Flash Point

by Kenneth Andrus

  Chapter 14

  USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN CVN-72

  THE STRAIT OF MALACCA

  01:30 TUESDAY 25 FEBRUARY

  Rear Admiral Bud Gireaux, Commander Carrier Strike Group-12, surveyed his world from the flag bridge towering five stories above the Lincoln’s flight deck. He needed to reflect. He’d spent the better part of several hours in the Tactical Flag Command Center working a warning order from Seventh Fleet. The order came as a complete surprise after CSG-12’s six-month deployment to the Persian Gulf.

  The ear-piercing thunder and roar of flight operations were on hold until the Lincoln transited the Strait of Malacca. He listened to the rushing sound of the bow wave as the massive carrier split the ocean. Paradoxically, the absence of noise on a warship was a cause for alarm, signaling an engineering casualty. There was nothing wrong on the Lincoln this morning.

  Over one-thousand feet long, the Abe displaced 95,000 tons. The carrier’s size commanded respect from those sharing the Strait with her. That fact did not lesson the dangers she faced. Gireaux would have preferred making the passage through the congested ship traffic off Singapore during the day.

  Navigating the shipping channel clogged with hundreds of vessels from fishing boats to supertankers was a test for any captain. He did not envy the commanding officer of the Lincoln conning his ship through the narrow waterway separating the Malay Peninsula from the Indonesian Island of Sumatra.

  Darkness and distance prevented Gireaux from seeing all the ships of his command. He knew they were there—stretched over four miles, in line-ahead formation. The destroyers Stout and Forrest Sherman led the formation. The cruiser Gettysburg trailed the Abe at 1500 yards. The fast replenishment ship Supply and destroyers Kidd and James E. Williams brought up the rear.

  This was the Stouts’s last WestPac deployment for several years. She would be in the yards after returning to the States. With that in mind, Gireaux eased her skipper’s disappointment at having his freedom of navigation operation canceled by providing him with new orders.

  The nuclear-powered attack submarine, USS Honolulu, cruised point unfettered by the congestion of vessels navigating the strait above her. She was well ahead of the surface ships seeking out any Chinese submarines that might pick up and trail the Strike Group as it transited the South China Sea.

  Stalking enemy submarines was standard operating procedure for American attack boats, but there was an added import to Honolulu’s mission. The Chinese must not know what the Lincoln was about. The carrier was heading into harm’s way.

  The Lincoln’s commanding officer was seated on the bridge, surrounded by a bank of computer screens. One of these provided input from his ship’s primary surface-search/navigation radar. In very short order he was going to be shutting the system down along with all other equipment emitting a signal that could identify the Lincoln and fix her position.

  Gireaux’s plan had raised the eyebrows of the navigator. The Abe would be blind except for the passive input of the wide band receiver. They would rely on the receiver and the low-tech human eye for the next several hours. The risks they would take to complete their transit past Singapore and past the Riau Islands guarding the mouth of the strait would be great.

  Gireaux acknowledged the danger and made a provision for another navigation aid to assist his captains until they reached the safety of the open water.

  The Strike Group executed a course change to the northeast after the lights of Singapore dropped over the horizon. Satisfied all was well, the Lincoln’s commanding officer left the bridge for the ship’s Combat Information Center

  The senior watch officer rose to meet his captain. “Good morning, Skipper. We have a ‘Go’ order.”

  “Well then, shall we get on with it? We’ll execute as soon as I have confirmation Kidd’s helicopter is in position.”

  While they were speaking, a MH-60R Seahawk lifted off the destroyer’s flight deck to scout the way for the Strike Group. The aircrew of the antisubmarine warfare helicopter was intrigued by this unusual assignment. By any measure, it beat the planned run of movies and mail from the carrier.

  * * *

  Gireaux returned to the TFCC at dawn, waiting for word from the MH-60 flying ten miles ahead of the Strike Group. Refreshed from a nap, he had just polished off a donut when the helicopter reported. Their projected course remained clear of hazards and, to his surprise, there were no Chinese flagged vessels.

