Island Warriors c-18

by Keith Douglass

  “He said that?” the captain asked, still not believing what he was hearing. It was so inconsistent with everything he had seen from the Americans so far, completely inconsistent.

  And yet it was possible, wasn’t it? American support for Taiwan had always been difficult for the Taiwanese to understand. In their mind, there should have been a massive retaliatory strike against China at the first offense. But the Americans temporized, talking about free trade, the need to maintain relationships with those nations. Taiwan, in the end, could count it as nothing more than a betrayal.

  “You know how they speak,” Ho said. “With the Americans, it is better to watch what they do instead of listen to what they say. And can you have any doubts yourself at this point? Look how exposed the ship is — and all because of the submarine that poses the primary threat to the Americans.”

  “And to us as well,” Chang pointed out. “And I am using American helicopters to pin her down as well, do not forget.”

  “And what of the American fighters that he sent for defense? If you’re truly within his cruiser’s protection envelope, why would he send fighters at all?” Ho Kung-Sun asked.

  Why, indeed? Chang pondered this for moment, a sinking feeling in his gut. Had he so misjudged the admiral, this Coyote? A slip of information from his cross-cultural studies class came back to mind. In the Native American culture, the Coyote was considered the trickster, the one who was always pulling a sly prank on a trusting person. Could it be that this admiral, this Coyote, was very correctly named?

  “If you go further north, you risk more,” Ho said. “Captain, it makes sense to break off prosecution and return close to the carrier. You can take the submarine just as easily from here as from there.”

  “And risk her coming in closer,” Chang said quietly. “Additionally, the water to the south is not as favorable as these conditions. We would lose in terms of our detection capabilities from the noise generated by the American ships alone. No, it is better to prosecute here. If that is the only factor considered.”

  “But it is not, is it?” Ho said, now certain that he had Chang worried.

  “No, it is not. Are you absolutely certain that this is the American admiral’s intention? Certain?”

  “Yes. I am, sir.”

  Just then, Chang Tso-Lin saw the fighters inbound on his ship. Why fighters? Hadn’t the admiral assured him that Marshall P’eng was within the antiair protection envelope? If that was true, then there was no need for fighter cover.

  Unless Ho is right. The admiral wishes to destroy us, but he dare not risk antiship missiles at this range. He may need them for dealing with the Chinese ships, and using the fighters prevents him from putting his own ships at risk?

  But why? We are allies! Or at least I believed that we were.

  Perhaps he will try to claim China did this, and use that as an excuse to establish firmer control of the region. There are political forces at work here that I do not understand, will never understand. But I do know when someone is trying to kill me.

  “Then we must avenge this act of war,” Chang said firmly. He was certain that Ho did not know what he was starting. If indeed they had been betrayed by the Americans, then the only honorable path was to avenge that betraval by the Americans. And it would begin with Marshall P’eng. Now and here.

  But instead of the righteous light of anger in his soul, he felt dishonorable and incompetent. How could he have so misjudged the American admiral? He thought he knew the man, had seen the spirit of ancient warriors in his soul. But to be betrayed like this, well, there could be no doubt.

  “You will tell the people how we died,” Chang said. “Tell them my men served bravely, and in defense of a free and glorious Taiwan.”

  He replaced the mike in the holder, and clicked off the circuit. There was nothing else discussed — while Ho Kung-Sun may not have intended this reaction, Chang Tso-Lin had no choice. He turned to his watch officer. “Break the helicopters off — have them return to us. And as they do, target them with our antiair missiles.”

  The watch officer’s jaw dropped, but true to his training, he did as he was told.

  USS United States

  TFCC

  0835 local (GMT +8)

  The speed leader on the Marshall P’eng suddenly changed directions and length, as did those of the helicopters in support of the antisubmarine engagement. Coyote watched for a moment, wondering whether it was a computer glitch of some sort, then turned to Ho Kung-Sun. “What is your captain doing?”

  “What he should have done a long time ago,” the Taiwanese major answered, savage glee in his voice. “Perhaps I will survive, perhaps not. But it makes no difference. I will die in defense of my country.”

  “What?!” Coyote’s head snapped back and forth between the screen and the major. “What are you babbling about? What did you tell him?”

  “I do not babble. I merely speak the truth. And I have so informed my captain.” His voice was proud. “No longer will we be subject to your treachery.”

  “Treachery? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Just then, the first missile left the rails of the frigate, headed toward a helicopter.

  Seahunter 601

  0855 local (GMT +8)

  The SH-60 helicopter pilot was puzzled as he headed back for the carrier. He clicked on its ICS mike. “I just don’t get it. We were getting close, we had her. And they break us off?”

  “Why the hell do they do anything?” his copilot answered. “Another five minutes, and we would have had her solid.”

  The sensor operator spoke up from the back. “I figure we have her pinned down, so the frigate wants to go in for the kill. Take all the credit for it, you know? That would make them look like the big guys around here, even though we really did all the work.”

