) forming a perfect cross in the center of the instrument. The needles’ movement got more sensitive as they got closer to the field, so Shen’s inputs had to be more careful, more delicate. But if he kept those needles centered perfectly, at just the right airspeed, he would be lined up perfectly on the runway, in position to execute a landing without any gross turns or dives.

“Coming up on point Charlie,” the copilot announced.

“Approach flaps,” Shen ordered, and the copilot put in twenty degrees of flaps, which slowed the big transport down nicely to just below approach speed, they’d get back up to approach speed as they started down the glideslope, the invisible electronic “ramp” that would take them to the runway. Shen now focused all his attention on the instruments, performing a careful scan of the four primary flight instruments— the copilot would look after the engine instruments and other indicators. The HSI in the center of the instrument panel in front of the pilot was a combination gyro compass, omni bearing indicator, and ILS indicator, so that was the central instrument to watch; next was the artificial horizon, back to the HSI, then out to the airspeed indicator, back to the HSI, out to the altimeter, back to the HSI, out to the vertical velocity indicator, back to the HSI, then perhaps a quick scan of the engine instruments and a peek out the cockpit windscreen before starting the scan all over again.

“Point Charlie… now,” the copilot said, resting his hand on the gear handle. “Glideslope alive.” When the glideslope needle on the HSI reached five degrees above center, Shen ordered the copilot to lower the landing gear. “Gear down,” the copilot repeated, as he put the handle down. A red light in the handle illuminated, meaning the gear was unlocked, and the three gear-position indicators moved from up to black and white stripes, indicating the gear was in an intermediate position. “Gear moving…” One by one the gear indicators showed down, and seconds later the red light in the gear handle went out. “Three down and locked, red light out,” the copilot said. He reached over and moved an indicator bug on the altimeter. “Decision height, two-forty.”

“Roger,” Shen said. He lowered the nose, reduced power, and transitioned smoothly onto the glideslope. There was a pretty good crosswind from the west, and Shen banked left to center the localizer needle.

“Transport One-Five, contact tower,” they heard on the radio. Right on time. The transmission was a bit scratchy — a storm was brewing, Shen thought, a big thunderstorm. Hopefully they’d be on the ground well before it reached the airfield.

“One-Five going to tower,” the copilot acknowledged, then switched channels and announced, “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five point Charlie inbound on the ILS.”

There was a scratchy, barely readable “Roger, One-Five,” then a garbled “Clear to land,” and the copilot acknowledged the clearance and reported the clearance to Shen as he set up the ground control frequency. The ground spotters had issued the landing clearance early, considering the cloud cover — maybe it wasn’t as thick as it looked from up here, Shen thought.

Needles centered perfectly, airspeed right on the dot — this approach was going well. A bit more crosswind correction, left wing down… “Two thousand to go,” the copilot said.

“Engines look good,” the engineer, sitting behind the copilot, said. He looked at the forward instrument panel, triple-checking the indications prior to landing. “Gear, flaps, lights, all check.” He made a quick announcement on intercom to the passengers in the back, ordering them to check that their seat belts were on. “Before-landing check complete.”

Bit more left — there, needles centered again, right on the glideslope. The Doppler was not locked on — it commonly did not lock on over water — but even without it he knew he had some pretty hellacious west winds. No sweat, he could handle it.

“One thousand above,” the copilot said.

“Doppler’s OTL,” the flight engineer said, meaning “out to lunch,” “mag compass… it’s OTL too.” The flight engineer quickly checked the engine and flight systems, looking for any sign of trouble.

“Looking good, a little hot,” the copilot said. Shen was right on the glideslope, so he pulled the throttles back slightly to get back on the proper airspeed. That should be his last correction, he reminded himself — any more corrections this close to the airfield and he’d be “chasing” the ILS needles, which would porpoise him all over the sky. Nice, easy, small corrections from here on out. “Five hundred to decision height.”

Shen completed another scan, ran his eyes over the engine instruments — all OK, all needles pointing in roughly the same direction — then back to the HSI — right on the glidepath — then quickly up to the mag compass above the center of the windscreen…

… and it read sixty degrees differently than the inbound course to Matsu Airport. A sharp thrill of panic clutched at Shen’s throat. The ILS needles were perfectly centered, the DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) put them at the proper position on the approach — but they were sixty degrees off course! If the ILS was wrong and the gyro and mag compasses were correct, they were far, far off course — into Red China’s airspace. “What in hell’s going on with the heading?” Shen shouted. “I’m centered up, but the compass says we’re way west.”

“My VOR’s centered up, too,” the copilot said. He quickly punched the buttons on the audio panel. “I’ve got good idents on the ILS, VOR, and NDB. DME’s okay…”

“Electrical and vacuum systems okay,” the engineer said.

“The tower’s got us, they cleared us for landing — if we were off course, they’d have said something,” the copilot said. “The gyros must be screwed up.”

“But the gyro compass and mag compasses are both reading the same,” Shen shouted, the fear rising in his voice. He suddenly jammed the throttles to full power and raised the nose, trying to stop the descent on the “glideslope.”

“Damn it, we’ve been MIJIed!” MIJI stood for Meaconing, Interference, Jamming, and Intrusion, a common enemy tactic to disrupt communications or air traffic by playing havoc with radios and radar signals; oftentimes it was done just to confuse, but sometimes it was done to force a pilot into unintentionally violating enemy airspace. On the radio, Shen said excitedly, “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five, executing missed approach procedures, proceeding to holding point Tango, acknowledge.” No response. “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five, how do you copy? We are executing missed approach. We suspect enemy MlJIing in effect. Acknowledge! ”

“Transport One-Five, Matsu Tower, cancel missed approach, we have you on the glidepath. You are cleared to land, winds three-three- zero at seven knots, if you can hear me, ident, please.”

The copilot automatically hit his IDENT button, which would electronically draw a highlight box around the data block for his aircraft on the tower controller’s radarscope. “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five is executing a security missed approach, we are in the turn, acknowledge, over! ” The radio was still scratchy, as if they were still a long distance away from the base…

… and seconds later, the C-130 popped through the clouds — and the windscreen was filled with the lights of the city of Lang-Ch’i, just a few miles ahead, and farther ahead on the horizon was the mass of lights of the city of Fu-Chou, less than twenty miles away. Shen realized they were well within Chinese airspace — they were practically over Chinese soil!

“Transport One-Five, ident received,” the voice said. “Continue inbound, do not turn. Be advised, still clear to land. Acknowledge with an ident.”

The copilot was about to automatically hit the IDENT button again, but Shen hit his hand away. “Don’t touch that! Something is not right,” he said. “Set EMER in the IFF, get on GUARD channel, and notify someone that we are being MlJIed. We’re flying over Chinese airspace! ” “What in God’s name is happening?” the copilot breathed, as Shen started a steep right bank turn to the east.

“I do not know,” Shen said. “We can do nothing but the proper procedures. We shall go to point Tango and attempt to—”

Suddenly the entire aircraft shuddered and dropped several feet, as if it had hit a sudden wave of turbulence, sharp and hard enough to disengage the autopilot. “I have the aircraft!” Shen shouted, grasping the control yoke and rolling wings-level. “Check instruments! ”

The engineer quickly scanned the engine instruments. “All systems okay,” he responded.

“Everything looks okay,” the copilot agreed. “Clear to reengage the autopilot.”

“I will hand-fly it,” Shen said, “until we get everything straightened out. I will fly the mag compass until we get everything sorted out. Get on squadron common channel and—”

“Hey! ” the copilot shouted. He pointed out the windscreen in horror, then looked at his pilot. “Is that… is that Matsu?”

Shen stopped and stared out the window; his copilot followed his gaze, then gaped in amazement as well. Half of the island seemed to be on fire. Smoke billowed from hundreds of burning buildings, the northern half of the island was completely obscured in black smoke — even the ocean seemed to be on fire. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“They are attacking,” Shen said woodenly. “The Communists… this entire thing was a diversion. The Communists must’ve launched a rocket attack on the island, thinking that we were attacking them! Gear up! Let’s head back to Sungshan, fast! ”

The radios were a completely indecipherable babble of voices, so the crew forgot about reporting their position and prayed that their coded transponder would still be showing to Taiwanese air defense forces while they turned away from Matsu. Everyone on the flight deck was riveted to the left-side cockpit windows as they turned eastbound away from the air base. “Fighters are airborne,” Shen said. “At least we have fighter coverage. We should…” And then he froze, his mouth turning dust-dry: “Those are not Taiwanese fighters! Those are Communist fighter planes! ” Soon, those fighters were swarming over the C-130, and moments later it was sent crashing down into the sea.

It turned out to be a very well-coordinated attack — a missile bombardment from shore-based batteries from Lang-Ch’i Army Base on the mainland, followed moments later by a wave of fighter-bombers from Yixu Air Base. Captain Shen, his crew, and his aircraft were only a small part of the casualties of the Chinese attack on the entire Matsu island chain. Within hours, the Matsu Islands were completely defenseless.

“Headbanger Two reporting on station,” Nancy Cheshire radioed on the secure satellite net.

“James Daniel copies, Headbanger,” came the reply. Just ten miles north of the EB-52 Megafortress, flying 15,000 feet above the Formosa Strait, was a small task force of two American Oliver Hazard Perry-class guided missile frigates, the Duncan, a Naval Reserve Fleet ship with eighty Naval Reservists on board, and the lead vessel in this task force, the James Daniel; they had been moved into the area of the recent skirmish between the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy and the Quemoy flotilla of the Republic of Chinas navy. The American task forces nominal orders was to stand by and render any possible assistance if requested by both China and Taiwan, as salvage and recovery vessels from their respective countries tried to recover whatever was left of their stricken vessels; their actual mission was to show the American flag and try to prevent a re-eruption of hostilities between the two Chinas. But even though there was very little rescue or recovery work being done by anyone, the frigates — and now the EB-52 Megafortress — were on patrol, ready for action.

The crew of the Megafortress was very quiet, except for the intense but hushed coaching going on in the back of the crew cabin. Extra seats had been bolted into the deck beside the offensive and defensive operator’s consoles, and Patrick McLanahan and the crew DSO, Megafortress veteran Air Force officer Major Robert Atkins, were seated in the jump seats giving instruction on using the sophisticated electronic attack, surveillance, and defensive systems to newcomers Air Force Captain Jeff Denton in the OSO’s seat, and Navy Lieutenant Ashley Bruno in the DSO’s seat.

“There — is that Xiamen’s long-range surveillance radar?” Bruno asked, pointing at the large threat display.

“Don’t ask me — ask the computer,” Atkins said, acting his part as the patient but demanding instructor. “You’ve got a full-up system, so use it.” Atkins had joined the Megafortress program almost at its inception, recruited from the handful of 4.0-grade-point-average-or-better Air Force Academy graduates who had also graduated high in their Undergraduate Pilot Training classes. Atkins was the best of the best — a straight-A student in electrical engineering from the Zoo, in the top 20 percent of his UPT class, who had managed to earn a master’s degree in business administration while a FAIP (First Assignment Instructor Pilot). He had been recruited personally by Wendy Tork McLanahan, the director of the Megafortress’s advanced electronic warfare suite design team at HAWC, and he had remained there for several years, refining the high-tech electronic detection, analysis, countermeasure, and counterattack systems on the Megafortress “flying battleship.”

And, like Nancy Cheshire flying in the copilot’s seat, he had seen combat before in the Megafortress: over the Philippines, over Lithuania, and over the United States. Back then, actually flying the beast hadn’t been his strong point — he could design systems built perfectly for a crewdog, but he didn’t enjoy flying itself. But flying was part of the job, and besides, no one said “no” to the boss, Lieutenant-General Bradley James Elliott. Even after HAWC disbanded and Atkins set off to get his doctorate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology as part of a joint industry-Air Force program, he could not escape, or resist, Brad Elliott’s call to glory.

“Right, right,” Ashley Bruno responded. Bruno, a former Navy engineer from the China Lake Naval Weapons Center, touched the threat display and keyed the computer voice interface button with her left foot and said, “Computer, identify.”

SIERRA-BAND BEAN STICKS EARLY-WARNING RADAR, the computer responded.

“It’s not necessary to preface your commands with ‘computer’ or anything else,” Atkins said.

“I know,” Bruno said, wearing a playful grin. “But I guess I’m still a Trekkie at heart. Mr. Spock always started a voice command with ‘computer.’ ” She keyed the voice command switch again: “Computer, are we in detection range of the Bean Sticks radar? ”

NEGATIVE.

“Computer, what is the estimated detection range of the Bean Stick radar?”

ESTIMATED EFFECTIVE DETECTION RANGE IN CURRENT CONFIGURATION, FIFTEEN MILES, the computer responded, effective detection RANGE WITH BAY DOORS OPEN, TWENTY-SEVEN MILES. EFFECTIVE DETECTION RANGE IN CLEAN CONFIGURATION…

Bruno keyed the voice command button twice to cancel the report. “Thank you, computer,” she said.

“I think, I hope, what Atkins is saying, Lieutenant Bruno,” Brad Elliott cut in on interphone, “was that it would be faster and more efficient in a combat situation to just say what you want and can the fucking bullshit!” He spat the last four words like heavy-caliber gunshots. “This is not a starship Enterprise reunion, and it’s not a computer game. Now, do it right or I’ll beam your Trekkie ass into the goddamn ocean — with my boot, not a transporter.”

“Yes, sir,” Bruno responded contritely.

McLanahan said to Denton, “Read up on the emergency electrical attack procedures for a few. ” While the student OSO called up the hypertext tech order flight manual on the supercockpit display and began reading, McLanahan leaned back in his jump seat and clicked the interphone button twice. He and Elliott had used that command many times in their ten-year relationship to signal one another to “go private” on the interphone panel, which would allow the two to talk to each other without the rest of the crew listening in.

Sure enough, Elliott was on private to meet him. “What?”

“Ease up a bit, Brad,” McLanahan said.

“The newbies need to keep their minds on the job and stop fucking around.”

“Bruno’s doing okay,” McLanahan said. “So is Denton. We can all use a little comic relief. ”

“If Bruno does her Star Trek routine in training, she’ll do it in combat,” Elliott said. “You know it, I know it.”

“Okay, Brad, okay,” McLanahan said. “Yes, you’re right, we’re supposed to be training like we’re going to fight. But you’re being a little hard on Bruno. Wouldn’t be because she’s sitting in Vikram’s seat, is it?”

“Screw you and your amateur psychoanalysis, Muck,” Elliott snapped. “I know how to train newbies.” McLanahan heard the click that meant Elliott had switched back to normal interphone.

McLanahan fell silent as he followed Elliott back to normal interphone. In the past two weeks since the skirmish near Quemoy Island, Brad Elliott had been quiet, moody almost to the point of irritation, and demanding of everyone with whom he came into contact. He flew the EB-52 with practiced, methodical precision, strictly by the book — which he should know, because he had personally written most of it and reviewed all of it for many years — but he did it more with dogged impatience, without his usual sense of happiness and purpose.

Well, there was certainly nothing going on to get too excited about right now. The worldwide hue and cry over the nuclear detonations near mainland China had quieted all participants down considerably. Only about a third of the world media believed the People’s Republic of China’s Liberation Army was responsible for the dreaded nuclear explosions; the rest of the blame was equally divided between the United States and Taiwan. This was considered a major propaganda victory for China and a complete propaganda disaster for Taiwan and the United States.