  He turned to his operations officer. “Anything from Honolulu?”

  “No, sir. She’s running silent.”

  “Very well. I believe it’s time to give our Chinese friends a little surprise. Order the Stout and Supply to detach. Inform the Captain he is to assume course 045 and increase speed to twenty-five knots. We’ll impose EMCOM alpha when Stout’s ready to transmit.”

  The Lincoln’s captain was on the bridge when he received his orders. He issued a cautionary warning. Despite her huge size, the carrier’s two Westinghouse nuclear reactors providing power to her steam turbines allowed her to accelerate at an astonishing rate exceeding that of her escorts. It would not do well to run up the stern of the Gettysburg before the cruiser could assume her station off the Lincoln’s port beam.

  He swiveled his chair to watch the Stout and Supply steer north-northeast assuming the Strike Group’s original course. The two ships were soon to play an integral role in the deception of the Chinese.

  Supply was a trusted friend, always there when you needed her, providing fuel and sustenance to the ships of the Strike Group. The replenishment ships like her didn’t possess the glamour of the warships, but the Navy couldn’t execute its mission without them.

  Many years had passed beneath the CO’s wings and he now conjured memories of VF-1’s 1977 deployment to the Indian Ocean on the USS Enterprise. Escorted by the nuclear powered cruiser, USS Truxtun, they had spent much of their time steaming in empty circles. This mindless task called for a change in the acronym for the battle group from Nuclear Powered Task Group, NPTG, to “No Place to Go.”

  The tedium of the long deployment had been relieved by a symbolic exercise with the Iranian navy, who were allies at the time, and a brief port call in Mombassa, Kenya. Those three days of liberty in Africa were crazy, but those stories were best left untold.

  What fascinated him nearly forty years ago was watching the two nuclear powered ships racing at twenty-eight knots to push the Soviet navy cruisers shadowing them to run out of gas.

  They waited until the Russians stopped to refuel their “coal burners,” then the U.S. ships tore over the horizon. In a cold war version of hide and seek, the Enterprise and the Truxtun vanished. It was with great mirth they tracked the Soviet Bear reconnaissance plane flying around trying to relocate them. Now as captain of the Lincoln, he was about to give the Chinese a taste of this old Cold War tactic.

  “Captain? The escorts are on station. Admiral Gireaux has ordered us to set EMCOM alpha.”

  “Very well. Shut her down.”

  At that, the Lincoln and her escorts ceased all radiated emissions from her radars and communications equipment. For all intents and purposes, the Strike Group vanished in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The Stout’s electronic warfare specialists completed the deception. They turned on their own set of emitters and acoustic simulators to mimic those of the Strike Group.

  Chapter 15

  PLAN MARITIME PATROL PLANE, RED STRIKE

  THE GULF OF TONKIN

  09:34 TUESDAY 25 FEBRUARY

  Red Strike searched the horizon from the command seat of his PLAN Y-8MP maritime patrol plane. He’d been in the air several hours approaching its assigned station off the coast of Vietnam. Its mission: to intercept the Lincoln Strike Group. The distant solid bank of dark clouds portended trouble. Would he be able to visually confirm the presence of the American battlegroup?

  He straightened in his seat, honored that he’d been selected for the mission. General Xiao and the senior leadership of the PLA understood
if they were to realize their goal of controlling the South China Sea, they would have to neutralize the American Seventh Fleet.

  Red Strike dismissed the rumors that more thoughtful voices within the government wished the generals would consider the other outcomes. Xiao ignored their concerns, swept caution aside, and advanced his timelines. The success of his intercept mission was deemed critical to the PLA’s strategy to counter the American carriers.

  The integral component to be evaluated in today’s live-fire exercise was an experimental over-the-horizon targeting system suspended below the patrol plane’s fuselage, a knock off of the American C-130. The heart of this system was a modified version of the British Rascal Searchwater Radar capable of guiding a KR-1 anti-ship missile launched from another aircraft toward a target over two hundred miles away.

