Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 03 (83 page)

           
The radioman listened for a several
moments, his face looking more ashen and disbelieving every second. He glanced
at Yin, then at Sun, then back toward his equipment. “Well? Speak!”

           
“Sir . . . sir, the pilot reports
numerous vessels afire in
Dadaotan
Straits
and
Bangoy
Harbor
,” the radioman said. “No contact from any
ground units on any tactical channel. Several explosions ... secondary
explosions . . . indications of some troop movement on the ground, but none
that will answer on any frequency.”

           
Admiral Yin was absolutely
thunderstruck. “No ... contact ... no contact from any of my Marines?”

           
“Sir, it does not mean anything,”
Captain Sun Ji Guom- ing said. “The Marines most assuredly went into deep cover
when the American air strike came in. They must be safe.” But his words did
nothing to assuage Yin’s feelings of utter despair and hopelessness. Eight
thousand Marines ... six thousand sailors ... no contact with any of them . . .

           
“Status of the American bombers,”
Captain Sun ordered. Action was the best therapy now—they had an invasion force
to run. Just because contact was lost did not mean that the battle was lost.
“Have they withdrawn?”

           
“Yes, sir,” the radioman reported.
“All aircraft have disengaged. One B-l destroyed during the last raid.”

           
“Very good,” Sun said. “Excellent.
Sir, did you hear that report?”

           
Finally, an incredible sense of
relief seemed to wash over every man on the
Hong
Lung's
flag bridge, and especially over Admiral Yin Po L’un. They knew that
the American Air Battle Force had sent most of their aircraft on this one raid,
and that they had sustained rather heavy losses. There would not be another air
raid for several days, if at all—still plenty of time to take Samar Airport and
win this battle.

           
“Order that J-7 pilot to investigate
at
Samar
International
Airport
,” Yin ordered. “See if any of our troops
have managed to take the airfield. It is impossible for only a handful of
bombers to completely stop thousands of Marines.”

           
Several minutes passed. Then: “Sir,
message from Jian Four-Four. He has made contact with a Marine company
commander, who wishes to relay a status report to you.”

           
“Excellent! I knew our forces were
still on the move! Open the channel.”

           
After a few anxious moments, they
heard,
“Hong Lung,
this is Tiger.
Hong Lung,
this is Tiger. How do you
read?”

           
“It is Colonel Liyujiang,” Captain
Sun said excitedly. “I recognize his voice. He is the commander of the northern
assault force.”

           
Yin himself picked up the
microphone. “We read you, Tiger. What is your location? What is your status?”

           
The voice seemed weary, but the man
spoke in a clear voice. “Tiger reports from inside the northeast gate of
Samar
International
Airport
,” Liyujiang said.

           
“Inside the airport! We have made
it!” one of the flag staff
¹
members shouted. “The Marines are going
to capture the airport!”

           
“Status as follows ...” There was a
short pause, as if Liyujiang had to refer to a chart.

           
Then, to Yin’s horror, he heard a
voice in English. “This is Colonel Renaldo Carigata, Admiral Yin, acting deputy
commander,
Commonwealth
of
Mindanao
Defense Force
. Colonel Liyujiang will not be giving any reports for quite some time,
so allow me to proceed. Status as follows: General Samar’s forces still hold
the airport and the city. My snipers are going out to greet what is left of
your invasion force right now.
Allah
akbar.
Good day, Admiral Yin.” And the line went dead.

           
Yin stepped back from the radioman,
horrified. The members of his flag staff looked on in absolute shock. Captain
Sun led the crushed Fleet Admiral back to his seat.

           
“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Captain Sun
said. “Wait for the complete status report. Do not lose faith in your men. The
air raids are over now—we can reassemble our forces and finish this battle. We
can—”

           
“Sir!” the intercom from the
Hong Lung's
Combat
Information
Center
blared out. “Missile warning! Patrol boat
reports possible inbound Tomahawk cruise missiles from the southeast. Multiple
inbounds, heading northwest . . . sir! Possible sighting of aircraft from patrol
boat 403, two hundred and twenty kilometers east of our position ... sir, first
estimate of missiles inbound from the southeast number twenty . . . sir, do you
copy . . . ?”

