by Dale Brown
control computer interface would advise Cobb and McLanahan when it was
time to climb, based on the bomber's altitude and the signal
strength-usually it commanded a climb in time to establish a clear
signal sixty seconds before missile impact. Fortunately the B-2's low
radar cross-section made it less vulnerable to enemy radar than other
SLAM-capable launch aircraft. "Missile programmed, Henry, ready for
launch Just as he said those words, two red-colored triangles appeared
at the top of the display, with yellow arcs extending from the apex of
the triangles out toward the B-2's icon at the bottom of the
scope-again, the arcs did not quite touch the icon, probably because of
the B-2's stealth characteristics. "Fighters at ten o'clock, forty
miles, " McLanahan said. "Two. . . now showing six, at least six,
heading this way. I don't think they see us yet "Fighter group
fourteen, your targets are at thirty nautical miles, twelve o'clock,
airspeed four-fifty, altitude less than one hundred meters, " the radar
controller on Mount Apo reported. "Suspected cruise missiles heading
northwest. Recommend right break and spacing for single intercept.
Composite group two, your bandits are at eleven o'clock, twenty-seven
miles. Groups fourteen and two, your flight leaders are directed to
depart your formations for special patrols designated Group Delta.
Delta, come right to heading one-six-eight, take one-thousand-meters
altitude and switch to controller frequency gold. Acknowledge." Two
fighters broke out of the pack of fighter-bombers and headed southeast:
a JS-7 fighter and an A-5K fighter-bomber. The A-5K was the upgraded
version of the Q-5 good-weather attack plane, with sophisticated
Aeritalia-made avionics that gave it an all-weather bombing capability,
including a lowlight TV camera and laser rangefinder. "Group Delta,
unidentified bogey possible at low altitude, estimated position at your
twelve o'clock position, forty nautical miles. Report identification
and pursue. Over." The two enemy aircraft triangles did not appear
right away, and when they did appear their radar arcs immediately swept
across the B-2 icon. "Two fighters separated from the rest of the pack,
" McLanahan shouted. "Twelve o'clock. X-band search radars. They
might have spotted us." The B-2 had just left the protective cover of
the coastal hills of the Sarangani Peninsula and was now racing across
the Buayan River valley, a flat, fertile area about forty miles
southwest of Davao. The lone peak of Mount Apo was the only significant
terrain around for fifty miles-it was the worst moment to be caught by
fighters. To the east, ten miles southwest of Davao, the icons of
several warships were just visible. "We've got a little rolling terrain
about twenty miles to the west, and nothing but Davao Gulf and another
destroyer off to the east, " McLanahan said. "Otherwise it's flat,
flat, flat. The fighters are at our twelve o'clock... getting a range
estimate now of twenty-two miles. They'll be in missile range soon. "We
go west then, " Cobb said. He banked his B-2 hard to the left,
scurrying across the wide valley for the relative safety of a hilly
ridge. "Fifteen minutes until we reach that ridge . . . about two
minutes, " McLanahan reported. "Bandits one o'clock, fifteen minutes..
." At that moment one of the yellow arcs representing the enemy's radar
swept across the B-2 icon, and the yellow instantly turned to red as the
radar locked on. "Shit, shit, shit, they got us. . The heads-up
display on the Chinese JS-7 first locked onto the air target briefly,
and the attack radar quickly computed the target's altitude, heading,
airspeed, and closure rate-but it was the A-5K's low-light TV sensor
that first caught a glimpse of the enemy. The sensor's
contrast-tracking function immediately locked onto the warm object and
began to track it . . And, as the target made a slight turn to the
west, there was no mistaking its identity-the pilot of the A-5K saw the
distinctive boomerang profile of an American B-2 bomber. "A stealth
bomber! Stealth bomber!" the A-5 pilot shouted excitedly on the command
radio. "Very low, heading west.. ." He was so excited that he forgot
to give a proper report. . And he also forgot he was in formation with
another airplane. The two Chinese planes almost collided as the AS
pilot turned westward to try to keep the fast-flying bomber within his
low-light TV's field of view. "Kong Yun One-Seven, hold your position!"
the JS-7 pilot shouted. "Formation coming right to intercept. Control,
this is Delta, we have an American B-2 stealth bomber on radar, turning
to intercept at this time. But as they did, extremely heavy jamming from
the B-2 continually broke radar-lock-the massive energy even put the
Cyrano-IV radar in "Reset" twice. "Kong Yun OneSeven, " the JS-7 pilot
asked of the A-5K pilot, "do you still have him on your TV sensor?"
"Affirmative, Jian, Zero-Niner."
"I'm receiving heavy jamming and I can't maintain a radar lock. Close us
within PL-2 missile range. You have the lead."
"I have the lead." The JS-7 pilot could feel the tension grow in his
arms and shoulders as he made the dangerous transition from following
his radar cues and searching out the windscreen for terrain to picking
up the A-5K's dim formationlights. He used a few notches of airbrakes
to slide back and ease into a comfortable position on the A-5's right
wing, but he immediately edged away from the fighter-bomber in a
momentary panic when he thought he was getting sucked in too close. It
took several moments of adjusting before he could inch back in to proper
wingman position. At night, only a few meters away from another fighter
loaded with weapons, traveling over sixteen kilometers per minute close
to the ground, chasing down a heavily armed and dangerous intruder-it
was some of the most dangerous flying around. The two crew members of
the B-2 Black Knight stealth bomber only seventeen miles ahead of the
Chinese pilots might have disagreed. Cobb had the power up to full
military thrust, trying desperately to make it to the cover of the hills
to the west. "Fighter's crossing behind us, " McLanahan told him. "They
found us... fighter radar's down now. They might be engaging visually
or by IR." He set the B-2's MAWS system from "Passive" to "Active."