As a result of the heavy media and governmental scrutiny, however, the Formosa Strait was relatively free from heavy military presence — a fact that McLanahan was able to verify by looking at the EB-52 Megafortress’s God’s-eye display on the supercockpit monitor, which was now being operated by Captain Denton. The fifty-plus-vessel People’s Liberation Army Navy carrier battle group was gone, dispersed to various bases or sent south toward Hong Kong to participate in Reunification Day festivities. As far as McLanahan could tell, the PLAN had only one ship of any size in the region; it had just appeared on the latest NIRTSat inverse synthetic aperture radar sweep.

“Okay, did you get IDs on the ships closest to the frigates?” McLanahan asked.

“Yep,” Denton responded. “Coastal trawlers and fishing vessels, both less than fifty tons. Neither moving faster than nine knots.”

“Good,” McLanahan said. “Remember, the system can squelch out small vessels like that if necessary, based on size or speed, but it’s always best to check out everything. Also remember that the ISAR system isn’t infallible, so even if those ships show as not hostile, even if you recheck six times, don’t ignore them. But right now they’re far enough away from the frigates to be safe, so you can mark those ships as noncombatants.”

That action turned out to be a mistake, because precisely at that time, crew members aboard the two Chinese “noncombatants” were dropping the last of a dozen large SS-N-16 missile canisters overboard. The SS-N-16, code-named “Stallion,” was an air- or submarine-launched rocket-powered torpedo, except these weren’t going flying before releasing their deadly cargoes. Once sailing clear of all torpedoes, they were activated by radio command. Simultaneously, the canisters activated their sensors, detected the distinctive high-speed, high-powered screws of the U.S. Navy warships, and turned toward them. Once perfectly aligned with their targets, they powered up their payloads — each canister carried a E45-75A torpedo with a 200-pound penetrating-blast high-explosive warhead, sitting atop a solid-fueled rocket booster — and the countdown commenced…

New NIRTSat satellite radar data was being downloaded every eight minutes; in less than a minute, the supercockpit God’s-eye view was automatically updated, and the map of the surveillance area had to be reexamined as if for the first time. “Okay, we see the ‘noncombatants’ are still poking along — in fact, it looks like they’re heading away from the frigates, cruising at ten knots,” McLanahan said to Denton. “What else you got?” When Oakley didn’t answer in a few moments, McLanahan pointed to the screen. “Looks like we got a newcomer, probably pulled out of Xiamen a couple sweeps ago. Remember, the NIRTSat data isn’t really God’s-eye — it’s better than turning on a radar and letting the bad guys know we’re up here, but it’s not perfect… yet. Let’s get an ID on that ship there, Jeff.”

“Rog,” Denton responded, expertly rolling the trackball cursor over the stored NIRTSat radar image. Jeff Denton, a former F-16 Fighting Falcon pilot, Gulf War vet, and F-15E Strike Eagle backseater, had had the bad luck of joining HAWC just weeks before it closed last year. Unable to get another fighter-bomber assignment anywhere, he had been forced to accept an early-out bonus and found himself unemployed right near the holiday season of 1996. Fortunately, just as the bonus money had started running low, he’d gotten the call from General Samson to do some flying for a private defense firm he had never heard of, Sky Masters, Inc., in Blytheville, Arkansas, which was working on some former HAWC projects.

Denton had jumped at the opportunity — never expecting to be suddenly flying a hybrid B-52/B-1B/B-2 monster over the Formosa Strait in Asia, near where a nuclear war had almost broken out just a few days earlier.

“Identify this return,” Denton ordered the computer, being careful to make the command short and sweet, lest he bring down the wrath of the legendary General Brad Elliott on himself.

IDENTIFICATION UNKNOWN, the computer responded, SEARCHING…

TARGET IDENTIFIED AS SLAVA-CLASS CRUISER… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS KIROV–CLASS CRUISER… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS FEARLESS-CLASS ASSAULT SHIP… TARGET IDENTIFIED AS TYPE 82-CLASS ACCOMMODATIONS SHIP…

“You got a cruiser, Muck?” Nancy Cheshire, flying as copilot, asked. A warship of that size always got a lot of attention from every member of the crew, especially the ones who had once faced those fearsome vessels. “Where is it?”

“Cancel the report,” McLanahan said. Denton double-clicked the voice command switch. “Looks like the computer’s a little confused— either there’s not enough radar data, or the data quality isn’t good enough. It’s a big sucker, though, and it’s moving pretty good — over twenty knots, and crossing in front of the frigates’ course. After what’s happened in this area recently, I might not call that a friendly move. So what do you do now?”

“Ask the DSO if they got any idea what it is, based on electronic emissions,” Denton replied.

“Excellent,” McLanahan said. “The attack computer system is supposed to get that information from the defensive computer suite automatically, but sometimes it won’t make the connection. Try it.”

“Way ahead of you,” Bruno responded. She had briefly looked at the God’s-eye view and matched the signals received by her system with the computerized charts. “Nothing but a commercial nav radar from that contact — looks like a Furuno or Oki system — and wide-spectrum radio transmissions, everything from HF single sideband to UHF. I get an occasional IFF interrogator, too, maybe a Square Head.” The old Soviet IFF interrogator code-named “Square Head” sent radio triggering signals out to another vessel or aircraft, asking for a coded radio response to help identification — of course, the EB-52 Megafortress or the U.S. Navy ships in the area would never respond to a foreign IFF, so all they would get would be silence.

“Not much help there,” McLanahan said. “What else, Jeff?”

“Test the system, see if it’s working okay?”

McLanahan shrugged. “In a combat situation, I wouldn’t waste time on that. But now, with things quiet, press on.” Denton rolled the cursor onto one of the nearby U.S. Navy frigates, and the system quickly and correctly identified it as a Perry-class frigate; he tried IDing one of the previously classified “noncombatants”—it again reported as a trawler. “What else, Jeff? Times running out.”

“Call the Navy and ask if they can get an eyeball on it,” Denton suggested.

“Excellent suggestion,” McLanahan said. “Never forget to ask someone else in your formation or task force to help out.”

“Fat lot of good asking the Navy for anything does,” Elliott grumbled.

McLanahan ignored him. “Do it. Think about what you need to give the Navy pukes first, get the data together, then call.”

“Rog,” Denton nodded, pleased at himself for keeping up with the almost legendary Patrick McLanahan. He measured out a quick range and bearing from the prebriefed target reference point, called the “bull’s-eye,” then keyed the mike: “Crew, OSO is going out over Fleet SATCOM.” He waited for any negative replies, then switched over to the secure satellite frequency. “]ames Daniel' this is Headbanger. ”

A sailor with a very impatient voice that sounded as if he were sixteen years old responded, “Calling ]ames Daniel on FLTSATCOM, go ahead.” The voice sounded as if it didn’t recognize the call sign “Headbanger,” although it was the one briefed to all participants and the one they had been using since the beginning.

“Headbanger requesting a visual or optical ID on radar target bearing two-four-three at fifty-seven bull’s-eye, over.”

The answer came back almost immediately from a different and far more annoyed operator: “Headbanger, unable at this time due to weather.” The weather was marginal, but it certainly wouldn’t keep a Navy helicopter from its patrol under normal circumstances, McLanahan thought. “Keep this channel clear. Out.”

“Told you,” Elliott said. “The squids hardly know we exist, and they sure as hell don’t care.”

McLanahan ignored that remark, too, but he was starting to get a little exasperated. “Okay,” he said, turning his attention back to Denton. “Anything else you can try?”

“We could launch a Striker or Wolverine at it and take a look on the datalink,” Denton deadpanned.

“That sounds like an expensive suggestion,” McLanahan said, “not to mention the fact that it could cause an international incident — or worse. You might have to just go with incomplete information. If you had time, you could go through all of the computer’s guesses and try to get a feel for the analysis; in less hostile or non-stealth situations, you could turn on the attack radar and get an ID from the inverse synthetic aperture radar. ”

“But Td assume at this point that it was hostile,” Denton interjected. “The computer guessed at two Russian cruisers; that sounded like the worst-case analysis, so I’d go with that — either the Russians decided in the past couple days to send a cruiser down the Strait to see what all the excitement was about, or the Chinese have a really big destroyer or cruiser patrolling the area.”

“I’d buy that,” McLanahan said. “So give us the rundown on your worst-case scenario. Remember, you’re the surveillance and intelligence officer on the Megafortress, along with the DSO, as well as the weapons officer — you’ve got to be ready to sing out with important information the rest of the crew might need to make decisions on how to press the attack.”

“Rog.” He opened a small window on his supercockpit display and hit the voice command switch: “Display and read order of battle on Slava-class cruiser.”

SLAVA-CLASS CRUISER, VERTICAL LAUNCH SA-N-6 ANTIAIRCRAFT MISSILES, MAX RANGE 60 MILES, X-BAND TOP DOME DIRECTOR, the computer began, reading the information as well as diagramming the weapons and radar information on the supercockpit display. TWO TWIN SA-N-4 ANTIAIRCRAFT MISSILES, MAX RANGE FIVE MILES, FOXTROT, HOTEL, AND INDIA- BAND POP GROUP TARGET TRACKING WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; ONE TWIN 130-MILLIMETER DUAL-PURPOSE GUN, MAX RANGE FIFTEEN MILES, X-BAND FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC AND MANUAL BACKUP; SIX 30-MILLIMETER ANTIAIRCRAFT GUNS, MAX RANGE THREE MILES, X-BAND BASS TILT FIRE CONTROL WITH OPTRONIC BACKUP; SIXTEEN SS-N-12 ANTI-SHIP MISSILES, MAX RANGE THREE HUNDRED MILES, JULIETT-BAND TARGET TRACKING…”

“That’s good enough,” McLanahan said, and Denton stopped the computerized report. “The computer always reads the antiaircraft order of battle first, and now you know the reason — that SA-N-6 system can eat our lunch right now, if they ever got a lock on us. You should also know that the SA-N-6 is a very devastating anti-ship weapon, too. You might want to scan through the ship’s radar fit, too — it’s unlikely that a cruiser has a commercial Furuno or Oki nav radar, but sometimes the military radars will look like commercial or civilian sets at long range or low power—”

Suddenly, an alarm rang out in all their headsets, and a blinking icon appeared on the supercockpit display. “What is that?” Elliott asked.

McLanahan urged Denton to start talking as they both studied the display: “High-speed low-altitude missile,” Denton said. “Looks like it came from the Chinese cruiser… second missile launch, same azimuth… shit, it looks like they’re headed for the Duncan and James Daniel! The Chinese are firing missiles at our frigates! More missiles… I’ve got at least four, no, five… six missiles in the air! ”

“Brad, let’s try to get within Scorpion range,” McLanahan shouted. The Megafortress immediately banked right and began a fast descent in response. “DSO, you got those inbounds?”

“No — no uplink signal, no terminal radar detected,” Bruno reported.

“We need the attack radar,” McLanahan said.

“Rog. Crew, attack radar coming on,” Denton announced.

“What do you got, Muck?” Elliott shouted on interphone.

“Six supersonic ballistic missiles,” McLanahan said. “Not sure, but I think they were fired from the large ship cruising west of the Navy frigates.”

“What do you mean, you ‘think’ they were fired from that cruiser?”

“Because we didn’t get an exact ID on the ship and they didn’t come exactly from that ship’s azimuth,” McLanahan explained.

“But it’s the only warship around, right?”

“I’m not sure if it is a warship, Brad.”

“I think we can assume six supersonic anti-ship missiles were fired from a ship that big,” Elliott said. “Spin up the Strikers and let’s take that sucker down.”

“Missiles will impact in less than one minute,” Denton reported. “We should be in range to intercept with Scorpion missiles.”

“I’ll get on the horn with the Navy and warn them of the inbounds,” Nancy Cheshire, the crew copilot, said.

“What kind of ship is that out there?” Elliott asked.

“It’s a cruiser,” Denton responded.

“We don’t have an exact ID on it, I said,” McLanahan corrected him. “Computer couldn’t match it, and we couldn’t get an eyeball.”

Elliott was on the secure satellite channel in an instant: “Atlas, this is Headbanger,” he radioed. “Are you getting the picture here? We’ve got six inbounds heading for our frigates.”

“Headbanger, this is Atlas,” the operator at the U.S. Pacific Command headquarters responded. “We copy. Stand by.”

“Stand by?” Elliott retorted. “Where the hell is Allen — having dinner with the Chinese ambassador? We need a decision up here, Atlas!”

“The James Daniel reports they have contact on the inbounds,” Cheshire reported.

“Checks — both frigates opening fire,” Denton shouted as he watched missile icons speeding away from the frigates toward the incoming Chinese missiles. “Looks like they got a clear—”

“Fighters!” Bruno shouted. “Large formation at four o’clock, five- zero miles, high… another large formation at one o’clock, four-seven miles and closing, high.”

“This is starting to smell like a trap,” Elliott said. “Secure the attack radar and let’s—”

“More fighters! ” Atkins reported for Bruno, who appeared to be getting a little overwhelmed by this sudden attack. “Three o’clock, five-zero miles and closing… first formation is breaking into two, we’ve got four formations of fighters inbound on us! ”

“Attack radar down,” McLanahan said, as Denton deactivated the Megafortress’s radar.

“The inbound Chinese missiles disappeared!” Denton interjected. “Just before the frigate’s missiles hit, they vanished!”

“Stallions,” Atkins said. “Russian-made rocket-powered torpedoes. They’re sea-skimmers until they get within SAM range of a target, then dive underwater.”

“More fighters inbound!” Bruno shouted. “Two fighters, very high speed, two o’clock, four-five miles and closing fast! Range forty miles… they might have a radar lock on us! ”

“Might be a Foxbat or Foxhound,” Elliott said. The Russian-made MiG-25 Foxbat and MiG-31 Foxhound fighters, designed to intercept the American B-70, B-56, FB-111, andB-1 supersonic strategic bombers, were all-titanium built Russian superfighters, the fastest fighters in the world, capable of high-altitude supersonic dashes well over three times the speed of sound; they had been on the international export market for many years. “Get those damn things! ”

“C’mon, Ashley, get on ’em… stand by for pylon launch, crew! All countermeasures systems active! ” Atkins shouted over interphone, reaching over Bruno’s shoulder and activating the Scorpion antiaircraft missiles. Seconds later, he had designated two missiles apiece against the incoming fighters, and the AIM-120 missiles were on the way…

… but Bruno’s delay in launching the antiaircraft missiles proved decisive. The incoming fighters started a descent at thirty miles that accelerated to well over three times the speed of sound, heading directly at the Megafortress. The Scorpion missiles expended all of their thrust in powering toward the attackers, so by the time the missiles closed in on their targets, they had no energy to maneuver and exploded several dozen yards aft of the high-speed attackers.

“Clean misses,” Atkins said. “Stand by for pylon…” But just then, they heard a fast-pitched deedledeedledeedle! warning tone. “Missile launch!” Atkins shouted.

“Break!” Bruno shouted.