           
Yin was numb. He had lost. The
Americans had not only decimated his spearhead forces, but had quickly
assembled another attack force and were pressing the engagement.

           
There was only one thing to do.

           
Slowly, the look of shock still
frozen on his face, Yin withdrew a silver key on a chain about his neck. Every
member of his flag staff shot to their feet in horror ... it was the execution
key for the Fei Lung-9 nuclear missiles. But despite their horror no one tried
to stop Yin—they realized that it was his only option. Good or bad, Yin would
ultimately win this battle and do what he set out to accomplish—destroy the
city of Davao, crush the rebel opposition, and occupy Mindanao.

           
Yin inserted the key into the
execution order box and pressed a button inside the recessed chamber. The alarm
began to ring through the ship. No one on the flag staff moved. Crewmen
scurried about, handing out protective gear and running to their Fei Lung-9
battle stations. Yin picked up the telephone.

           
“Battle Cry. Battle Cry,” the
Admiral said. His face was ghostly, muffled, almost strangled—he could have had
his protective facemask on, but he did not.

           
“Initial code verified,” the voice
of the Fei Lung-9 weapon systems officer on the other end of the line asked.
“Targets, sir?”

           
Yin paused, his eyes trying to fix
on something in the darkness beyond the slanted windows of the flag bridge. He
then said, “
Davao
.”

           
“Understood, sir. Execution
automatic. Awaiting authentication code.” Yin seemed to be frozen. “Comrade
Admiral? Authentication code?”

           
“Red . . . Moon . . .”

           
“Understood, sir. Authentication
verified. Full connectivity checked . . . received. Execution in three minutes
. . . mark. System automatic engaged, extreme range of system but coming within
range, attack profile confidence is good. Countdown hold in two minutes. Combat
out.”

           
The two-minutes-to-automatic-countdown
hold passed very, very quickly. The phone to Yin’s panel rang and he raised it
to his lips. “Final countdown hold, sir. Target now within range. Orders?”

           
“Orders ... Dragon Sword. Dragon
Sword,” Yin replied.

           
“Understood, sir. Final code
verified.” The sixty-second- launch warning to all decks blared .. .

           
And then there was another sound,
except it was not a horn—it was a high-pitched scream, rising in intensity to
almost painful proportions. Just as the scream became almost physically
unbearable, the destroyer was rocked by a spectacular explosion that dimmed the
lights throughout the ship and sent most of the flag staff sprawling.

           
Jon Masters had commanded the second
NIRTSat reconnaissance satellite to deorbit while it was still thirty thousand
miles away. The satellite had retracted its charge-coupled device scanners and
sensitive radar antennae within its protective housing, then powerful thrusters
began to slow the satellite at a precise moment. As the satellite slowed from
its orbital speed of seventeen thousand miles per hour, it began to descend
through the atmosphere. The thrusters kept the satellite’s protective tiles
facing its direction of travel as it re-entered the atmosphere, burning off
bits of the ablative armor as it careened through space like an asteroid.

           
But unlike an asteroid, the NIRTSat
was still under control from a console on
Guam
. Once the satellite had safely decelerated,
Masters ordered the on-board sensors activated. The satellite was right on
course, right on the same track it had been following since its launch—right
over the
Celebes Sea
near
Davao
Gulf
. Masters had simply locked the synthetic
aperture radar and infrared scanner on the fleet of five ships; then, as it got
closer and closer, he positively identified the large destroyer and steered it
directly onto the aft deck of the
Hong
Lung.

           
The satellite was of course not
carrying a warhead, but falling at over five times the speed of sound, the
destructive power of the titanium-armored four-hundred-pound satellite was akin
to a large torpedo. The force of the impact drove the
Hong Lung's
stem down several meters; then the satellite crashed
through the engine compartment belowdecks and literally pushed one of the
diesel-turbine engines down ten feet through the keel. The engine compartment
began to flood, and the ship had already begun to heavily list to one side and
by the stern before enough watertight doors could be closed to contain the
damage . . .

