Red Cell

CHAPTER 15

The Navy called this particular version the Reaper, but Kyra still struggled to stop thinking of the drones by their more common name of Predators. The MQ-9 unmanned drone could carry arms for ground attack. Admiral Pollard wanted to make the Chinese nervous. The hunter/killers’ trip from Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa to the Chinese coast had taken four hours and had reached their second set of waypoints shortly after nightfall three hours before. A radar technician in the Combat Information Center told her they could stay up for twenty hours more before they would have to return to Kadena to refuel. Each Reaper was loaded out with Hellfire missiles that no one expected to use on this mission, though they could have carried a five-hundred-pound bomb if the Air Force so desired.

But the mission at the moment was not attack. NRO had retasked satellites to watch the coast, particularly the PLA nuclear missile forces, but the overlords in Chantilly were nervous that the Chinese might decide to take a shot at the orbiting cameras. The drones could provide near-constant coverage, which Pollard demanded, they were far cheaper to replace if destroyed, and spares could be brought along in hours. A damaged satellite network would take years and tens of billions of dollars to restore. NRO had assured the Department of Defense for years that its network could provide the wartime coverage the United States needed. There was less confidence in that assessment now and Pollard had no patience for it. His request to the Air Force for their Reapers had not been polite.

If there was an Assassin’s Mace, it seemed likely to fly from one of six air bases within two hundred fifty miles of Taiwan, Jonathan had guessed. Navy Intelligence had designated three as prime candidates using some criteria they had not bothered to share with Kyra. She’d ignored the chance to catch up on the intelligence in favor of sleep, but Jonathan assured her that the deductions were sound and she trusted him. The Reapers had reached station near all three hours before. The first was circling off the Fuzhou coast. Its two brothers would need another half hour to arrive over Jinjiang and Longtian.

The PLA’s combat air patrols had not challenged the drones during their approach over the open water. One MIG had made a quick pass, close enough to get a visual and see the missiles. The Reaper had sent back excellent video footage of the Chinese pilot ogling the drone, but the Reaper had been over international waters and the MIG had moved away. Probably wondering what a Reaper’s air-to-air capabilities are, Kyra thought. It could carry Stinger missiles, the tech had informed her, and she wondered if the Chinese pilots knew that. They were probably calling home asking for data in case they had to engage, and the Central Military Commission and the Politburo were likely debating the issue. If Tian and his circle did decide to engage the Reapers, it would be a one-sided fight and the United States would lose several million dollars’ worth of unmanned drones.

Light from the passageway leaked into the J2 office, briefly disturbing the red tinge cast by the overhead lamps. Kyra watched Pollard enter. She kept her place next to the door, and if the senior officer noticed her presence, he didn’t acknowledge it. His focus went immediately to the Reapers’ radar track on the master screen.

“Anything?” Pollard asked. It really was a moot question. The senior CIC officer on duty had standing orders to report anything more than a MIG flyby.

“No, sir,” one of the officers reported, this one a lieutenant. Kyra knew how to read the ranks, yet another skill deemed important by the NCS. “The drones are outside Chinese airspace per your orders, with a five-mile cushion. AWACS are tracking multiple CAPs over the Strait, but they’re giving the drones plenty of room.”

“Not five miles, I bet,” Pollard said. It was a rare joke from the senior officer aboard. The men laughed. Kyra did not, but she did allow herself a smile. “Let’s make ’em nervous. Shift the tracks west, quarter mile every pass, until they’re within a mile of the line.” The drones could return video footage of the coast from much farther out than their current position of seventeen miles east. They did not need to move in closer, but surveillance was not their true mission. The Reapers would have gone into the Strait whether there was an Assassin’s Mace or not, but now they would make for very expensive bait if the Chinese chose to see them as such.

“Aye, sir,” the tech said.

Kyra looked at her watch: 2227 hours. International law dictated that a country’s territorial waters and airspace extended twelve nautical miles out from its coastline. The Reapers were five miles beyond that line and started moving toward it. They would fly in circles, one round every fifteen minutes by her estimation, cameras aimed at their targets, moving closer by a nautical mile every hour toward an invisible line found only on maps. If the Chinese didn’t interfere, the Reapers would be within one mile of their airspace, a whisker by any standard, in four hours. It would be a long, very slow night unless the Chinese made it interesting. Kyra thought about leaving, going to her cabin and trying to sleep, but she suspected sleep wouldn’t come. The Navy prohibited alcohol on board, and she’d had enough men try to flirt with her that she didn’t want to pass the time in a wardroom. She reached for an empty chair and pulled it against the rear wall where she could sit out of the way.