Just as Elliott was going to ask which way to break, Atkins interjected, “Hold heading, pilot! They’re trying a nose-to-nose launch — very low percentage, especially against us. I’ve got the uplink shut down!” The Megafortress’s powerful jammers shut down the fighters’ attack radar and the steering signal between the missile and the launch aircraft; when the missiles’ own terminal homing radar activated, the jammers shut them down too. At the same time, the HAVE GLANCE active countermeasures system destroyed the missiles’ seekers with laser beam blasts. But the Megafortress’s own attack radar automatically shut down so the enemy missiles couldn’t home in on it, so they were temporarily blind again. “You see them out there, pilot?”

“Negative… wait, I got them! ” Cheshire shouted. “They’re headed right for us! Twelve o’clock, about five miles, coming down fast! Ready to break!”

“Go nose to nose with them, pilot! ” Atkins shouted. “Nose to nose! Pylon launch! ” Atkins powered up two AIM-120 Scorpion missiles and uncaged their infrared seekers instead of launching on radar guidance. Both missiles locked onto the red-hot superheated fuselages of the enemy fighters immediately, and seconds later, both missiles streaked out of the weapons pods on the wings right at their quarries. But by the time the Scorpions launched, the two Foxbat fighters had flown right over the Megafortress, missing it by just a few hundred yards. The incredible blast of the supersonic shock wave passing over the EB-52 felt like another nuclear explosion. Elliott and Cheshire looked on with amazement as the front cockpit windscreen buckled and wavered as if it was ready to implode again.

The Scorpion missiles switched from infrared to radar guidance, picked up steering signals from the side- and rear-looking radars, and streaked up and backward to pursue the fighters. They almost did not have enough energy to tail-chase the fighters — the Foxbats were flying three hundred miles per hour faster than the most sophisticated air-to- air missile in the world! — until both Chinese superfighters came out of full afterburner and began a hard turn back to the west to pursue the Megafortress. The sharp turn quickly sapped the big fighters of all their energy, enough for the Scorpion missiles to catch up to them, activate their own onboard terminal homing radars, and lock onto the fighters. One Scorpion missile failed to fuze properly and missed; the other made a direct hit, shelling out one engine and causing a massive fire. The pilot ejected seconds before his superfighter exploded in a terrific orange fireball.

“Attack radar up — I’ve got a lock on the last fighter,” Bruno said. “Stand by for—”

“Better save it,” Atkins interjected. “We’ve got only two Scorpions remaining, and it looks like the last fighter is bugging out. They were both going full blower on the attack, and if they do that they only have enough fuel for thirty minutes of flying time. He’s on his way home. The closest of those fighter patrols are at eleven o’clock, forty miles and closing.”

“We’ve got to get out of here, Brad,” McLanahan said. “Those Fox- bats got a pretty good fix on us, and they’re probably vectoring in the other fighters. The U.S. frigates are at three o’clock, eighteen miles. Right turn to heading zero-eight-zero should get us back on coverage. We need some help from those frigates or from Taiwan air defense, if they’re up.”

“Sons of bitches!” Elliott cursed. He got a good look at the speeding Foxbat fighters too, and that was the closest he ever wanted to get to those big, deadly jets. His heart was pounding, his forehead sweating like crazy — he had never felt so close to death before in all his life. “They better be up here!” He switched to the secure satellite channel: "James Daniel, this is Headbanger, what’s your status?”

“Vessel calling James Daniel, keep this channel clear and do not approach this task force,” the operator responded.

“What in hell are you talking about?” Elliott retorted. “We’re up here on patrol with you, you squid idiot! We saw the Chinese cruiser launch Stallion rocket torpedoes at you. What’s your status?” There was no response. Furious, Elliott switched to the secondary channel and keyed the mike: “Atlas, this is Headbanger. How do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Headbanger,” the operator responded. “What is your status? Over.”

“Our goddamn status is that we were under attack by Foxbat fighters and we’ve got four more formations of fighters closing on us,” Elliott replied hotly. “Both frigates are also under torpedo attack. We need fighter coverage up here and we want permission to attack the Chinese warship that is trying to blow your frigates out of the water.”

“Headbanger, this is Atlas,” Admiral William Allen responded himself seconds later. “We copy you were under attack by Foxbats and have more fighters in the vicinity. The ROC is vectoring fighters at this time, ETA zero-eight minutes, flight of two F-16s. Second flight of four F-16s is scrambling from Makung, ETA one-five minutes. We recommend you depart the area and head towards the Pescadores.” The Pescadores was a group of Taiwanese islands, located forty miles west of Formosa and sixty miles southeast of the EB-52’s present position, where several Taiwanese air and naval bases were located.

“Heading one-two-zero, direct Makung,” Denton immediately interjected.

“No, we’re not leaving!” McLanahan shouted. “If we leave the frigates, they’ll be defenseless — and we can use their help against those fighters. We’re staying overhead the frigates until the Taiwan air force arrives. Nancy, get on the horn and send in Carter in the other Megafortress.”

“You got it, Mack.”

“Sounds like a shit-hot plan to me,” Elliott responded. On the satellite channel, he radioed: “Atlas, this is Headbanger, negative, we’re holding our position. There’s a big ass ship, a cruiser or destroyer, about twenty miles northwest of your frigates.” He could hardly believe he was having an argument with CINCPAC—again. “We’ve got it locked up, and we saw it launch those torpedoes. They were rocket-powered torpedoes, and we watched that cruiser launch them.”

“The frigates are conducting anti-torpedo countermeasures at this time,” Allen said, “but they did not report contact with any Chinese war-ships or submarines. We have had that entire region under surveillance for several days, and we noted no large warship movements… stand by.”

“Jesus, there they go again—‘stand by/ ” Elliott said angrily. “Stand by and watch the Chinese blast us to hell.”

“The Duncan has stopped dead in the water,” Denton reported, as he zoomed in on the American frigate task force. He called up more information, then added, “Something’s wrong — the ISAR’s not IDing properly anymore.”

“That might mean it’s hit and may be sinking,” McLanahan said. “If part of its structure is underwater, the inverse synthetic aperture radar won’t scan it completely.”

The interphone got very quiet after that — but only for a few moments, until Brad Elliott shouted, “Destroy that damned Chinese cruiser now! You’re clear on the bomb doors! Launch the Strikers, dammit!”

“Brad, we wait until we get the word from CINCPAC,” McLanahan said. Here it comes again, he thought — another long, drawn-out argument with Elliott on whether or not they should…

McLanahan stopped as he felt a familiar rumble and heard the sound of windblast, and the words “Strikers away.” Jeff Denton, still in the offensive systems officer’s seat, had obeyed Elliott’s command and launched two Striker missiles at the still-unidentified vessel! He had quickly and efficiently designated the unidentified vessel, using touch-screen commands, and prosecuted a double Striker missile attack! Seconds after launch, the Striker missiles had ignited their powerful first-stage motors and blasted out over the Formosa Strait toward their target. They were supersonic just a few seconds later, climbing on a ballistic flight path to almost forty thousand feet.

“Jesus, Denton!” McLanahan exclaimed. “Steer those missiles clear!”

“Why? We’re attacking, for Christ’s sake!” Denton shouted.

“We don’t have permission to launch! ” McLanahan said. “Steer those missiles away from that target! ”

Denton looked confused, stunned, and horrified all at once. “But the AC said—”

McLanahan didn’t blame Denton; he was doing as his aircraft commander ordered: destroy the Chinese ship. Unfortunately, Elliott had jumped the gun. Again. McLanahan frantically checked to be sure that Denton hadn’t locked up one of the Navy frigates — he hadn’t. “Get manual control of the missiles, steer them towards the southwest, away from land!”

“Stay on the target, OSO,” Elliott said. “Continue the attack.”

From his jump-seat position, McLanahan didn’t have voice command of the attack computer. When he tried to reach across, push Denton out of the way, and command the Striker missiles to steer away from the vessel, Denton pushed him back. “Hey, Colonel McLanahan, the missiles are on the way,” Denton said. “That was the ship that hit the Duncan with torpedoes. The AC said to attack, dammit — why are you pushing me?”

“Because I’m the mission commander, Denton, and I say we don’t attack until we get a valid order from CINCPAC to attack!” McLanahan said. “Break the sensor lock, Denton. Give me manual control! ”

But it was too late. Just then, the TV image from the Striker missile’s imaging infrared scanner appeared on Denton’s supercockpit display, just seconds from impact. The first radar-only image was of a massive ship, very tall, riding very high out of the water. McLanahan hit a touch-screen button to switch to imaging infrared view — and then they saw it.

It was not a cruiser, or a large destroyer, or even a warship of any kind — it was a passenger and vehicle ferry. They caught a glimpse of some kind of barge or service tender being towed on a very short hawser behind the larger ship, which could have explained the ISAR’s confusion over the proper identification of the target — but there was no doubt over the identification now! The ferry had a tall vehicle access amidships and three decks above that, and it looked as if it was choked with automobiles and delivery trucks. “Oh my God, it’s a passenger ship, a ferry!” McLanahan shouted. “C’mon, Denton, break auto lock, steer those missiles away!”

Denton immediately deselected the AUTO LOCK touch-screen button on the supercockpit monitor, which gave him manual control of the missiles. McLanahan immediately reached over and rolled the trackball left…

… but it was too late. McLanahan and Denton watched in horror as both Striker missiles plowed into the port side amidships of the passenger ferry; they even clearly saw passengers standing on the port rail near the bow just before the missiles hit. Five seconds later, the second Striker missile registered a direct hit as well.

“Oh, my God,” Denton muttered. “What did I do? What in hell did I do?”

“Forget it, Jeff — Jeff, dammit, snap out of it! ” McLanahan shouted. “Your responsibility now is with your crew and your aircraft. Get on the radar and find out who we’re up against.” But it was no use — Denton was frozen, stunned by confusion, fear, and a dozen other emotions. McLanahan had no other choice. He reached across Denton’s shoulder, unfastened his shoulder straps and seat belt, and one-handedly hauled Denton out of the OSO’s seat. Denton did not resist this time. “Jeff, go downstairs, strap into a seat and parachute, and monitor the flight instruments. Make sure your seat is unpinned and ready. Go! ” Denton was lucid enough to offer a silent apology to McLanahan before climbing down the ladder to the lower-deck spare ejection seats. McLanahan activated the Megafortress’s attack radar, which scanned the skies in all directions; he shut it down as soon as the system had recorded all air, sea, and land targets.

In the meantime, Bob Atkins had swapped seats with Bruno and was now in command of the defensive weaponry. “Okay, crew, nearest fighter formation is now ten o’clock, thirty-three miles and closing,” Atkins began. “I don’t think they have a radar lock on us, but they got a good solid vector from the Foxbats, and they’re headed this way. I’ve got a second formation low, twelve o’clock, fifty-three miles and closing.”

“A low CAP, Bob?”

He studied his threat display for a moment; then: “Don’t think they’re fighters, Colonel. I’m showing surface search radars only — no air search or target-tracking radars. They’re looking for the frigates. I think we’ve got anti-ship attack planes inbound. Colonel, call the James Daniel, see if they got the inbounds and find out if they can coordinate with us.” “Rog,” McLanahan said. He switched his radio to the fleet common frequency: 'James Daniel, this is Headbanger, how copy?”

“Headbanger, this is James Daniel on fleet common tactical one. Suggest you clear the area and head east. Stay out of this area. We are responding to inbound bandits at this time. Clear this frequency.”

“Second flight of bandits, low altitude, eleven o’clock, forty-eight miles,” Atkins reported. “I’ve counted eight inbounds so far in two formations. There’s probably more. I need another radar sweep.”

“JD, this is Headbanger. You have at least eight inbounds on an antiship missile attack profile, and we’ve got more than twice that number after us,” McLanahan said. “Let’s make a deal — you get the fighters, we’ll take the attack planes. Deal?”

There was an excruciatingly long pause; then a different voice responded: “Okay, Headbanger, it’s a deal. This is the TAO on the JD. Stay north of us, and we’ll keep your tail clear.”

“Copy that, JD,” McLanahan said with relief. “Give us your search and track bands to avoid.”

“Stop buzzer on India-three through Juliet-ten to keep our scopes clear,” the tactical action officer on the James Daniel replied. “You’re clear to jam all other freqs — and I hope you’re not a bad guy, or else we’ve just screwed ourselves. You got a wingman?”

“Affirm,” McLanahan said. “He’ll be coming in from the north.” “Keep him north. Good hunting.”

“Center up on the heading bug, heading three-zero-five to intercept,” Atkins called out.

In the meantime, Nancy Cheshire was on the secure satellite frequency to Headbanger Two: “Two, this is lead, how copy?”

“Loud and clear, Nance,” Colonel Kelvin Carter responded from the second EB-52 Megafortress.

“Authenticate echo-echo.”

“Poppa.”

“Loud and clear,” Cheshire said. “Stand by.”

“I got ’em,” McLanahan said. He centered his cursor on the trailing formation of Chinese fighters, the ones closest to Carter. As he did so, the information from his attack computers was being shared with the second Megafortress, which meant Carter’s crew did not even have to activate its attack radar. “Two, this lead, there’s your bandits.”

“Tied on radar,” Major Alicia Kellerman, the OSO on Headbanger Two, replied. “I show you’ve only got two Scorpions remaining, lead. Maybe you better bug out.”

“Let’s see what kind of havoc we can cause first,” McLanahan replied.

“Have fun. Two’s in hot.”

It took only the last two of Atkins’s Scorpion missiles to break up the first formation. The formation consisted of eight Q-5 Nanchang fighter- bombers, copies of the Soviet Sukhoi-17 fighter-bomber, armed with four AS-10 electro-optical attack missiles each. The fighters broke up into four groups of two, spread apart and in trail by several miles — Atkins merely locked up the two lead formations. The Q-5 fighter, with variable- geometry wings, was fast and agile, but the AS-10 missile had a maximum range of only six miles and required the pilot to acquire the target using the TV sensor on the missile itself. Atkins jammed the Q-5’s mapping radar, which meant the Chinese pilots had to climb so they could visually acquire the two Navy frigates — and that made them sitting ducks for Atkins and his Scorpion missiles. Both missiles hit dead on target, destroying two Q-5s, and their wingmen promptly did a one-eighty and headed for home.

“Pilot, mil power, heading two-zero-zero,” Atkins ordered. “I’ve got two formations of two still inbound. They split up, but we know who they’re going after — they gotta converge soon. We gotta be there ahead of them.” The Megafortress banked hard in response, speeding southward toward the two Navy frigates. “Okay, I’ve got the closest bandits at our seven o’clock, ten miles — they’re only a few miles from their launch points. Stand by for Stinger launch. Give me a hard turn to one-five- zero.”

As Elliott threw the Megafortress into a hard left turn, Atkins activated the tail-mounted Stinger self-defense rockets, locked up the formation of Q-5 bombers to the west, and began laying down a string of Stinger airmines in the path of the Q-5 fighters. The airmines exploded far ahead of the fighter-bombers, probably too far to be seen, but Atkins was hoping that he might catch one or both of the fighters with the large cloud of flak pellets generated by the exploding rockets. When the Megafortress was just a few miles from the northernmost formation, Atkins shouted, “Hard right, heading two-five-oh!” and as the bomber turned, Atkins started pumping out rockets in front of the second formation.