           
... and, most importantly, the
impact and the momentary power interruption had automatically canceled the Fei
Lung-9 launch.

           
Yin’s last attempt at revenge and
victory had been stopped.

           
Captain Sun stepped over to Admiral
Yin, bowed, and said, “Comrade Admiral, the flooding is nearly out of control.
The frigate
Jiujiang
is alongside.
Will you transfer your flag, sir?”

           
There was no reply.

           
Admiral Yin was staring blankly
ahead, his thoughts a confused jumble of his past, the present—and the dismal
future. Returning to
China
and facing the general staff would be
devastating, utterly devastating. His honor would be ripped apart in full view
of the entire world. His court- martial and execution would be public and
brutal. He would be totally, utterly humiliated.

           
Yin turned to Captain Sun, and he
saw that the man’s demeanor, far from being the attentive chief of staff, now
appeared to be more like a second at a duel, making sure that Yin realized and
fulfilled his obligation.

           
His obligation ... to lead his
forces into victory, or die.

           
Sun understood the humiliation that
awaited the Admiral upon his return, and he silently reminded him that he need
not subject himself to it.

           
Captain Sun and the Admiral’s flag
staff watched with awe and, yes, a bit of admiration and respect, as Admiral
Yin Po L’un stepped toward the small personal shrine installed in one comer of
the Admiral’s flag bridge, knelt before it, withdrew his Type 54
7.62-millimeter sidearm from his holster, placed the muzzle to his right
temple, and calmly blew his brains out across his flag bridge.

The People’s Hall of
Government, Beijing, China

Monday, 10 October 1994, 0457
hours local time

           
Escorted by two aides and two
soldiers, High General Chin Po Zihong marched through the halls to the offices
of the Premier of the People’s Republic of
China
. He was quickly escorted by the Premier’s
protocol staff to the main conference room and asked to enter immediately.

           
At least two hundred heads swung
toward him as he entered: it was as if the entire Communist Party of China were
assembled in that room. Cheung was alone at the head of the conference table;
the seat normally reserved for him at Cheung’s left was taken by Cheung’s Home
Minister. There was no way Chin could reach his usual seat—and, after decades
of studying and developing military tactics, it was obvious that it was
precisely what Cheung had in mind. He stepped quickly over to the end of the
long conference table directly opposite Cheung, and the bureaucrats and
politicians of the Party closed in around the table.

           
General Chin bowed deeply from the
waist. “Comrade Premier, I am reporting as ordered.”

           
“Do you have a status report for me,
General?” Cheung asked in a surprisingly strong, loud voice.

           
“Yes, Comrade Premier . . .” He
stopped, realizing Cheung couldn’t hear him, and raised his voice: “Yes,
Comrade Premier. But I would prefer the briefing to be given . . . privately.”

           
“Please give your report now,
Comrade General,” Cheung said.

           
“But sir, some of these men are not
cleared for—”

           
“They are authorized, General. Please
give your report.”

           
This was not a military briefing,
Chin realized coldly—this was an inquisition. Obviously word of the battle of
Davao
had already reached the Premier—there was
no use in trying to withhold any information now.

           
“Comrade Premier. First, I regret to
inform you that the honorable commander of the People’s Liberation Army Navy
South Philippines Task Force, Admiral Yin Po L’un, is no longer in command of
the people’s forces near
Mindanao
.
Until a suitable replacement has been designated, I have placed Admiral Lower
Class Sun Ji Guoming, the Admiral’s Chief of Staff, in charge of all forces in
the south
Philippines
. Admiral Yin ... died an honorable death
while engaging enemy forces in the course of his duties to the people.”

           
“Very tragic,” Cheung said. “He will
be remembered as a loyal servant to the people of the republic.”

           
That of course was the proper
response—in
China
, as in
Japan
and other Asian cultures, death by suicide was as acceptable a form of
death as any other cause, even in this so-called enlightened society run by the
Communists. Cheung, however, did not seem too upset by the news, although by
his facial and body expressions Chin deduced that the Premier did not know
about Yin’s sudden departure.