  The PLA abandoned an earlier effort to install a less sophisticated system on their aging IL-76 bombers, opting instead to pursue an integrated system consisting of the radar carrying patrol plane working in tandem with the new Xian JH-7 and Sukhoi Su-30 fighter-bomber regiments.

  Red Strike’s aircraft was configured to validate new targeting technology. His success would further the PLA’s goal of achieving over-the-horizon targeting for the Moskit anti-ship missile.

  The patrol plane also carried the new M400 reconnaissance system suspended in a second pod. This system would provide the targeting and guidance required for the Moskit. This weapons system would be a powerful deterrent to the American Strike Groups.

  There was another top-secret piece of the Chinese deterrent being deployed to support the Spratly strike force. Known only by Xiao and his inner circle, one of the new Kilo 636 class diesel submarines had received orders to head east. The submarine incorporated the latest stealth technology with an advanced targeting system for the Klub anti-ship missile and would soon give the unsuspecting Yankees fits.

  The small group of PLA generals sharing tea with Xiao this morning had ample reason to exchange expressions of optimism with one another. Their ambitious plans to confront the Americans and rectify their recent political setbacks resulting from the embarrassing debacle in the Spratlys were underway.

  Red Strike Actual could not permit himself the luxury of dwelling on the motivations of his superiors. His instruments were registering the first hits from the American Strike Group and the weather wasn’t cooperating. He pushed his misgivings about firing a missile in the direction of an American warship to the back of his mind.

  The cold front moved in, bringing clouds and slashing bursts of rain. Visibility deteriorated. He couldn’t see the ocean surface. He’d have to rely on the aircraft’s upgraded navigation and avionics suites.

  Red Strike knew there would be breaks in the clouds. There had to be. He would descend and take pictures of the American ships when they emerged from the leading edge of the front.

  Red Strike reached the intercept point in another thirteen minutes. He tensed. The surface search radar hadn’t registered the expected signals to account for all the American ships.

  He dismissed his technician’s concerns. “The Strike Group’s course and speed are exactly as I predicted. Check your system.”

  He spotted a break in the cloud cover and put the patrol plane in a slow glide. Two wakes popped into view. A destroyer and a supply ship were at the head of these telltale markers.

  “See, aren’t the Americans just where I said they would be?”

  “Yes, comrade,” his copilot replied. “We have visual confirmation of several of the escorts and we have clear electronic intercepts from the carrier, but where is it? We must update headquarters with the course and speed of the American Strike Group.”

  “Yes, yes. I know.”

  “But ”

  “We’ll retrace our steps. The carrier must be hidden by the clouds.”

  Silence greeted this order, compelling him to provide amplification. “We are being tracked by the American air-search radars, are we not? Place your call.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The copilot did not want to join his commander and stick his neck out in this ruse, only to have it lopped off by the squadron commander. “Hainan, this is Red Strike. We have visual confirmation of several elements of the American Strike Group. We are expanding our search pattern to confirm the presence of the carrier.”

  The co-pilot’s wording earned him a sharp look from Red Strike.

  “Where is that damn carrier?” Red Strike muttered under his breath. They had sighted the Stout and Supply, but otherwise the sea was empty. Time was being lost and his next check-in was due. Taking a deep breath, he made the call himself. There was no sense dragging the others down with him.

  “Hainan, this is Red Strike Actual. We cannot confirm the presence of the carrier.”

  Dead air greeted his call. This came as no surprise to Red Strike, though he had wished for better.

  The response came through his headphones a moment later. “Red Strike, confirm your last.”

  “We have not seen the carrier.”

  “Say again, Red Strike. You cannot confirm the carrier’s location?”

  A different voice came over the speaker, an angry one Red Strike recognized as his commanding officer’s. “How’s that? Where is it?”

  Sweat beaded on Red Strike’s forehead. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “What have you been doing up there for the past hour, scratching your butt?”

  This rhetorical question was followed by one demanding an answer. “What have your sensors shown?”

  “Comrade Colonel, we have electronic verification of the carrier, but no visual sighting.”

  “What of your surface search radar?”

  He felt compelled to lie. “It reads two signals, but I can’t validate them. We have experienced difficulty with its calibration.”