  “You think? Well, it’s not like we were the only ones, though. That little Sea Sprite driver is a tenacious little fellow. You give him enough time, and I think he may have gotten the sub off alone. And that frigate’s no slouch, either. Face it, guys. They could have handled it without us.”

  “But not as quickly.” the sensor operator said.

  “Yeah, that’s true.” The pilot clicked over to call the carrier and request a green deck. Just as he did so, he saw a long, white con trail streaming out from the deck of the frigate. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then training and reflex took over, and he put the helicopter into a hard bank and headed for the surface of the ocean. “We got incoming!” he yelled over tactical. “What the hell is going on around here? They shot at us — the Marshall P’eng just shot at us!”

  Marshall P’eng

  0900 local (GMT +8)

  Chang studied the display, then listened to a report from his lookout. The missile had missed, but not by much. A second one was off the rails, headed for the other helicopter. “Retarget the lead helo,” he ordered. “And continue in toward the carrier.”

  USS United States

  0903 local (GMT +8)

  “What’s the loadout on the helo?” Coyote demanded. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Strictly antisub, sir,” the air operations officer said.

  “Guns, though,” Bird Dog noted. “That could do a lot of damage to a frigate, sir.”

  “Get those helos back on board,” Coyote answered. “I want to talk to the captain — there’s something screwy going on here, and I have a feeling our little major is behind it.”

  Major Ho drew himself up to his full height. “You are behind it, Admiral. Not me.”

  Marshall P’eng

  0904 local (GMT +8)

  Lieutenant Goforth stared in horror at the picture unfolding on the screen. He had not followed all of the conversation between Chang Tso-Lin and Ho Kung-Sun, although he found something in their tone definitely disturbing. Now, everything was becoming unreal — break off from the prosecution of the submarine when they almost had it? And shooting at the American helos? He felt the blood drain
from his face and a cold chill sweep over him. What next? Would they execute him as a spy?

  He turned to face Captain Chang, trying to frame the question. But the words simply wouldn’t come, although the captain watched him carefully. Finally, he managed to say, “Captain, sir, there has been a serious misunderstanding. I must speak to my admiral immediately, sir.”

  The captain shook his head. In remarkably clear and precise English, he said, “Talk is cheap, Lieutenant.” He pointed at the tactical display. “Your admiral has betrayed us. Perhaps losing his helicopters will teach him not to kill all gooks.”

  Goforth’s jaw dropped. Captain Chang smiled bitterly. “Surprised that I speak your language? I thought so.”

  “No, sir — yes, sir, I mean but — but, sir — what makes you think that’s what he’s trying to do?”

  “Major Ho Kung-Sun explained.” Captain Chang Tso-Lin turned his back on him, evidently through with the conversation. “I had thought better of your admiral. I thought we understood each other in a very special sort of way. After he revealed the U.S. submarine to me…”

  “He what?!”

  “It does not matter now,” Chang continued.

  Goforth turned back to the screen and saw the missiles headed directly for the two helicopters. Then, forgetting everything he had had drummed into his head about the Taiwanese culture, as well as every bit of military protocol from his own service, he grabbed Chang by the arm. “Look — those Tomcats. They are here to protect us, sir. Watch — you see what they do.”

  The captain shook his head, although Goforth thought he saw a trace of sorrow on his face. The translator turned back to the American. “I cannot take the chance.”

  Goforth took a deep breath. “You say it matters what we do, not what we say.” He pointed to the screen again. “Then watch what they do, sir. They’re here to protect you — not to attack. Just watch for a few seconds before you decide. Please, sir.”

  Chinese Fencer 101

  0910 local (GMT +8)

  The order came from a nervous ground controller who obviously had brass standing behind him. “I am directed to tell you to disengage two flights of fighters from the first wave and prosecute the treasonous Chinese vessel Marshall P’eng located just to the north of the main battle group. You will use all means at your disposal to ensure that the frigate is destroyed.”

  All means — the pilot knew what that meant. If necessary, he was required to make a suicidal dive on her, if he could not reach her with his antisurface missiles.

  “Acknowledged,” he said, and clicked over to the short range channel with his wingman. “You are ready?”

  “Of course.”

  The two aircraft turned in unison, breaking apart slightly for loose formation as they headed for the Taiwanese frigate.

  Tomcat 309

  0945 local (GMT +8)

  The pilot studied the display, and saw that the rest of their wing was now heavily engaged in a fur ball to the south. It was ranging over a wide area of ocean, but drifting gradually to the east, bringing it to the edge of the area that the cruiser was designated to handle with its missiles. It was always a risk, making sure you’re outside the missile engagement sound. Even though the sensitive Aegis missile system would not attack target radiating friendly IFF, there was not a single pilot he’d ever talked to who was willing to bet his life on it.

  “We’re way out of it,” his wingman groused. “Just burning fuel and wasting time when we could be—”

  “Knock it off,” the lead pilot ordered. “We got our orders, we follow them. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it. But they’re not coming up here — that would be crazy. Even the Chinese aren’t stupid enough to take on the Aegis cruiser.”

  Something shifted on the pilot’s HUD and adrenaline rushed into his system. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”

  “Yeah. About time.”