           
“The operation to capture
Davao
and the airport there is progressing;
however, the American bomber attacks on our naval and Marine forces have been
severe. Along with air- launched antiship missiles and long-range cruise
missiles, the Americans reportedly used fuel-air explosives against Marine
landing craft and soldiers entrenched on the beach— these weapons are many
times more powerful than conventional explosives and create a devastating shock
wave and fireball, very much like a nuclear explosion.” His words did not have
the effect he desired—he was hoping the words “nuclear explosion” would inflame
this audience a bit. They did not. “A second wave of attacks is now under way.
Admiral Lower Class Sun reports that he is organizing antiaircraft defenses and
can soon mount a defense of the people’s warships.

           
“I have a plan of action to counter
the American bomber attacks that I would like to submit—to the Premier’s
Cabinet and senior Party members—for your approval.”

           
“General Chin,” the Foreign
Minister, Zhou Ti Yanbing, chimed in, “would it be possible for your forces to
safely disengage and withdraw to ... Puerto Princesa, on the island of Palawan,
or perhaps even to Nansha Dao?”

           
“Disengage? Withdraw?” General Chin
gasped. “Why would we withdraw? We—”

           
“—still have the advantage? Will
capture
Davao
and
Samar
Airport
without further serious loss of life? Will
have a cursed navy after this conflict is over?” Zhou asked.

           
“We have weapons that we have not
yet brought to bear,” Chin said. “We sought to control this conflict, to use
ground forces and conventional weapons only. The Americans escalated the
conflict by employing B-l and B-2 bombers, Tomahawk cruise missiles fired from
battleships and submarines, and with such terror weapons as fuel-air
explosives. We should step up our efforts as well. I have outlined a plan where
we may—”

           
“The conquest of
Mindanao
and our support for a puppet like Teguina
is not worth a war with
America
or the loss of another capital warship,”
Zhou said angrily. “I ask you again, General—can our forces safely withdraw to
Puerto Princesa or Nansha Dao?”

           
“Do not speak to me of withdrawal!”
Chin shouted. “You politicians can organize a retreat far better than I.” And
Chin did something he thought he would never do to a living premier—he turned
his back and left.

           
“If you leave now, General Chin, you
leave as the
former
commander of the
People’s Liberation Army,” Foreign Minister Zhou said. “The Politburo has
already decided to open a dialogue with the Americans for an orderly
withdrawal. You can be part of the process—or you can retire from your post and
be done with it.”

           
Chin froze, then turned back to face
the assembly before him. In a loud, clear voice, he said, “I command the most
powerful army in the universe. I will lead them into battle—I will not lead them
in capitulation.”

           
“You have already led them to
defeat, General, you and Admiral Yin,” Premier Cheung said. “Will you not lead
them in reconstruction and retraining as well? You can leave here known in
history as the man who had a fleet destroyed in the
Philippines
—or you can be known as the man who led the
People’s Liberation Army into the twenty-first century. The choice is yours.”

           
He knew that he should not accept
this, Chin told himself. The honorable thing would be to leave this place and
do as Yin did—put a gun to his head or a knife to his stomach and kill himself.
. .

           
But he did not leave; instead, he
stepped toward the conference table and seated himself.

           
No one was more surprised than he
when the assembled politicians applauded.

           
If these idiots ever found out, Chin
thought grimly to himself, that I ordered Yin to use nuclear weapons to destroy
Davao
, they would certainly not be
applauding—they would be calling for my execution. Sun and the rest of Yin’s
surviving flag staff would have to be bribed, exiled, or killed to ensure their
silence, but that was an easy matter. General Chin Po Zihong’s power, his
authority, were still safe... and with the blissfully ignorant best wishes of
the government raining down upon him, Chin began to plot his revenge on Jose
Trujillo Samar and on the Americans who had razed his forces so badly.

           
Yes, revenge . . .

Andersen Air Force Base,
Guam

           
It was daylight by the time Patrick
McLanahan and Henry Cobb crawled out of their damaged B-2 stealth bomber into
the already warm, humid tropical air. It seemed ten times stickier than
usual—but to the two crew members, it felt like heaven.