This time, they were closer to the Chinese fighters — one direct hit. The pilot of the single-engine Q-5 fighter, his engine shelled out by hundreds of steel pellets from the Stinger rockets, bailed out seconds before his Q-5 fighter exploded when the engine tore itself apart. His wingman stayed on the attack run and launched all four of his AS-10 missiles, copies of the American-made Maverick attack missiles, at the James Daniel. The Chinese pilot locked all four missiles on target, then started a hard right turn away from the frigate — directly into the lethal attack cone of the Megafortress’s Stinger tail cannon. At least six of the Megafortress’s Stinger rockets hit home, shredding the Q-5’s canopy, engine, forward fuselage — and pilot.

“JD, this is Headbanger One, one fighter launched on you!”

McLanahan shouted on the satellite fleet common frequency. “We show four inbounds!” But the warning came too late. The frigates Phalanx close-in weapon system, a 30-millimeter radar-guided Gatling gun, destroyed two of the AS-10 missiles that had auto-locked onto the frigate, but the other two hit home. Their forty-pound high-explosive warheads struck the helicopter hangar and the forecastle. The nearly one-inch-thick Kevlar armor around the command spaces protected the bridge and forecastle, but the other missile destroyed the ]ames Daniel's starboard- side helicopter hangar, the 15-millimeter gun, and the amidships Mk 92 fire-control radar antenna, and an explosion in one of the starboard Mk 32 anti-submarine torpedo tubes created a fire and extensive damage.

Fully loaded and hungry for vengeance, Kelvin Carter and his crew aboard Headbanger Two attacked the second large formation of Chinese attackers from maximum range. The second formation of Chinese aircraft was four H-6 bombers, copies of the thirty-year-old Soviet Tupolev- 16 Badger heavy bomber; each bomber carried two huge Hai Ying-4 Sea Eagle anti-ship missiles. Two H-6 bombers were hit by Scorpion missiles and were forced to break off their attacks, but the other two got within range of the Navy frigates, fired their cruise missiles, and turned for home. Carter’s crew launched their last six Scorpion missiles at the Sea Eagle missiles, destroying two of them. The Duncan managed to destroy one with its 76-millimeter gun and damage the last one with its Phalanx close-in weapon system, but even damaged, the three-quarter-ton cruise missile devastated the Duncan. The missile hit the aft starboard quarter, tearing a huge hole in the stern.

It took several more minutes for Atkins and McLanahan both to declare the area secure. At least eight Taiwanese F-16 and F-5 fighters were nearby, patrolling the airspace from sea level to forty thousand feet. “JD, this is Headbanger, how copy?” McLanahan called.

“Loud and clear,” the James Daniel's tactical action officer responded. “We show clear to the north. The Taiwan air force showed up and kicked ass to the south.”

“What’s your status?”

“We both got hit pretty bad,” the TAO reported. “We’re still under way, but fires up on deck are still not under control. Duncan is heavily damaged — we’re setting up to receive survivors. She probably won’t make it.”

“Crap,” McLanahan cursed aloud. “JD, Headbanger One is going to clear off north and hit the tanker. Headbanger Two will stay on station, in case the PLAN shows up. We’ll be rotating our coverage as long as you need us. We’re fully anti-ship capable. We’ll still need the Taiwan Air Force in the area to help with antiair coverage.”

“Copy, Headbanger,” the TAO replied. “We sure would appreciate all the help we can get. I sure as hell won’t bad-mouth you zoomies anymore.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be more help,” McLanahan said. “We’ll be watching your backside. Headbanger One clear.”

It was right there, on a CNN “Breaking News Special Report”—live video of a sinking Chinese ferry, about twenty miles from Quemoy Island. Again and again, CNN also replayed the videotape that had been turned over to them at their Beijing bureau by the Chinese government — a video showing two missiles slamming into the ferry, the explosions, the fire… CNN was also showing videotape of a similar attack on the Chinese aircraft carrier Mao Zedong, during Reunification Day celebrations. First they showed the fireworks, the children, the flags, the awestruck civilians on tour — and then they showed the devastation just seconds after torpedoes from an unknown attacker slammed into the carrier. The videotape clearly showed the damage, showed the injured and dead civilians…

… and it showed what caused all that death and destruction, a captured Taiwanese attack submarine, forced to the surface, captured, then sunk by Chinese shore- and carrier-based naval forces.

“My God,” someone muttered. “This is the most incredible tape I’ve ever seen. We’ve got to respond right away.”

“The first damn thing I want everyone to do is to calm down,” the President of the United States, Kevin Martindale, said as he swiveled uncomfortably in his chair. The members of his staff and the military representatives were on their feet watching the TV monitors in absolute shock and horror. “I’m not taking any more phone calls from the media for the rest of the evening, especially from CNN. I don’t care if Jane Fonda herself calls asking for more information.” With the President in his study adjacent to the Oval Office was Philip Freeman, the President’s National Security Advisor; Robert Plank, Director of Central Intelligence; and chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral George Balboa, representing the uniformed services.

Entering last and standing beside and slightly behind the President was his chief of staff, Jerrod Hale. “Secretaries Chastain and Hartman are not available,” Hale told the President. “The Vice President and Mr. Ricardo are en route, ETA ten minutes.”

“I need to talk to Jeffrey and Arthur ASAP,” the President told Hale. Turning to his assembled advisors, the President began, “Phil, get us started.”

“Yes, sir,” Freeman said, opening a red-jacketed folder with the words “TOP SECRET” emblazened on the cover. “About an hour ago, approximately seven p.m. Washington time, eight a.m. Hong Kong time, several very unusual and deadly events occurred in the Formosa Strait region almost simultaneously. We’re seeing the press reports of what happened, but I have the preliminary field reports, and they paint a much different picture.

“First, several missiles were fired at two U.S. Navy frigates operating near Quemoy Island,” Freeman said. “One frigate, a Naval Reserve Fleet ship named the Duncan, was hit by two torpedoes and slightly damaged. The EB-52 Megafortress was in the vicinity at the time of the attack, and the crew reported that it detected the missile launch and pinpointed the ship that launched the missiles. Without permission, the Megafortress attacked.”

“OP Brad Elliott hit his intended target, too — except it turns out it was a Chinese passenger ship ” Admiral Balboa interjected hotly. “Brad Elliott disregarded orders and blew the shit out of a passenger ferry”

“Casualties?”

“The Chinese report sixty-eight civilians dead, over two hundred injured,” Freeman said somberly. “Unable to verify it yet, but judging by the videotape, that’s an accurate number. Rescue efforts are under way, as we can see.”

“Oh, God,” the President murmured; then, in a much louder, angrier tone: “What possible explanation did Elliott give?”

“The crew claims that the ferry was towing a barge that made it look like a cruiser or destroyer on radar, and that the rocket-powered torpedoes launched at the Duncan and ]ames Daniel did come from the direction of that ferry,” Freeman said. “They said they were just protecting the frigates.”

“General Freeman, I wish you’d stop being a mamas boy to Brad Elliott,” Admiral Balboa exploded. “Technical glitches, wolf in sheep’s clothing, saving the day, spooks and goblins — forget the damned excuses, because he’s got a million of them. The bottom line is that Elliott attacked again without permission. He didn’t do a complete target assessment and fired two heavy missiles at a noncombatant.”

“But the Megafortresses redeemed themselves,” Freeman went on. “They stayed with the frigates and helped to fight off a Chinese air attack on the frigates. According to reports from the James Daniel and the Megafortress’s crew, China launched several formations of fighters and attack planes, including four heavy bombers with large anti-ship cruise missiles. Elliott and his wingman in the Megafortresses used their antiaircraft weapons to shoot down a number of the attackers; Taiwan Air Force fighters helped to fight off several formations of Chinese fighters.” “None of this would have happened,” Balboa argued, “if Elliott hadn’t put those two missiles into that ferry.”

“I disagree, Admiral,” Freeman said. “Those fighters and attack planes were on the scene within minutes of the attack on the ferry. This was a planned attack, made to look like retaliation for our attack.”

“That’s bullshit, Freeman.”

“All right, all right,” the President said. He turned to Freeman and said, “Looks like Brad Elliott screwed up big-time, Philip. Is he on his way back to Guam?”

“No, sir,” Freeman replied. “Both Megafortresses are on station with the James Daniel and Duncan, in case any Chinese naval vessels try to approach. The Taiwanese air force is also overhead, in case there are any more air attacks.”

“Sir, we’ve got to stop fucking around with these damned B-52 monstrosities and take command of the region,” Admiral Balboa said, completely abandoning all courtesy toward his commander in chief. “We need the Independence to move into the Strait to assist the frigates in recovery and withdrawal, right now. And we’ve got to initiate an investigation of that missile attack — Elliott and whoever else screwed up has to be held liable. Congress, our allies, and the American people are going to scream bloody murder over this. Elliott needs to have his nuts chopped off!”

“Admiral, I warned you, watch your damned mouth when you’re speaking to the President,” Jerrod Hale snapped.

“Jerrod, easy — I’m upset, too,” the President said. “All right. Terminate all the EB-52 patrols, recall those bombers back to wherever the hell they came from — hide them away someplace where the press can’t find them, until we have the spin under control. When they get back to Guam, I want a full investigation of the incident…” he paused, then added, “… with the intention of filing criminal charges against Elliott, McLanahan, whoever was in command of the aircraft that fired the missiles against the ferry. This is going to be serious.” He paused again, then added, “And get the Independence group under way to take up patrol positions in the Strait. We can use commercial or allied salvage services to assist the frigates, but the reason we’re moving the Independence into the Strait is to help the frigates.”

“Yes, sir." Balboa nodded and was on the phone immediately, issuing the orders. “In the meantime, sir, what do you suggest we tell the press about the attack on the ferry?” Balboa asked. There was a definite edge in his voice this time, as if he was rubbing the President’s nose in the filth caused by his decision to send in the EB-52 Megafortresses. “We will not blame this attack on my frigates—they obeyed orders and did not open fire, unlike your damned thingamajigs.”

“Admiral…” Jerrod Hale warned him, picking up on his disrespectful tone of voice. Balboa glared at Hale, but kept silent by taking an unrepentant sip of coffee.

The President did not show any anger at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “We tell them… that we had armed military patrol aircraft in the area that mistakenly fired on the ferry,” he said. “No elaboration beyond that. We can report the rest in closed-door briefings if necessary, but no details about the Megafortresses to the press.” Freeman and Hale nodded; Balboa showed little reaction. “All right. What else happened out there?”

“At almost the exact same time, sir, the Chinese carrier Mao Zedong was hit by three torpedoes as it lay at anchor near Hong Kong,” Freeman replied. The President’s jaw sagged, and he muttered a barely audible “Ah, shit.” “It was part of Reunification Day celebrations; it carried a skeleton crew of about a thousand, and approximately a thousand civilians, most of whom had slept aboard the ship. The carrier reportedly sustained major damage. Casualties are reported to be heavy.

“The carrier responded with an attack by several helicopters, at which time they attacked and damaged a Taiwanese Sea Dragon-class submarine, forcing it to the surface. The crew was taken off the sub, and then it was blown to bits and sunk by gunfire from the carrier Mao."

“Jesus,” the President muttered. “What does the ROC say about it?”

“Taiwan hasn’t issued any statements so far,” DCI Robert Plank responded woodenly. The President looked surprised, then frustrated, then angry at the news. “We know that a couple Taiwanese subs have been shadowing the Mao since it returned to Hong Kong after the attack on Quemoy — we’ve got two subs in the vicinity as well, although we were careful to stay out of Hong Kong waters. Apparently the Taiwanese navy decided the Mao was too inviting a target and decided to be heroes and sink the son of a bitch. Their plan backfired.”

“Simultaneously, it appears that a Taiwanese C-130 transport plane was detected near Lang-Ch’i Army Base, twenty miles west of Matsu Island — over the Chinese coast,” Freeman went on, shaking his head in disbelief. “China claims that Taiwan was attempting either to drop a bomb on the base or insert spies or commandos into the area. The transport plane was shot down. Mainland China retaliated by launching rocket attacks on the Matsu Islands, the Taiwanese island chain located just off the Chinese mainland northwest of Taipei.”

“What in hell is Taiwan up to?” the President asked. “Have they gone crazy? This is a damned nightmare! I want… Holy shit, look at that!” They looked — and they were stunned beyond belief. There on CNN was a fuzzy, grainy black-and-white photograph — of the EB-52 Megafortress! The announcer said that the photograph had just been received by the Chinese News Agency, who had gotten it from the People’s Liberation Army Air Force. It was a head-on shot, so it was difficult to make out details or get any solid identification — but for the men in the room, the identification was painfully easy. The B-52 fuselage, the unusual tail surfaces, the pointed nose, the weapons pod — it was the EB-52 Megafortress, all right.

“Very nice gun camera picture — of a top-secret stealth attack plane! ” Balboa said sarcastically. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?” “Save it, Admiral,” the President said irritably. He noticed Jerrod Hale answering the phone on his desk — shit, he thought, it’s starting already! Thirty seconds after the pictures were shown on CNN, the phone calls were coming in hot and heavy. “The official response about those photos is going to be ‘no comment.’ Is that clear?” Hale caught the President’s attention. “What?”

“State Department is getting flooded with calls from the foreign ministries of Japan, Russia, North Korea, Iran, about a dozen others— they all want to know if we’re at war with China and if we have a fleet of those Megafortresses deployed around the world‘ready to strike,” Hale said. “They all want an explanation.”

“We can expect calls to start coming in from Congress, too,” the President said wearily. “All right, Jerrod, I’ll start making calls — the Japanese prime minster first, then the Leadership, then Russia, then any other Asian allies that want a call. North Korea can go screw itself in the corner. What about Taiwan? What’s Lee’s explanation, dammit?”

“As best as we can figure without talking to President Lee,” Freeman said, “Taiwan wanted to knock that carrier out of commission, then cripple Lang-Ch’i Army Base, which is the main staging point for China’s invasion force for the Matsu Island chain.”

“One plane? One bomb dropped by a transport plane? What kind of damage can one transport plane do?” the President asked.

“The transport was a C-130 Hercules,” Freeman replied, “and Taiwan has the BLU-82 bomb in its inventory — that’s a 15,000-pound fuel- air explosive bomb. It’s enough to level anything aboveground for a radius of two miles. We don’t have any verification that Taiwan employed a Big Blue, but it would be a logical weapon to use against Lang- Ch’i Army Base.”

“Hold it, hold it — we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” the President said irritably, getting more and more confused. “Why hit this Lang-Ch’i base? Were the Chinese getting ready to invade Matsu? Was it supposed to be a preemptive strike to avert an invasion?”

“The PRC attacks on Matsu and Quemoy have been expected for many months, ever since the Chinese war games in 1996,” Freeman replied. He searched his notes, then added, “China had deployed the 117th and 134th Marine Divisions, both reserve units, to Lang-Ch’i last year; they deployed the 54th Group Army, including the 165th Airborne Regiment, as well — nearly two hundred thousand troops in that area alone.”

“Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t blame Taiwan for lashing out in these two areas, if in fact they did,” the President said. “So did China take Matsu?”

“Latest word is that no PRC troops have been landed on Matsu,” Freeman replied, “but China has a very limited amphibious landing ship fleet, so a massive marine invasion was not anticipated right away Matsu Air Base was bombarded and heavily damaged. But overall it appears that China is showing a bit of restraint.”