  “There are only two ships, you fool. The Yankees have duped you. Not only have you failed in the test of our targeting system, you have lost the Americans. There is nothing wrong with your instruments. The carrier is nowhere in the area. Have I taught you nothing?”

  “I will find the carrier, Comrade Colonel.”

  “We will have ample time to discuss your failure after you return to base. In the meantime, I will calculate the Strike Group’s possible location and vector you accordingly. We must assume the Americans are heading toward our flotilla. Your lack of attention to duty has compromised our mission to avenge our comrades.”

  Red Strike gripped the yoke, striving to suppress the tremors racking his body. He knew his fate.

  Chapter 16

  USS ABRAHAM LINCOLN CVN-72

  SOUTH CHINA SEA

  05:10 WEDNESDAY 26 FEBRUARY

  Gireaux made his way to the darkened flag bridge. The solitude provided him the opportunity to collect his thoughts. He’d just issued his orders setting in motion the actions necessary to locate the PLAN flotilla. Time would tell if he would succeed.

  The first of his messages had gone to Admiral Triebull on the Blue Ridge, requesting real time surveillance support. This would provide the coverage he needed until one of his own planes was in position to track the Chinese ships. Triebull, in turn, had forwarded the request to the Commander, Patrol and Reconnaissance Wing One at Kamiseya who scrambled his ready P-8 Poseidon from Kadena Air Force Base on Okinawa.

  He took a sip of dark-roast coffee from his personal mug and focused on the flight deck. A shadow in the ‘Junkyard’ located aft of the island caught his eye. A squat, beetle-like tractor, part of the assemblage of yellow painted vehicles used to service the carrier’s aircraft detached itself from the stationary objects surrounding it and set course for the ‘Hummer Hole’. A rapid series of chops from a crewman’s flashlights signaled the tractor had reached its destination, a tow bar projecting from the forward landing gear assembly of an E-2D Hawkeye.

  Satisfied, Gireaux set off for the Combat Information Center.

  The primary mission of the E-2D was airborne early warning. The plane a
lso served the fleet in multiple other roles, including command and control, and targeting. Nicknamed the Hummer because of the distinctive noise created by its turbofan engines, the Hawkeye was an ungainly looking bird with a large saucer-shaped radar rotodome perched on its back. Its appearance, though, was more than compensated by the aircraft’s value to the Strike Group. Defenseless, it would be provided an escort by two F/A-18E Super Hornet fighters from the Black Aces of VFA-41.

  * * *

  US NAVY EP-3E ORION, SEA BIRD

  PATROL SQUADRON TWENTY-TWO

  06:45

  “So far, so good,” Sea Bird commented to his copilot as he completed a course change to the southeast. “We’ll see if we get any reaction from the Chinese.”

  “Sea Bird. Raven.”

  The Navy pilot recognized the voice of his Air Force teammate. Swiveling his head, he scanned the sky.

  “Raven. Sea Bird.”

  “Sea Bird, I have two contacts lifting off the PLA airfield near Fuzhou vectoring for intercept. Their signatures identify them as J-7s.”

  Not much escaped Raven. He piloted an E-2C Sentry, the big brother of the Navy’s Hummer. The 961st AACS squadron’s moniker, “Eyes of the Pacific” was apt. The electronic eyes of the surveillance plane could identify and track with precision anything within hundreds of miles.

  “Roger that, Raven. We copy two J-7s. Appreciate the heads up.”

  The J-7 was the designator given the PLA Air Force’s version of the Soviet Mig-21 jet interceptor. The crew of the P-8 Poseidon knew them well. The Navy pilots were even able to recognize the faces of several of the Chinese pilots, who had distinguished themselves from their comrades by flashing hand-written signs from their cockpits at the Americans.

  The signs were not flattering, but they did provide a diversion. Their hot-dogging behavior had also resulted in a midair collision with another P-8 just over a year ago. The Chinese pilots had exercised sounder judgment after the incident, but their shadowing of the Navy patrol planes was still a hair-raising experience.