  As he watched, two Chinese fighters broke off from the pack, and headed directly for them. “Go high,” the pilot ordered. “And make sure the E-2 has a handle on what’s going on.” He stroked his stick, his fingers playing over the weapon selection toggle. “You got it yet, RIO?”

  “Got it, sir,” the RIO answered.

  “Your dot.”

  The first missile dropped off the Tomcat’s wing, and shot unerringly for the lead of the two Chinese fighters.

  In short succession, lead and his wing fired off another three missiles. If that didn’t do it, they were prepared to get serious.

  Marshall P’eng

  0950 local (GMT +8)

  “You see?” Goforth shouted, almost jumping up and down to get Chang Tso-Lin’s attention. “They’re taking on the Chinese fighters — not you! They turned as soon as the fighters were inbound!” He stepped two respectful paces back, kept his eyes lowered, trying desperately to sound like a respectful officer conscious of the power of his captain. “Captain, I’m simply asking permission to contact my admiral. He has inadvertently created a misunderstanding that I know he would be most sorrowful about. He said, watch what we do, not what we say.” He pointed to the screen. “That’s who we are, sir. And that’s how we value our alliance with your nation.”

  Chinese Fencer 101

  0952 local (GMT +8)

  “Break right! break right!” the lead howled, throwing his own aircraft to the left in a nose-down attitude. His altimeter wound down as he peeled off altitude.

  The missile zoomed between them, traveling too fast to make a turn and come back on them. When it tried to search the area for another target, it confronted a snowstorm of chaff and decoys in the air, including two infrared flares. It paused, unable to find the sweet hot target it had been following before, then picked the most probable location and detonated. Its bundle of expanding rods ripped through the air, shredding the chaff into even smaller pieces and further confusing the second missile coming.

  “Get by the chaff, get by the chaff!” the lead shouted, doing just that as he snapped the aircraft back up into a hard drive, kicking in the afterburners. The afterburners were a risk, providing an enticingly clear target should the Americans fire the heat seeker, but it was a risk he had to take. It was more dangerous to remain alone in the air without the sheltering fog of chaff.

  His wingman, however, was not so lucky. As the second missile turned, catching a glimpse of them with its seeker head, he panicked. He turned away from it and ran, kicking in full afterburners, making it an even more attractive target. The missile had no doubt about what it should do. It homed in unerringly, and, moving at twice the maximum speed of the aircraft, caught it within seconds. The result was a blinding fireball of orange, red, and metal sparking off into the air.

  The lead felt a rush of pain, as his wingman was an old friend, but there was no time for sentiment, not if he was going to get out of this alive. He pumped out more chaff, making a trail back to where the fireball was, hoping that would distract the subsequent missile. He jockeyed to stay behind it as long as it was burning, and popped up more chaff and flares to create an additional distraction. On his heads-up display, he saw two more missiles inbound.

  All measures — they said all measures. He screwed up his courage, shot up above the sheltering cloud of chaff, and bore directly down on the missiles.

  Tomcat 309

  0953 local (GMT +8)

  “What’s that crazy bastard doing?” the RIO asked. “He’s heading right for us. Doesn’t he know he’s outnumbered?”

  “He couldn’t miss his wing going down,” the pilot answered. “He’s a gutsy bastard, I’ll give him that.”

  As they watched, the Chinese fighter headed directly for the two missiles. Then the pilot felt a creeping sensation of uneasiness. “Head-to-head — the closure rate of Mach 5. If he—”

  Just then, his HUD anticipated his next words. The Chinese pilot let the missiles get so close he could almost touch them, then jerked violently upward, then down, porpoising around them. The missiles tried to make the tur
n, but the first one nicked the second, and both exploded.

  “Okay, we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the pilot said. He punched in the afterburners, and headed for the MiG.

  The wingman circled around, coming in at an angle, and intended to trap the Chinese fighter and take him out with guns. But before he could get in position, the Chinese fighter took a shot at him, and a missile found its mark.

  The wingman saw the missile inbound and did his best to avoid it. But in the last seconds, he could see that it was in vain. Just before the missile reached them, his hand closed on the ejection seat, and he and the RIO left the aircraft to the mercy of the missile.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Marshall P’eng

  Monday, September 24

  1000 local (GMT +8)

  Without a word, Captain Chang reached up and turned the speaker to tactical back on as well as the circuit he shared with Ho on board the carrier. Combat was immediately flooded with a babble of American voices, which sounded particularly like music to Goforth’s ears.

  But one voice booming out over both circuits cut through everything else. Captain Chang recognized it as that of Coyote.

  “Marshall P’eng, Marshall P’eng, this is the United States. Over.” The call up was repeated three times, then the circuit cleared for the battle group to take care of other business.

  Captain Chang picked up the mike, then turned to face the American officer. “Courage — yes, you have courage.”

  “United States, this is Marshall P’eng,” the captain said, his voice clear and his English accented. “Be advised I am initiating a SAR mission with the two helos — three helos — under my control. I am close — I will get pilots, Admiral.”