That was a bit of welcome relief, however little. “What in hell is going on around here?” the President repeated. “Is Taiwan trying to goad China into attacking? If so, it’s a suicidal plan.”

“Mr. President, the first thing I’m noticing here is the coincidental placement of these video cameras on both the carrier and the ferry,” Plank said. “They’re obviously not civilian models — they look almost broadcast quality. Both cameras recorded the weapons impacts as if they knew exactly where they’d hit — they weren’t photographing persons or events on deck, but pointed out over the side. China also got those tapes to the CNN bureau in Beijing in an awful damned hurry — they didn’t even bother to review the tapes themselves, as if they knew what would be on them. And the observation that General Freeman made earlier — that those Chinese attack planes showed up within a half hour of the strike on the ferry — well, it looks suspicious.”

“Bob, are you suggesting that China staged these attacks?” the President asked. “How is that possible? How could they know a Taiwanese sub was approaching the carrier? How would they know we had a bomber near that ferry, and how would they know when or if they’d launch missiles? It’s a real stretch.”

“I know it is, sir — I’m making an observation based on what I’m seeing on the news, with Chinese-supplied video,” Plank said. “But it wouldn’t be hard to set up. The attack on the carrier would be easy— simply lay some torpedoes in the water, shoot ’em off, and take pictures as they hit the carrier. The ferry attack would be harder to stage, but not impossible — lay the torpedoes in the water, send the ferry out when our Navy ships approach, set off the torpedoes by remote control, and hope the frigates fire back. I don’t think they anticipated the Megafortress attacking, but they knew we had stealth aircraft in the vicinity.”

“It’s crazy, Bob,” the President said. “Let’s concentrate on what we know, instead of what we don’t. I want—”

He was interrupted by Jerrod Hale’s hand on his shoulder. “Prime Minister Nagai of Japan, on the ‘hot line’ for you.”

“Oh, shit,” the President muttered. Kazumi Nagai was fluent in English, so the President needed no translator — no reason to postpone taking this call. He picked up the phone: “Mr. Prime Minister, this is President Martindale. How are you today, sir?”

“I am fine, Mr. President, and I hope I find you well,” Nagai responded. His speech was clipped and sharp, yet still respectful enough.

“You are calling concerning the news reports about the attacks against Chinese property, supposedly by American and Taiwanese forces.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Nagai said sharply. “I was surprised and dismayed by the photographs — we knew nothing of such aircraft, and are very concerned that it was employed by you in this monstrous attack. Is it true that the aircraft photographed by Chinese reconnaissance planes that have been shown on CNN belongs to the United States, and was it involved in the attack on the passenger ferry in the Formosa Strait?”

“It’s true, Mr. Prime Minister,” Martindale replied. “I can explain further, as long as we are guaranteed full confidentiality of all the information during this call.”

“I agree, Mr. President,” Nagai said. “Please continue.”

“It’s an experimental long-range reconnaissance and attack plane, derived from the B-52 bomber,” the President explained. “The same plane was involved in the skirmish that resulted in the Chinese nuclear missile attack, but our plane did not not have anything to do with the nuclear attack, except to intercept at least one of the Chinese missiles while in flight.”

“Intercept? How?”

“That’s not important right now, Mr. Prime Minister,” the President said. “Revealing all the capabilities of the plane has nothing to do with the two incidents.”

“It would be better if you allowed us to make that determination, sir,” Nagai said acidly. “But please continue.”

“In the most recent incident, the plane was on patrol when it detected a multiple missile launch from a nearby vessel. The aircrew incorrectly identified the vessel as a Chinese warship. One of our surface vessels was hit by a rocket-powered torpedo and was disabled. Fearing a second attack would destroy the crippled vessel, the armed reconnaissance aircraft returned fire.”

“But if it was not a warship that initiated the attack, how could the aircrew launch an attack on an unarmed passenger ferry?” Nagai asked.

“This is as monstrous a mistake as your accidental downing of the Iranian Airbus over the Persian Gulf! ”

“Mr. Prime Minister, this was an accident precipitated by China by making the ferry look like a warship on electronic sensors, and by launching some kind of missile attack from the direction of the ferry, perhaps by submarine,” Martindale said. “I assure you, this accident will not happen again. The aircraft have been recalled, and an investigation has been launched.”

“Will the results of this investigation be kept secret, as the existence and use of this aircraft has been?”

“i’ll see to it that you get a copy of the results of the investigation as soon as it is prepared,” Martindale said. “I only ask that this matter remain totally confidential. I hope I’ve answered all your questions. Thank you for—”

“Mr. President, I must convey the thoughts of many in my party concerning American military activities recently,” Nagai interjected, his voice much sterner now. “It appears that you are very quick to initiate military actions, especially covert, stealthy actions, versus negotiations and consultations with your allies. Many members of my government, including members of all political parties, have expressed outrage over your activities. First, you attacked Iran without consultations and without a declaration of war; now you are embroiled in a conflict with China. In neither case were any of your friends or allies notified or consulted.”

“All I can say now, Mr. Prime Minister,” Martindale said, “is that my actions were necessary and vital to protect our national security interests. Your government was notified of our plans to initiate military action against Iran because of its attacks on Persian Gulf states — I’m sorry, but I did not feel it necessary to explain our plans in detail at the time. The important thing was that a wider conflict was avoided and peace was restored.”

“Restored? Not when oil has nearly doubled in price over the past four months; not when oil shipments to Japan have been cut by almost ten percent!” Nagai argued hotly.

“If Iran had been successful in closing off the Persian Gulf and destroying the oil-producing capabilities of the Persian Gulf coast states, what do you think you’d be paying for whatever oil you got from there, Mr. Nagai?”

“My government is also outraged over your decision to support the independence of Chinese Taipei,” Nagai said, rapidly switching to a different topic. “That was an ill-advised thing to do, Mr. President. Declaring your support for a rebel Chinese province, one that is in conflict with many of your Asian allies, including Japan, was a very unwise course of action.”

“Again, Mr. Prime Minister, I thought it was‘best to act quickly in the best interests of our national security,” Martindale said. “Taiwan’s declaration of independence was a total surprise to me, as was China’s swift action to form a naval carrier task force to threaten or destroy Taiwan or its territories.”

“Your decision to take Chinese Taipei’s side,” Nagai said, again using the term “Chinese Taipei” instead of “Taiwan” or “the Republic of China”—that usage spoke volumes about the depth of Japan’s resentment toward Taiwan—“has inflamed the anger of many in my country and my government. They feel America no longer supports Japan’s vital national interests. It would be difficult for my country to support America’s vital interests in Asia if you no longer support ours.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Prime Minister?” the President asked. “America will always be a strong and loyal ally of Japan.”

“I am conveying a warning to you, Mr. President, that America could be made to feel most unwelcome at its bases located on Japanese soil if it is ever perceived that Japan’s national interests are not being served,” Nagai said in carefully measured words.

“You’re threatening American bases in Japan if we continue to support the Republic of China or defend it against mainland China?” Martindale said, trying hard not to get angry or excited. “Is that what you’re telling me, Mr. Prime Minister?”

“China is a valuable trading partner with Japan — we have put aside our historical differences in favor of growth and prosperity for the future,” Nagai responded. “Any actions, either against China or on behalf of Chinese Taipei, that might provoke further economic or military retaliation against Japan would be considered a hostile act against us. The people of Japan would become infuriated if it was learned that American warplanes or warships staging out of bases in Japan were responsible for an economic, political, diplomatic, or military calamity befalling Japan. In such a case, for example, access to those bases might be restricted to the supply of fuel and provisions only, not the supply of weapons.”

“You’re saying that if we continue our actions, Japan will prohibit American military forces from on-loading weapons for our ships and planes? That’s what I’m hearing from you, Mr. Prime Minister.”

“That is all I have to say on the subject, Mr. President. I hope that we, your true friends in Asia, are consulted before any other situations arise. What will your response be to the attack on your warships, Mr. President?”

“We will be sending the aircraft carrier Independence and its escorts from Yokosuka to the Formosa Strait to assist in recovery efforts.”

“The aircraft carrier? Do you think that is wise, Mr. President?” Nagai asked, with a tone of voice that revealed his obvious displeasure at the news. “It will be considered a threatening act against China, a retaliatory action.”

“We have a right and a duty to protect our vessels on the high seas, Mr. Prime Minister,” Martindale said. “The frigates were attacked by Chinese fighters and attack planes, including bombers.”

“Obviously reacting to the attack on their passenger ferry — a purely defensive move,” Nagai interjected. “Sending your aircraft carrier now will only be considered a hostile act and a serious escalation of hostilities. May I suggest sending a support or rescue ship that does not have a strike capability? It will take your carrier several days to travel to the scene of the incident — other vessels can be dispatched much quicker.” “We will send whatever vessels or equipment we feel necessary to save lives and preserve our property and rights of travel on the high seas,” the President said flatly. “If it takes a carrier, we’ll send one — or two, or three if necessary. But we will not be chased out of any international waterways.”

“That, sir, sounds like the words of an angry and desperate man,” Nagai said bitterly. “Again, you flaunt your military power without regard to whom it might affect. Sir, with all due respect, I suggest you leave the Independence in port and assist your stricken warships by some other means. Japan will be pleased to assist you — we have salvage ships powerful enough to take your frigate in tow and keep it afloat, and we can provide them to you immediately. We even know that Chinese Taipei has salvage and rescue ships that can assist, and they can be on the scene within hours instead of days. But sending in the carrier Independence will only be seen as a hostile act, perhaps even an act of war. My government cannot support such a decision.”

“I’m sorry we can’t count on your support, Mr. Prime Minister,” the President said. “But we will do whatever we feel is right and necessary.”

“Can you at least assure me that you will not consider retaliatory or preemptive military actions against the People’s Republic of China? ”

“It never was my intention to initiate any offensive military actions against China, sir,” Martindale responded. “All of the events in the past two weeks have occurred because of China’s aggressive actions against the Republic of China and against America. Our moves have been in reaction to Chinese threats and intimidation. If it becomes necessary to act, we will. But I am not sending any warships into the Formosa Strait to intimidate, aggravate, threaten, or attack anyone. The carrier Independence will assist in recovery efforts only, and we will not seek retaliation. We will attack only if we come under attack.”

“I hope not, Mr. President — I hope not,” Nagai said. “I have one last question, Mr. President.”

“What’s that?”

“Sir, we have been notified by our intelligence services that you have convened your Strategic Command’s Combined Task Forces battle staff,” Nagai said. The President’s jaw dropped open in absolute surprise. “We know that this battle staff is convened to organize and equip your country’s strategic nuclear forces.”

“Mr. Prime Minister, I cannot confirm such a thing.”

“I understand, Mr. President,” Nagai said. “I only hope that if this was true, that it does not mean that the United States is traveling down the slippery slope to a nuclear confrontation with the People’s Republic of China. The movement of the Independence carrier battle group into the Formosa Strait will certainly elevate hostilities to a dangerous level already — if it became known that America was also considering reactivating its nuclear deterrent forces, the level of tensions worldwide would increase tremendously. Even worse, if it became known that the Independence or any of its escorts carried tactical nuclear attack weapons—”

“Mr. Nagai, I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Martindale interjected angrily. “I will not discuss the disposition of any of our strategic systems, and I will not tolerate veiled threats from you to pass along incorrect or misleading information designed to enbarrass the United States or further your own political agenda. I advise you to reconsider your actions very carefully. Thank you, and good night.” The President slammed the phone back on its cradle. “No more calls from that rat bastard Nagai, got it, Jerrod? How dare he deliver ultimatums to me!” The President sat fuming for several long moments; then: “I want to talk with President Lee and President Jiang as soon as possible, President Lee first.”

“The ambassador from the PRC, Hou Qingze, is standing by for you, sir, calling from New York,” Jerrod Hale said. “Line two. He’s been on hold since you took the call from Nagai.”

The President nodded, impressed — and even less impressed now by Taiwan’s silence. He took several deep breaths to wash the anger out of his head, then hit the button and picked up the phone: “Ambassador Hou, this is Kevin Martindale. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Not at all, Mr. President,” Ambassador Hou Qingze responded in very good English, with a hint of a British accent. “I am honored to speak with you tonight. I first wish to convey the deep sadness and regret of President Jiang and the government and people of the People’s Republic of China over the recent conflict between the Nationalists and our country.”

“Does your country have an explanation, Ambassador?”

“I am sorry to say, Mr. President, that the People’s Liberation Army Navy forces overreacted to certain actions by the rebel Nationalist terrorist forces,” Hou said. “My government deeply regrets our actions and is very embarrassed. ”

“Overreacted? You fired nuclear missiles at Quemoy, sir.”

“My government strenuously denies that we launched any nuclear weapons at anyone, Mr. President,” Hou said sincerely.

“We’ve heard your denials several times a day for the past two weeks, sir,” the President said. “It doesn’t change the facts — we know the missiles were fired by your ships.”

“We must respectfully disagree, sir,” Ambassador Hou said. “But the purpose of my call, Mr. President, if I may, was not about the past conflict, but to explain our actions in this recent string of attacks.

“The torpedo attacks by the Taiwanese submarine shadowing the Mao Zedong carrier group could have been an accidental firing, or an in- solated rogue attack. The sudden appearance of a Taiwanese submarine so close to our ships, after our nations had agreed not to sail any submarines in the Strait during the carrier group’s transit, caused our naval forces to sound an attack alarm,” Hou said rather contritely. “We were totally caught unawares, and our forces reacted.

“Further, it now appears that the so-called bombing attack by the Taiwanese transport plane was merely a navigational error. The pilot apparently had instrument problems caused by a nearby electrical storm that caused him to cross into our airspace, which alerted our air defenses, who then perceived the incursion as a prelude to an attack, to which we responded by launching a counterattack,” Hou continued. “Again, our forces were caught unaware and surprised, which, combined with the announced attack on the carrier group just minutes earlier, caused confusion and fear, and so we overreacted. On behalf of my country, I am deeply sorry for this unwarranted action against the people of Matsu, and beg forgiveness.”

The President was silent for several long moments. It appeared as if the Chinese had come clean — they were admitting that they screwed up! Their explanation seemed totally plausible: two isolated incidents, both sparked by Taiwan, occurring only moments apart, caused the Chinese military to surge forward. “I see,” the President said on the phone, believing Hou but not yet willing to admit it. “What are your country’s intentions now?”

“My government informs me that all further troop movements have been halted against Matsu, and no further attacks will be initiated,” Ambassador Hou replied. “We regret the loss of life and the destruction of property, but under the circumstances I believe our reaction, dishonorable and unfortunate as it was, was fully justified. We shall transmit our apology to the Nationalist government immediately. And, in the interest of peace, we assure you and the rest of the world that the crew of the Taiwanese sub will be treated fairly. We are not in a state of war, but the sailors of the submarine that attacked our carrier will be treated as if they are prisoners of war — with respect and fairness. My government will also agree to submit the matter to an international tribunal.”

The President was impressed and heartened at these proposals; it definitely appeared as if China was ready and willing to compromise and not isolate themselves. Were they being perhaps too willing? the President thought. “May we get a copy of your withdrawal orders and a written account of China’s actions in this conflict?” he asked.