           
The flight back from the
Philippines
was quiet, despite the damage they had
sustained. The autopilot, electronic flight- control computers, and electronic
stability systems were useless, and the mission commander’s side controls were
inoperable, so the two crewmen took turns in the pilot’s seat—McClanahan flew
the straight and level portions while Cobb napped, and Cobb flew the air-refueling
hookups that they received every thirty minutes because of fuel leakage and the
long overwater legs. The crew then spent another hour orbiting
Guam
while two-seat F-16 fighters with engineers
and maintenance crews on board examined the damage to the flight controls and
landing gear. Exhausted but riding yet another adrenaline rush, Cobb overrode
all suggestions to eject and attempts to get more opinions from Stateside, and
he made a picture-perfect landing at Andersen’s left runway. Somehow the damaged
left landing gear held, and the Black Knight bomber was shut down at the north
end of the runway, surrounded by fire crews.

           
Although McLanahan and Cobb climbed
out of the plane on their own power, because of the observed damage to the
Black Knight they were settled into gurneys and transported to a massive green
tent set up near the flight line that acted as a triage center for returning
crews. Doctors found Henry Cobb’s pulse and blood pressure sky-high, so he was
ordered into a separate tent where crews that were well enough could be
debriefed by intelligence officers while under a doctor’s care; that was when
General Elliott found him and McLanahan shortly after he was taken there.

           
“Henry, Patrick, damn your hide,
good to have you back,” Elliott said, giving his officers a hearty handshake
and a pat on the shoulder. “Terrific landing, Henry. How do you two feel? You
look okay. Henry, how do
you
feel?”

           
“I’m fine, General, just fine,” Cobb
replied. “I’m in adrenaline withdrawal, that’s all. I’m too old for this shit,
sir.”

           
“I think half the base is on an
adrenaline high, watching you bring that B-2 in,” Elliott said. “I think the
cheer that went up could be heard in
China
.” He looked at McLanahan and smiled a
knowing smile. “You brought back another bent bird, Patrick. This time the
commendation will be public—nothing red-jacketed this time. For both of you.”

           
“I’d be happy if we could just
finish this thing and go home,” the navigator said. “So what kind of losses are
we looking at?”

           
“We’ve taken some serious hits,”
Elliott admitted. “Sorry to tell you this, but we lost John Cochran’s
Megafortress. A BUFF saw them go down. They couldn’t see chutes in the
darkness, although they heard plenty of emergency locator beacons. The crew is
still listed as missing.” Along with Major Kelvin Carter, Lieutenant Colonel
John Cochran was one of the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center’s pioneers
in the application of the strategic battleship escort concept; they had all
worked very closely together for many months. “His was the only HAWC crew to go
down. His crew got six confirmed kills, though. Every Megafortress got at least
three—an incredibly awesome display.”

           
“I hope they find him,” Patrick
said. “How about the rest?”

           
Elliott took a deep breath. “Five
B-52s, one B-l, one B-2,” he said in a quiet voice, his face hard and somber.
“No confirmed KIAs, though.”

           
“And how goes the war?”

           
Elliott’s face brightened a bit as
he replied, “Preliminary post-strike data is hard to believe—I mean, really
hard to believe. It’s too early to tell for sure, but we might have sunk or
damaged as many as one-third of the damned Chinese navy’s destroyers. We’ve
counted as many as fifteen frigates sunk or severely damaged, and we lost count
of all the patrol boats we nailed. Even better, we’ve got reports of several
amphibious-assault ships damaged or destroyed in
Davao
Gulf
, and we’re still receiving shortwave radio
messages from
Samar
’s troops broadcasting from the airport. The
broadcasts talk about thousands of Chinese Marines dead, a couple hundred
captured, and the entire
Bangoy
Harbor
burning from all the dead ships.” He tried
not to sound too happy over apparent high Chinese casualties, but from the
warrior’s point of view, the first night of battle had gone well for the Air Battle
Force.