“I shall have it delivered to Secretary of State Hartman’s office and to the White House within the hour, Mr. President,” Hou replied.

The President was taken aback by the openness and cooperation Hou showed — of course, it all remained to be seen, but he was still surprised by China’s apparent forthrightness. “Very well, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said. “We look forward to your continuing cooperation in this very serious matter. ”

“I pledge my country’s sincere cooperation,” Hou said. He paused for a moment, as if embarrassed to bring up the point; then: “I have been instructed to ask you, Mr. President, for some sort of explanation for the horrible and tragic event that occurred near Quemoy a short while ago.” He heard Martindale pause at the question, then hastily added, “If you wish not to speak of it now, sir, I understand. There are delicate and critical factors to be analyzed.”

“There is still a lot of confusion over exactly what happened, Mr. Ambassador, in the incidents near Hong Kong and Matsu as well as the one near Quemoy,” the President replied. “But since you’ve been honest with us, Mr. Ambassador, we’ll be honest with you, as long as this information is held in the strictest confidence.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Hou responded.

“The attack on the passenger ferry was prompted by a missile attack on two U.S. Navy frigates,” the President said. “An armed patrol plane flying in the same area detected the attack on our ships and, mistakingly believing the missiles came from the ferry, returned fire. Our sensors reported that the ferry was a warship, and it was on a convergent course with our patrol ships, so when the missile attacks occurred, our patrol plane commenced an immediate counterattack.”

“The EB-52 Megafortress bomber, it has the capability of distinguishing between different vessels from such long distances?” Hou asked.

The President’s head jerked up at the mention of the Megafortress— they knew! The Chinese government knew about the Megafortress! This was the second conflict against the Chinese in which the bomber had been used, so it was not totally unexplainable — but to hear the aircraft’s nickname used so casually was a great shock to the President, who had been involved with the weapon system since its inception and had managed to keep it a closely guarded secret, even from most of the rest of the U.S. government. “I cannot discuss types of aircraft or the capabilities they may or may not have,” President Martindale responded, trying to keep his voice level and moderated. “All I can say is that the attack was accidental, and these patrol planes are being removed from the area to avoid any further accidents, in the interest of peace. We were hoping that you might have some explanation for the attack on the American frigates.”

“We removed all warships and submarines from the Quemoy Island area, Mr. President, also in the interest of peace,” Ambassador Hou said. “We do not have any explanation for this so-called torpedo attack. I can of course confirm that some naval air and air force units responded to the alert of an American invasion, and in their zeal overstepped their authority and attacked your frigates. On behalf of my country, I sincerely apologize for that attack. I have been advised that your Megafortress engaged some of our aircraft as well. A very formidable aircraft, I must admit.”

“I trust the People’s Republic of China will not seek any retaliation for this incident or any others that occurred today, and that we can work together to restore peace and stability to the region,” the President said, ignoring the remark about the Megafortress. The amount of information Hou and the Chinese had gathered during the last engagement was incredible, he thought. There was probably no way they could ever keep the Megafortress secret again.

“The People’s Republic of China shares and echoes those thoughts, Mr. President,” Ambassador Hou said warmly. “I must tell you that my country’s reconnaissance planes did make contact with the Megafortress patrol plane, but were under orders not to fire upon it after it withdrew from the area, even though it attacked the civilian ferry, attacked our defensive aircraft, and thereby caused so many deaths.” The President of the United States gave a silent laugh — only the Chinese could call an H- 6 bomber loaded with two huge anti-ship missiles “defensive.” “We will not prevent any other armed patrol planes from entering international airspace anywhere in the region, but we do ask that these modified B-52 bombers be excluded from the region, in the interest of peace. The power of these combat aircraft is a significant threat to the People’s Republic of China.”

The President was again reeling from Hou’s words. They knew about the Megafortress, all right! He was sure that soon the rest of the world would know, despite Hou’s promise to keep all this confidential. “We agree, Ambassador,” the President said. “As long as a state of war does not exist between our two countries, we will refrain from sending any heavy strike aircraft near Chinese airspace.”

“Your words are wise and strong, Mr. President,” Hou said warmly. “On behalf of my country, I thank you. In the search for peace, Mr. President, China still seeks reunification of its territories split apart from her by imperialists and rebels. The United States can play a critical role in that reunification.

“I have been authorized by my government to extend this invitation and request: Would the United States consider mediating talks between my government and the Nationalist government on Formosa, seeking complete reunification of the two Chinas by the year 2005? Like the successful talks between Britain, Portugal, and my country for return of Hong Kong and Macau, the United States could act as honest broker for the glorious reunification of China, while still preserving the economic strength and ideological diversity of the Nationalist movement. Will you do it, Mr. President? Will you consider President Jiang’s request?”

“I’m honored, Mr. Ambassador, but as you know, I have already announced our intention of recognizing the Republic of China as an independent and sovereign nation,” President Martindale said. “In our view, the Republic of China has established a strong and viable democratic government and society, equal to that of any nation in Asia, and therefore has earned the chance to grow and develop as an independent nation. I don’t wish to offend the People’s Republic of China, but I am prepared to support Taiwan’s right to become independent. I hope that your country would recognize the reality of this situation and peacefully come to terms with President Lee. ”

“With the support of the United States, we are prepared to do just that, sir,” Hou said. “We understand that you must still repeal the Taiwan Relations Act of 1979 and seek ratification of the proposal by your senate. The government of the People’s Republic of China humbly asks that you simply attach an addendum to your proposal, agreeing in principle only to the notion of the people of Chinese Taipei seeking autonomy until the laws of the People’s Republic of China can be liberalized, but fully endorsing the goal of reuniting the two Chinas by the year 2005. You would then have no need to expend political capital in repealing an existing law, and you ensure the support of your senate by seeking a worthy and satisfying goal, one that has already been endorsed by most of the world’s national leaders.”

“I will take that idea under advisement, Mr. Ambassador,” the President said. “Thank you for your time and assistance. Good night, Mr. Ambassador.” Hou was still thanking Martindale profusely for his time and patience when the President hung up. The President took a deep breath, then a sip of coffee. “Well, either Hou was a very convincing bullshitter or one sincere Chinese. They admitted they screwed the pooch.”

“They admitted they overreacted, but they didn’t admit they were wrong or not responsible,” Freeman pointed out. “I still think they’re too easy going about all this. Hundreds of Chinese citizens and soldiers were just killed, supposedly by Taiwanese and American sneak attacks, and their ambassador is apologizing? Doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Still think it’s a setup, Phil?” the President asked. “Still think China started it all, hoping to start an invasion?”

“As far as would the PRC risk attacking their own ships just to force a showdown with Taiwan?” He paused for a moment, then said, “I won’t speculate. I suppose it’s possible…”

Admiral Balboa shook his head and gave a sound of disagreement that sounded like an exasperated snort. Balboa was shorter and not as lean or athletic as Freeman, but he compensated for a lack of stature with an animated, expressive, restless demeanor that could not be ignored. He said, “Ex-cuse me, General Freeman, but in my opinion, it’s ridiculous to suggest that the Chinese would shoot four torpedoes at its own warships just to hope to provoke Taiwan into starting a war. I think we can rule that idea out.”

“Fm not ruling anything out, Admiral,” Freeman said, “but Til agree, it’s pretty unlikely. But this incident is only ninety minutes old. It’s just too early to know anything. Everything that Mr. Plank said rings true with me, tells me that perhaps the Chinese set this whole thing up.”

“Like you said, General,” Balboa interjected, “the invasion plans on Matsu were in place and well known for over a year. Taiwan’s been threatening to sink that carrier if it ever entered the Formosa Strait. None of this is a big surprise.”

“Well, the press has latched on to this incident like it’s the beginning of World War Three,” the President said irritably. He glanced at his watch, then looked at Jerrod Hale, his chief of staff. “Jer, have Chuck work up a media point paper for me for tonight. I want it made clear that I view these incidents with great concern, and I make myself available at any time to assist in negotiations for peace. I’m calling for a cessation of all hostilities in the Formosa Strait immediately.”

“You may want to consider a line acknowledging our culpability in the escalation of this conflict, sir,” Hale said. “We can’t kill a hundred civilians and then say, ‘Everyone, back off or else.’ ”

“I don’t want it to look like I’m the one that started it all, either, Jerrod.”

“I’d consider mentioning the call from Ambassador Hou, the pledge of cooperation, and your pledge to remove all armed patrol aircraft from the region,” Hale said. “You’re going to come under tough scrutiny anyway — now’s not the time to be evasive.”

“You’re right. Let’s set up a press conference for tomorrow morning.” The President turned to Robert Plank and asked, “What’s China’s military up to these days, Bob? They’ve been pretty quiet over the past few weeks, haven’t they?”

“Quiet, except of course for this carrier group that they claim just got attacked by Taiwan,” Plank replied. “It’s incredible to me how much the balance of power shifts when that carrier relocates — it’s the biggest warship and most powerful battle group in the South China Sea region. Its escorts are considered third-rate, but the carrier group represents a significant threat to the entire region. The South China Sea belongs to China now.”

“I think that’s a little premature, Bob,” Freeman interjected. Director of Central Intelligence Robert Plank was another one of President Martindale’s political supporters, a partner in a prestigious Atlanta law firm before cochairing the President’s election committee and running the campaign in the strategically important southeastern states. Plank knew little about politics and nothing about running an intelligence bureau. To his credit, he knew people, he knew international law, and he knew how to manage a team and manage a crisis. But in Philip Freeman’s eyes, Plank was pretty much disengaged from the everyday business of the intelligence game and really put his skills to work only in tight situations.

“The Agency has their best team on the case,” Plank said to the President, ignoring Freeman. “I can have someone brief you on China’s specific military standing.”

“What’s China’s next move, Bob?” the President asked.

“I think they’ll sit and wait, hope this blows over, keep the pressure on Taiwan and us, and see what we’ll do about it,” Plank replied. “I see no reason whatsoever to get excited over yet another shoving match between the two Chinas.”

“This is not a damned ‘shoving match,’ Bob — the Chinese brought nukes into the region and used them against Quemoy!” Freeman retorted.

“I think there’s a power play going on in the Central Military Commission, and the nukes were not Jiang’s idea,” Plank said earnestly. “The dispersal of the Chinese carrier battle force, after spending so much time and money in assembling it, is proof that whoever came up with the nuke idea has been discredited. It would be a mistake, in my estimation, to escalate this thing any further by any overt actions on our part. We should definitely exclude the modified B-52 things from the area. B-52s have always had a very negative connotation — as in ‘doomsday,’ as in ‘global thermonuclear war.’ ”

“I agree,” Balboa interjected. “Things have been messed up pretty good with the Megafortress fiasco. But we need a presence in the Strait— we needed it two weeks ago, but now we need it more than ever. The Independence is fired up and ready to depart Yokosuka — I suggest we let it head down the Strait to assist the Duncan and ]ames Daniel. It was supposed to be in Hong Kong for Reunification Day ceremonies, but I don’t think that’s a good idea now, for obvious reasons. The Vice President was supposed to be in Hong Kong for Reunification Day — is she still planning on attending the carrier rendezvous?”

“As far as I’m aware, she’s still on,” the President said. He turned to his national security advisor. “Phil? You agree with the plan to send the carrier into the Strait now?”

Freeman hesitated — which angered Balboa, although he kept silent. Finally: “Sir, the only problem in this whole thing is that I feel we’re being led around by the nose by the PRC,” Freeman said. “I smell a setup. Perhaps we should wait until Director Plank has a chance to investigate the incidents further before we send Independence into the area.”

“Always gotta be the odd man out, don’t you, General? ” Balboa asked with undisguised exasperation. “With all due respect, General, I think it’s you that’s being led around by the nose — not by the PRC, but by Elliott, McLanahan, and Samson. We gave them a shot, and they couldn’t come through, thanks to Elliott. If things get really hairy for the Independence, we can triple-team China with all three carriers — the Washington will be on station in a few days, and Carl Vinson will be right behind it.”

“We should continue air patrols over the Strait—”

“We can send the P-3s out of Misawa or the S-2s shore-based at At- sugi,” Balboa said. “If things get out of hand, we can send in F/A-18 Hornet fighter-bombers out of Okinawa. I think we can count on the Navy guys to simply observe, and not start, World War Three over there. U.S. presence should be a major stabilizing influence in Asia, not a destabilizing one.”

Balboa was the definition of interservice bigotry, the President decided, but now was not the time to argue about any lack of objectivity he might be displaying. “Philip, anything else?” the President asked. When Freeman had no reply, he continued, “Have Defense draw up a plan of action; I want the Independence moving as soon as possible. Don’t delay getting whatever help is needed for the frigates, but I want it known that Independence is going there to assist in recovery efforts only.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Just for my own peace of mind, Admiral — none of our carriers carry any nuclear weapons, right?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. President,” Balboa said. “All special weapons— nuclear, biological, and chemical — were removed from all Navy warships except ballistic missile submarines at least five years ago. None exist in the surface fleet.”

“Not even pieces of one? No nuclear components?” the President asked. It was a well-known fact that the U.S. government “fudged” information on nuclear weapons aboard Navy vessels to bypass a country’s “nuclear-free” policy by simply dismantling the weapons on board, so technically there were only “nuclear components” on board, not “nuclear weapons.”

“No nuclear components either, sir,” Balboa said. “Of course, we still have nuclear delivery components in the field — aircraft, missiles, et cetera — but I can certify to you that we have no nuclear weapons or nuclear weapon components in the field at this time.”

“Good — because you will have to certify it, in writing,” the President said. “Make your commanders do it, too.”

“The security review that you ordered was completed on both Sky Masters, Inc., and the Megafortress project office at Edwards Air Force Base — all clean,” Freeman interjected. “No special weapons have been detected, no special-weapon delivery subsystems have been installed or ordered or designed.”

“Good — I want that report in writing as well, Philip,” the President said. “Next, Admiral Balboa, get together with the Chiefs and Secretary Chastain and put the Megafortresses back in mothballs. Get them off Guam and back in the States soonest. We gave them a try, and it didn’t work. Then get together with Naval Investigative Services and the Justice Department and start an investigation on those missile launches and the attack on the Chinese ferry. We might have to sacrifice some heads to show the world we’re not on the warpath.”

Admiral Balboa’s smile was unabashedly broad and self-satisfying. “Yes, sir, ” he said with undisguised enthusiasm. “Til take care of that embarrassing mess right away.”

Balboa’s anxiousness to start tearing at Elliott was a little unnerving, but the President let it go — it was time for Balboa to retake charge of his military forces, and time for the President to back off and stop micromanaging the military. He asked, “Status of the Strategic Command stand-up?”

“All of the Combined Task Forces are fully manned and ready to move when you give the word, sir,” Balboa said. “Of course, the CTFs agree that we see no reason right now to gain any nuclear assets whatsoever. CINCPAC is still in command of the Pacific-China theater. If we identify a target in Asia, CINCPAC should gain whatever resources he wants to handle it.”

“Fine,” the President said. “I agree with them — we don’t need any nuclear forces unless China tries to make another move using nuclear weapons. But I don’t think we’ll see any more of that. Give me a report from CINCPAC tomorrow afternoon.”

Jerrod Hale had picked up the phone again to answer another call. The President noticed Hale’s silent, almost expressionless signal. “Anything else for me, Admiral?”

Balboa was in mid-sip. He swallowed, looking expectantly at the President, then at Hale, then back again. “No, sir.”

“Thank you, and good night,” the President said, curtly dismissing him. Hale bent over to talk quietly with the President, effectively isolating the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Balboa blinked in surprise, put down his cup of coffee with an irritated clatter of china, and departed. After Balboa departed, the President sighed aloud. “Senator Finegold— already? She couldn’t even wait until morning?”

“You don’t need to take this call, Kevin,” Hale said. “You’re busy handling the crisis. I’ll tell Finegold that we’ll brief the leadership before we issue any statements to the press.”

President Martindale sighed heavily, rubbing the dull ache developing in his temples. He knew he should talk with Finegold; he knew that, if he didn’t, the first thing she was going to do in the morning was get on the network morning shows, complain about not getting briefed in a timely manner by the White House, then put her own ridiculous spin on the developments. Without hesitating any longer, he hit the button on the phone: “Hello, Senator.”

“Thank you so much for taking my call, Mr. President,” Senator Barbara Finegold responded. “I’m sorry for interrupting you — I know how busy you must be right now. ”

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you right now, Senator,” the President said cautiously. “The facts are that two Navy frigates were hit by Chinese submarine and air attacks in the Formosa Strait, and one of our patrol planes accidentally attacked a Chinese ferry. I don’t have any independent confirmation on any other incidents over there.”

“What kind of patrol plane was that on the news, Mr. President?” Finegold asked. “On the news, it looked like a B-52 bomber.”

“It was a new, experimental class of long-range patrol and attack aircraft, based on the B-52 but with some modern enhancements,” the President replied. “Its actions were totally defensive in nature, occurring only after one of our frigates was hit.”

“Have you spoken with China yet, Mr. President? What are they saying about all this?”

“I have, and the Chinese are apologizing for their rash actions,” the President replied. “Of course, they’re blaming everything on preemptive attacks by Taiwan, an allegation that we have not yet confirmed.”

“A Chinese aircraft carrier and a military base were attacked — if we didn’t do it, then who else could have done it except Taiwan?” Finegold asked. “They got the submarine that attacked the carrier, and they shot down a bomber overflying their military site. I think that’s pretty compelling evidence, don’t you, Mr. President?”

“Do you want to take China’s word for all that’s happened, or would you like some independent confirmation first, Senator?” the President asked heatedly. Jerrod waved his hands palm-down at the President, reminding him to “take it easy.”

“I see lots of innocent civilians killed and hurt on CNN, Mr. President,” Finegold said testily. “Are you saying that all this is a fake, a fabrication by China? If it is, it’s pretty good work.”

“What I’m saying is, we don’t have independent confirmation of anything right now. ”

“I’d like a joint congressional task force to go out there to look for themselves,” Finegold said. “Can we count on Pentagon travel support?”

“Of course. Military, common carrier, whatever’s available.”

“We’d like to see that patrol plane first,” Finegold said. “We’d like to talk to the crews, interview the commander, get some details.”

The President hesitated, and he could feel the tension building. “That may not be possible, Senator,” he responded. “They’re still on patrol, assisting in recovery efforts. I’ve ordered the plane brought back to the States after they finish their patrol — that might be the best place to look at it and talk to the crews.”

“I was hoping to do it sooner rather than later, Mr. President,” Fine- gold said. “My staff tells me the bombers are based out of Guam — if that’s correct, perhaps we could see them on our way out to talk with representatives of the Japanese, Taiwanese, and Chinese governments.”

The President subdued an exasperated sigh. Finegold knew too much detailed information, details she could only get through direct communication with very high-ranking sources. He had hoped that Hale would be wrong about George Balboa squawking to Finegold, but it seemed more and more likely now.

“Very well, Senator. I’ll see to it they’re made available to you or your staffers,” the President said. “But I caution you that the President is still the nation’s diplomat. Although I certainly grant that members of Congress can visit and meet with any foreign leaders they choose, it is the President who makes foreign policy, negotiates treaties, and deals with matters of state. You carry much influence around the world, Senator Finegold, and your visit might be confused by foreign leaders as an official government communication.”

“We will make our intentions and the purpose of our visit crystal clear, Mr. President,” Finegold said testily, adding, “but I thank you for the civics lesson.” The temperature of the Oval Office turned decidedly cooler just then. “May I ask what response you intend to initiate in the wake of these so-called Chinese attacks, made to look like Taiwanese attacks? Will you retaliate against China?”

“I intend to rescue as many survivors as I can from the disaster in the Formosa Strait,” the President said, “and then I intend to bring our ships and soldiers safely home. After that, I haven’t decided. But I do not intend to break diplomatic relations with China or mount any sort of retaliation.”

“That’s good to hear, Mr. President,” Finegold said. “And I hope you’d be so kind as to consult with Congress before initiating any economic or military sanctions against China.”

“Of course, if the opportunity presents itself,” the President replied. “Thank you for calling, Senator. Good night.” He hung up the phone before she could ask another question. “The nerve of that witch! ” he said half aloud. “Instructing me on my duties and responsibilities to Congress!

“You’ve got to be careful, Kevin,” Jerrod Hale said. “Don’t go to the mat with her over the phone — you don’t know who’s listening. If you want to chew her out or tell her where to stuff her suggestions, get her out here to the White House and then let her have it. Make her get dressed and haul her tight narrow Nob Hill butt outside. You can then bring several members of the House leadership over so you have a nice big audience to watch her squirm.”

“Thanks, Jer. I know all this — I just need reminding, when the pressure’s on,” the President said. “All right. I want a shot-up, stripped- down Megafortress on Guam to show the senator — and I want all the rest of them off the island and into hiding or chopped up into confetti as soon as possible. Get on it.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, Admiral Sun Ji Guoming, I would be most inclined to offer you congratulations for a job well done,” Chinese president Jiang Zemin said coldly. Standing beside him was chief of staff of the People’s Liberation Army, General Chin Po Zihong. “But I cannot do so. Admiral, you told me that you could bring down the entire proWestern alliance, enabling us to merely walk onto the Nationalist-held islands without resistance. I have not seen this happen yet. What I have seen is dozens of deaths of our comrades near Hong Kong and our new carrier severely damaged by our own hands, nearly a hundred deaths from the ferry attack near Quemoy, nearly a dozen of our fighters shot down by the Nationalists without one loss of their own — and, worst of all, our ambassador in Washington apologizing to the President of the United States and to the world on the floor of the United Nations for our actions! ”

“You must have patience, Comrade President,” Admiral Sun replied. “Allow me to summarize our recent achievements.” Jiang nodded, and Sun went on: “The United States has removed two of its four warships from the Formosa Strait, and its submarines have been pulled back even farther from our ships and bases. The stealth bombers that the Americans sent to spy on us and assist the rebels to attack us have been discredited, exposed as aggressors, and soon will be completely removed from the region. The President of the United States has been exposed and labeled an aggressor, almost on a par with Saddam Hussein or Mo- hammar Quaddafi. He is being investigated for ordering the stealth bombers to attack Iran, and now he will be investigated for his secret undeclared warlike actions against us in the Formosa Strait, using the formerly secret modified B-52 bombers. His own people fear and distrust him — soon, his allies all over the world will fear and distrust him as well.

“More importantly, now the United States and the Nationalists have been isolated by the world community — the world sees them both as warmongers, willing to do anything to further their own aims,” Sun went on. “President Martindale will find considerable difficulty in getting support from his congress for his plans to support the Nationalists’ drive for independence. If we maintain the pressure and continue to open up in front of the world media, the momentum will swing to our side. Then Martindale may be forced to support our idea for reunification with Taiwan by 2005. With Taiwan once again isolated, even from the United States, it will be ready for annexation at any time.”

“That all sounds fine, Admiral,” General Chin said. “But we must still deal with the military realities here. The United States is withdrawing two frigates, but with two frigates and four submarines still in the area, they are still a very strong military force in the Strait — and we lost a good percentage of our fighters and bombers in that engagement.”

“It is as I have said, General,” Admiral Sun said. “Our J-series fighters must not engage Nationalist F-16 fighters unless they have full radar coverage and enjoy at least a six-to-one numerical advantage. In that fight, we had a three-to-one advantage and fared poorly. We also did not count on the American stealth bombers launching air-to-air missiles. The H-6 bombers would have had better success if they had only flown against the frigates’ surface-to-air missiles or if the Nationalists had been forced to divide their fighters to chase after our bombers.”

“Nonetheless, our losses were severe and swift,” General Chin said. “I find it impossible to imagine that this plan of yours can still be accomplished when we lose forces to the Americans like this.”

“In fact, this proves the truth of my plan, General,” Sun argued. “Again we have shown that the Americans are difficult to defeat in a direct naval engagement, whether by air or sea. But the unorthodox attack on the Americans proved successful — we claimed two American Navy frigates, and we leave the Nationalists and the Americans confused and reluctant fighters in the Strait. The tide is beginning to turn for us, Comrade General.”

“You claimed that you could draw the American carriers into the Strait, where they would be vulnerable — yet the closest American carrier, the Independence, is apparently ready to depart Japan, possibly to rendezvous with two other carriers somewhere near Formosa, possibly in the Strait itself,” Chin observed. “They can still strike our coastal bases from their carriers, and still enjoy air protection from the rebel air forces on Taiwan.”

“The Independence will never depart Japan, comrade,” Admiral Sun said grimly. “Its death is already being planned — and with it, the death of the pro-Western Asian alliance as well.”

“I think it is about time you informed us of what you intend to do, Admiral Sun,” Chin said angrily. “It is obvious that the level of aggression has greatly escalated. If you intend on throwing China into general war with the West, be so kind as to let me know so I can alert our regular military forces and defend the motherland.”

“It will not be necessary to mobilize the army, Comrade General,” Sun said with a smile. “The biggest naval disaster since the Great War will occur, by our hands — and the world will be rushing to China’s aid, to protect us against the great satan, the United States of America.”

“Do you realize what’s happening?” Admiral George Balboa exploded. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was seated at the conference table in the Joint Chiefs Conference Center at the Pentagon, but his voice was as sharp and as clear as if he were right there in the base command post’s battle staff room on Guam. “Have you seen the news? That plane of yours is being shown on TV all over the damned world, along with pictures of your attack on that passenger ferry.”

“We’ve seen it, Admiral,” Patrick McLanahan said. He, Brad Elliott, and the rest of the crew of the EB-52 Megafortress involved in the recent skirmish in the Formosa Strait near Quemoy Island were participating in the secure videoconference between the Pentagon and Andersen Air Force Base on Guam. The base command post’s battle staff room had been sealed and curtained off, with guards posted outside. To Patrick McLanahan, it was a little like closing the barn door after all the horses had run away. The world now knew of the EB-52 Megafortress— why all the security now? “The pictures of us were obviously taken by the MiG-25 Foxbats that intercepted us.”

“What possible explanation can you offer the President for what you’ve done?” Balboa asked.

“The Chinese set us up,” McLanahan said confidently. “We’ve compared notes with the crew aboard the James Daniel, and we agree — that ferry was altered to make it look like a warship.”

“How in hell could they do that?”

“By towing that barge behind them,” McLanahan replied, “they made themselves look another one hundred and fifty feet longer.”

“They were towing a garbage barge, for Christ’s sake!” Balboa retorted. “Thousands of those barges are being towed around the Strait every week, and no one’s mistaken them for warships before! ”

“A garbage barge with steel radar-reflective walls, being towed on a short rope very close to the ferry — and the barge was fitted with an IFF interrogator,” McLanahan reminded him. “It was sending out identification interrogation signals just like a warship. Why would a civilian vessel have a Square Head IFF on board?”

“That’s such a lame excuse, McLanahan, that I’m embarrassed for you for making it,” Balboa said. “An aviator with your reputation making wild accusations like that to cover up your own mistakes — it’s pretty sad. You obviously picked up a signal from someone else, or you mistook a standard marine nav radar for an IFF.

“But even if it was an IFF, as you claim, why in hell did you attack that ferry?” Balboa asked. “Even if that ferry really was a Chinese cruiser — and you geniuses should know China doesn’t own any cruisers — you didn’t have permission for any weapon releases, let alone those Striker rocket bombs. Why did you open fire?”

“As we explained in our report, Admiral, the Navy frigates were under attack by rocket-powered torpedoes,” McLanahan said. “We have no defenses against torpedoes — our decoys or jammers wouldn’t have done any good. All our sensors indicated that a Chinese warship had launched numerous Stallion torpedoes at the frigates. The Duncan was a sitting duck for another salvo. We had no choice but to return fire.”

“Even though you didn’t have permission, even though you were not given a command.”

“I had permission to launch,” Jeff Denton interjected.

“What was that?” Balboa asked. McLanahan turned away from the videoconference camera and glared at Denton to remain quiet. “What did you say, Captain Denton?”

“Nothing.”

“Repeat what you said, Captain, or I’ll have you arrested and thrown in the brig right now. ”

Denton looked at Elliott, then at McLanahan, who wore expressionless faces now — the bell could not be unrung. “Sir, the frigates were under attack.”

“Who ordered you to launch, Captain?”

Denton paused, then lowered his eyes. “General Elliott,” he said in a low voice.

“Repeat that last?”

“General Elliott,” Denton blurted out. “Sir, we were under attack by what we thought was a Chinese cruiser, by four formations of Chinese fighters, and then by Foxbat fighters. I was in the OSO’s seat — I controlled the Strikers.”

“But it was Elliott who ordered you to launch, correct?”

“The Duncan was dead in the water, and the other frigate was coming about to help it,” Denton said excitedly. “Our guys were going to get plastered. I knew we had to do something. So when General Elliott ordered me to attack the cruiser, I did. The computer said it was a cruiser, Admiral. The computer was running good.”

“That’s enough, Captain,” Balboa said. “That’s enough — to file charges in federal court against General Elliott for criminal misconduct. Maybe even murder in the second degree.”

“What?” McLanahan shouted. “You’ve got to be joking, Admiral!”

“You think that’s funny, Mr. McLanahan? This is even better — I’m going to file charges against you for the same thing. You were the mission commander, and even though you had Denton in the seat, you were responsible for his actions. And because Cheshire, Atkins, Bruno, and Denton are all active-duty officers, I’m preferring charges against them under the Uniform Code of Military Justice for disobeying a direct order, for conduct unbecoming an officer, and for dereliction of duty.”

“George, I was expecting you’d try to get me thrown into jail,” Brad Elliott said with amazing calm, “but to threaten any of these other outstanding individuals with a crime is beyond ridiculous — it’s psychotic. If you carry through with this stupid idea, you’re the worst example of a leader that has ever worn a uniform.”

“I believe that honor has already fallen to you, Elliott,” Balboa said. “And I’m not through yet. Because of your illegal, criminal actions, the entire Sky Masters, Inc.’s, Megafortress project has been compromised, and it now falls upon the government to clean up the mess. As employees, officers, directors, and shareholders of the company, yours and Mr. McLanahan’s actions have implicated Sky Masters, Inc., in your criminal activities as well. You can kiss any idea of a military service contract good-bye, I’ll see to that. How would it look to reward a company that started a nuclear exchange and killed hundreds of civilians with a multimillion-dollar defense contract?”

“George, the only persons you’re going to harm are those who believe in things like performance, value, integrity, and honesty,” Elliott said. “Obviously, you don’t believe in anything like that. Our hardware and our people did a good job. You shouldn’t punish a good company because you want to make my life miserable.”

“Fortunately, it’s all tied together, Elliott,” Balboa said. “I get to shit- can you and your friends all at once — and you brought it all on yourself. All you had to do was obey orders and stay out of the fighting, but you didn’t, and now I’ve been ordered to make sure that you don’t screw up again. Here are your new orders, folks, and if you disobey them, you will find yourself in prison and your company shut down, buried in tax liens so deep you’ll need a bulldozer to get out from under them:

“Unfortunately, since you are the only ones who know how to fly those things you’ve been screwing with, I can’t confine you in the custody of federal marshals until you return to the States. Within three days, you are to make repairs to your aircraft sufficient to make them airworthy, and then you will return all of the aircraft leased from the government directly to the Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Center at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Tucson, Arizona — the Boneyard.”

“You can’t do that, sir,” McLanahan said quickly. “Those planes are out on a long-term lease with Sky Masters, Inc. The money’s been paid.” “Well, that explains a lot, McLanahan — you only care about your contracts, your money, not about obeying orders, or preserving national security, or selling out the commander in chief,” Balboa said. “Forget the money, McLanahan — your company will never see it, and anything already paid will be seized by the government. The lease will be canceled. The money we’ll seize will be used to pay for the federal marshals I’ve assigned to guard the aircraft and to keep you and the folks from Sky Masters, Inc., under surveillance.”

“But those planes belong to Eighth Air Force and Air Combat Command,” McLanahan said. “I signed for them myself from General Samson and ACC. They’re not fragged for the Boneyard. They still have assigned hangar space and a project office at Edwards.”

“Not anymore they don’t,” Balboa said. “I recommended they be dismantled and the program canceled, and the Chiefs will agree.

“If the aircraft are not flyable, the aircraft will be destroyed in place, wherever they are, and the costs of the destruction and cleanup will be charged to Sky Masters, Inc., in the lawsuit that will be filed that same day. Written orders will be transmitted to you shortly. That is all.” The computer announced that it had cut off Guam from the videoconference.

“Shit, I can’t believe it,” Elliott swore. He got up slowly, massaging his left arm and shoulder. He popped a couple of antacid tablets and washed them down with a cup of coffee. “Balboa’s an asshole. He always was. He’s probably still carrying a grudge from our days at the National War College. He can’t stand to lose face. He’ll blame everybody else for the smallest failure and take away anyone else’s accomplishments.” Patrick McLanahan opened the door to the command post battle staff room, which signaled Jon Masters and Wendy McLanahan that they were permitted to enter. He saw the looks on their faces, and knew that they had been listening in to the entire communication — after all, Jon Masters had designed the satellite-based communications system they were using, so he would know how to bypass the Pentagon security encryption routines. “I can’t believe this — it’s like a nightmare,” Wendy said, as she came over and put her arms around her husband. “They can’t do this! You risked your lives for this project, and now he wants to throw you in jail?”

“I believe he can do it,” Patrick said. “He’s got my attention. Jon?”

“Already called home plate, and the legal beagles are on their way— plus they’re filing injunctions in D.C. and in Arkansas federal court, trying to prevent Balboa from canceling the contract \Hthout a performance review,” Jon Masters said. “But Balboa moved even quicker — he’s already got Navy SPs from Agana Naval Base guarding the planes. They’ve got the ramp shut down — nothing’s moving.

“The lawyers say we can probably keep ourselves out of court, maybe even get the contract money, but they think Balboa can throw us in jail just by uttering the magic words ‘national security,’ and they’re positive he can have those planes chopped up into little pieces anytime he wants. He’s got my attention too.”

“Let me call in my markers, Muck,” Elliott said earnestly. He had found a seat and was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands holding his head. “Balboa’s got plenty of skeletons in his closet, and I know the boys who can take ’em out and put ’em on display. He’ll back off pronto, I guarantee it. If it doesn’t work, we’ll go right to the White House — heck, Muck, you and me, we got dirt on Martindale that I know will make him squirm.”

“Brad, I told you already, I’m not interested in fighting the Pentagon over this,” McLanahan said. He studied Elliott for a moment, and decided that he felt much worse than Elliott looked right now. “We’ve lost. We’ve invested millions in the project, but it just won’t get on track with brass like Balboa fighting us from the top. We just can’t do it. It’s not fair to ourselves, it’s not fair to our loved ones, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to the shareholders.”

“Why in hell are you so concerned about shareholders, Patrick?” Elliott said angrily. “Jeez, have you completely lost your entire spine?”

“My damned priorities are different, Brad,” McLanahan said. “I work for Jon now, not the U.S. government. I’ve sold everything I own to invest in Sky Masters, Inc., and help this company, and I don’t want to see Balboa and the federal courts drain our capital and our life savings fighting lawsuits. If we cooperate and let the government hide us, we can walk away with our company intact, ready to develop more technology and compete for more contracts. But if we fight them, they’ll sic federal marshals and lawyers and judges on us for the next ten years — and we can still lose. I don’t want my child to have a father in a federal penitentiary. ”

“Listen to yourself!” Elliott shouted, jumping to his feet. “We did good out there, Patrick. You’re letting bozos like Balboa make you think that you screwed up. Nobody screwed up here — not you, not Denton, not me. We did what we knew was right. Balboa is trying to make us believe we did the wrong thing and that we deserve to be punished — next, he’ll be telling us that we’re not going to jail because he interceded on our behalf. It’s bullshit, Patrick! Don’t fall for it! If you give up, if you let assholes like Balboa chop up nearly ten years of hard work, we lose— just as surely as if we lost a one-hundred-million-dollar lawsuit.”

“Forget it, Brad,” McLanahan insisted. “It’s not worth the fight, not worth the aggravation. We did some good jobs in the Megafortresses, but the Pentagon doesn’t want them. We can’t fight them all.”

“At least we’ll give it a fighting chance,” Elliott said. McLanahan shook his head and headed for the door to the battle staff room. “Dammit, McLanahan, I already lost one organization because I let the pencil-pushers and brown-nosers tell me that I couldn’t cut it. Now it’s happening again — except you re letting it happen.”

“Brad, I’m tired. I’ve been shot at and yelled at and kicked around all day,” McLanahan said. “I’m getting out of here.”

Elliott blocked his path. He was almost a head taller than McLanahan, but in size and physical strength, he was no match for his young protege — but that didn’t stop Elliott from getting into his longtime colleague’s face. “What’s the matter, Muck? You ready to hang up your spurs and turn your back on your friends just because you’re too scared or too tired to stand up to someone? You want to just sit back on your ass at your desk and push papers and collect your salary and pension, while jerkoffs like Balboa screw Jon and everyone else in this project?” “Brad, give it a rest.”

“I want to know exactly what you plan on doing about this, Mr. Mission Commander, Mr. Corporate Executive,” Elliott shouted, sweat popping out on his forehead in large glistening drops. “Answer me!”

“Brad, c’mon,” Wendy tried.

“No, wait just a sec, Doc,” Elliott said. “Let the corporate big shot here tell us what he intends to do. How are you gonna sell us out? You gonna hide behind Masters’s lawyers?”

McLanahan was glaring at his old mentor and friend, his jaw tight, his blue eyes blazing. Wendy saw the building rage in his eyes and tried to hurry him to the door. “Brad…”

“You forgetting about Cheshire, and Atkins, Denton and Bruno, the ones who volunteered for the project?” Elliott said. He was almost nose to nose with McLanahan now, his breath ragged and excited, his eyes blinking from the tension, veins pulsing in his neck from the anger. “Are your lawyers going to help them out? Or are they going to be chewed up and spit out by Balboa and his JAGs?”

“Brad, let’s table this discussion for later,” Wendy said resolutely, taking Patrick’s hand and leading him to the door.

“Talk some sense into your old man, Doc — hey, don’t you walk away from me! You show me some respect, mister!” Elliott shouted — and then he made the mistake of trying to pull McLanahan around to face him. Instead, he shoved Wendy in the back, and she lost her balance and crashed facefirst into the door that Patrick had just half opened.

Patrick McLanahan caught Wendy before she sagged to the floor, stood her back up on her feet, made sure she was going to stand on her own, saw that she wasn’t hurt — and then turned on Elliott. With never- before seen quickness, Patrick had Brad Elliott’s neck in his hands and slammed him back to the wall. “You old son of a bitch!” he snarled in a low, menacing voice. “You ever touch Wendy again, I’ll break your neck!”

“I’m all right, Patrick!” Wendy said. “Let him go!”

Patrick felt hands on his arms right away — Cheshire and Atkins, ready to pull him away from Elliott — and the anger dissipated immediately when he heard Wendy’s voice. He loosened his grip on Elliott’s neck — but Brad still seemed to be choking. When he released him, he immediately collapsed. Patrick was able to lower him gently to the floor and noticed his shortness of breath, the panicked look in his eyes, and the contortions and spasms in his left arm.

“Christ, I think he’s having a heart attack! ” he shouted. “Get an ambulance—now!” Nancy Cheshire was already on the phone, dialing the paramedics at the base hospital. McLanahan unzipped Elliott’s flight suit, exposing his chest, preparing to give CPR if necessary. “Hang in there, Brad, goddamn it,” Patrick McLanahan said. He felt crushed inside, thinking that the last words his best friend might have heard from his lips were words of anger and hate. “C’mon, Brad, you old warhorse, hang in there…”

“Can’t the damned harbor police do anything about this?” U.S. Navy Captain Davis Manaus complained. “Where the hell are they?”

“They’re out there already, skipper,” U.S. Navy Captain Sam Anse replied, scanning the area with his binoculars. “Every harbor patrol, prefecture police, and Maritime Self-Defense Force unit stationed in the Bay is out there.”

It was not hard to understand why it was impossible to believe that fact. Admiral Manaus’s ship, the American aircraft carrier USS Independence, was surrounded by what one lookout estimated as two thousand boats of every shape, size, and description, all decked out in white sheets and flying white flags. Most of the people on each ship were dressed in white, with white bandannas with the red “rising sun” of Japan over their foreheads. Interspersed among the white-clad protesters had to be another several dozen boats with camera crews from all over the world. The police and Navy security units had been circulating around the Independence all night and all morning, keeping protesters away from the carrier’s hull; many of the protesters were carrying buckets of red paint, obviously destined to decorate the ship’s hull.

It took several more hours and much restrained but angry appeals all the way to the office of the prime minister, but eventually the tugs were allowed to be brought into position, and the Independence was moved away from the wharf and into the bay. Protesters on loudspeakers and bullhorns tried to convince the tugboat captains and harbor pilots not to assist the carrier out, and for a brief moment it appeared as if their appeals might take hold, but seemingly by inches the great warship was under way and heading out into the Gulf of Sagami.

The Independence, now with its escort group assembled and in formation — three anti-submarine warfare frigates, two Aegis guided-missile cruisers, and a replenishment ship — was about twenty miles south of the tip of the Miura Peninsula, roughly in the middle of the Gulf of Sagami, when it was safe for fixed-wing flight operations to get under way again. There were still a few protesters shadowing the carrier group, but they were not allowed closer than three miles from the carrier, well outside the perimeter established by the escort frigates. The battle group had accelerated now to flight ops formation speed of twenty-seven knots, so very few of the smaller protester’s vessels could keep up.

The first aircraft to launch were the rescue helicopters, two huge Sikorsky SH-3H Sea Kings with two pilots and two rescue swimmers on board. Next were the E-2 Hawkeye radar planes, which could extend the radar “eyes” of the battle group out almost 400 miles. The Hawkeye’s crew would act as the long-range air traffic controllers for the carrier, vectoring incoming aircraft toward the carrier until the final approach controllers on board the carrier itself took over. One KA-6D aerial refueling tanker then launched, followed by four F-14A Tomcat fighters on outer perimeter air defense patrol, with two more Tomcats positioned on the number three and four catapults on alert five status, ready to launch and help defend the carrier group.

The first aircraft to arrive was the least attractive but most appreciated aircraft of all — the twin turboprop C-2A Greyhound, known as the “COD,” for Carrier Onboard Delivery. The COD ferried crewmembers, passengers, supplies, spare parts — and most importantly, the mail — on and off the ship several times a day. Ungainly and slow when “dirtied up” and ready for the “trap,” or landing on the carrier, the COD was cleared to land, reporting its landing weight as 48,000 pounds, just two thousand shy of max landing weight — it was loaded to the gills with crew members who hadn’t made the departure, extra crew members, a few civilian passengers participating on a “Tiger Cruise” for a few days, and a pallet of mail sacks.

The approach was a little high, and that spelled trouble right away. Nailing the airspeed, nailing the initial approach and rolling in on final at the right altitude to capture a centered Fresnel glide path landing indicator, called the “ball,” then nailing the desired angle of attack, making very slight corrections to stay on centerline and stay on glide path — that was the key to a successful “trap.” Corrections in a heavyweight COD had to be made very, very carefully — crew members describe it as “thinking” throttle movements rather than actually applying huge inputs and then having to take them back out again. Many pilots liked to carry a little extra airspeed, knowing that a plane configured to land, with gear, flaps, slats, and hook extended, was going to slow down fast with the slightest reduction in airspeed; also, it took several seconds after any throttle advancement for the turbine engines to spool up to desired power, so being on the positive side of the power curve was important. But high and fast was a bad combination.

Altitude was corrected with power, airspeed corrected with angle of attack — just the opposite of cruise. The pilot pulled off a fraction of an inch of power, and immediately felt the sink rate increase. He had to ignore the sensation of sinking too rapidly and concentrate on his scan— ball, airspeed, ball, AOA, ball, centerline, ball. Enough of a power correction: the LSO, or landing system officer, ordered more power just as the pilot was pushing the throttles forward. The tiny speck of a carrier deck was quickly becoming bigger and bigger. Enough power; recheck and correct pitch angle to get the AOA indexers centered again.

OK, OK, the pilot told himself, this was not going to be a pretty landing, but it was the first of about three he’d make today. He was now at the reins of a bucking bronco. If everything starts smoothly and inputs are gentle, the ride down the chute is smooth and easy — relatively speaking for carrier landings. But very often, if one parameter is off, then it’ll be hands and feet dancing on the controls, throttles, and pedals all the way — and that’s the way it was on this one. The ball was staying centered, but it was like controlling a marionette dance routine.

On touchdown, he was still on the backside of the power curve, nose very high, power coming up but way late. All carrier landings were characterized as “controlled crashes,” and landings in a heavyweight COD were even more so. This was going to be a doozy — a two-wire trap, just fifty feet from the edge of the fantail, slow and wobbly. He was not going to earn any Brownie points for that one. The nose was going to come down like a felled tree if he didn’t fly it down carefully before the arresting wires stopped him short. The pilot felt the jerk of the arresting wire, saw the deck director signal a good catch, pushed the throttles to full power in preparation for a bolter in case of a broken wire, saw the edge of the landing deck coming up to meet him but at the same time saw the airspeed rapidly decreasing, felt his body squished harder and harder against the shoulder straps, jammed the throttles to idle…

… and then his aircraft, his carrier, his world disappeared in a flash of white light.