MAWS, or Missile Approach Warning System, used small passive infrared
sensors to search for nearby aircraft that might be a threat. Once a
threat was located, it would lock onto it and continue to track it. If
MAWS detected a second flash of light from that same target-indicating
the ignition of a missile's rocket motor-it would activate the bomber's
ALQ-I99A Doppler radar missile tracking system to track the missiles and
begin active countermeasures. "I'm launching the SLAM missiles-at least
we'll take out the radar before these bozos get us." McLanahan touched
the weapon icons at the bottom of the Super Multi Function Display,
overrode the mission timing schedule of the computer that deconflicted
weapon releases for the ent
ire strike package, then commanded the two
Standoff Land Attack Missiles to launch. Cobb had to allow the bomber
to climb an excruciatingly high one hundred extra feet before the
missiles would start their countdown: "Altitude hold off... missile one
counting down. . . doors open. . . missile one away. . . launcher
rotating... missile two away... doors closed... altitude hold back on,
descend back to one hundred feet TFR." Although they still had two SLAMs
and two HARM antiradar missiles remaining, their primary mission was
completed-as the old bomber pilot's saying goes, once the bombs are
gone, you're not flying for Uncle Sam anymore; you're flying for
yourself. Cobb and McLanahan started flying for their lives. ...
"Missiles! Bomber launching missiles!" the A-5K pilot screamed. On his
TV sensor he could clearly see the two missiles slowly speed away from
the bomber's belly. . . and the sight filled him with an almost
overwhelming red-hot rage. He selected a PL-2 heat-seeking missile and
hit the "Launch" button when the bomber was directly in front of him. He
realized after launching the missile that he was still too far out and
did not give the missile enough time to lock on, but at this range, he
could not miss. . . "We're not going to find anyplace to hide in these
hills here, " McLanahan said, checking the computer-generated terrain
depiction on the Super Multi Function Display. Without one squeak of
radar energy being transmitted, the computer drew all the terrain,
rivers, valleys, and cities on the SMFD, updating their position with
every turn-but right now it was not giving them any good news. Unless
they flew their B-2 below one hundred feet, those hills would not
provide enough cover to shake off their pursuers. We should-" He was
interrupted with a flashing "Missile Launch" indication and the
computer-generated words, "Infrared Missile Launch... Break... Infrared
Missile Launch... Break" in the interphone. "Break right!" McLanahan
shouted. At the same time, he checked to make sure that the
electronic-countermeasures computer had launched decoy flares and had
activated their HAVE GLANCE infrared jammers, a device that would use
laser beams guided by the ALQ- I 99 missile warning radar to blind and
distort the enemy missile's seeker heads and make it difficult for a
heat-seeking missile to lock onto the B-2's engine exhausts. It was the
first time Patrick had ever observed a missile launch on the Super Multi
Function Display, and it was weirdly fascinating-like watching an arrow
speeding to its target in slow motion, except this arrow was speeding at
them! The MAWS sensors had tracked the fighters to the rear quadrant,
and when the heat-seeking sensors detected the missile launch, it
automatically activated the ALQ- 199 tracking radars and laser jammers.
The fighters were depicted as red triangles with squares around them,
highlighting them as the major threat against the B-2, and when the
missiles were picked up by the ALQ-199 they appeared as blinking red
circles. The SMFD redrew the scene, zooming in on the B-2 icon, the
terrain immediately surrounding the bomber, and the pursuing fighters.
The dots initially swerved left to follow the decoy flares as they
ejected from the left ejector racks, but they immediately realigned
themselves on the B-2. A tiny data block showed time since launch and
estimated time to impact-the "time-to die meter." It had initially
started at twelve seconds, but as the Chinese PL-~ missile accelerated
to its top speed of Mach three, the time to impact wound down to five
seconds and counted down swiftly. But the missile had to make a hard
left turn to follow the decoy flare, and when it reacquired the bomber's
hot exhausts it began a hard right turn. The missile was "stressed, "
losing energy and skidding all over the sky-it was ready to be aced.
"Break left!" McLanahan shouted, and he ejected two flares from the
right ejectors. At the same time, the HAVE GLANCE laser jammer, which
had begun tracking the missile via the ALQ-I99 warning radar, had locked
onto the PL-2 and began bombarding it with high-energy laser light. As
the missile swung back to the left to reacquire the bomber, the laser
beam shined directly on the seeker head, instantly burning out its
sensitive gallium-arsenide eye and rendering the missile useless. But
McLanahan couldn't celebrate yet-the Chinese fighter had launched a
second missile, this time from even closer range-McLanahan noticed a
00:04:39 in the time-to-die meter almost immediately. There was no time
to turn, no time for a break maneuver. "Climb!" McLanahan shouted, and
he began pumping out flares as fast as he could. The tactic worked. The
second missile, the A-5K's last heatseeker, lost the hot engine exhausts
for a split second. Although the missile started a climb in pursuit,
the lock-on was lost, and the PL-2's twenty-eight-pound warhead
automatically detonated-but only thirty feet away from the B-2's left
engine nacelle. The explosion sawed off twenty feet of the left inboard
elevon, the flaplike control surface on the wing's trailing edge,
completely separating it from the bomber. It sliced into hydraulic
lines, cut open the left trailing edge fuel tank, and blew out two of
the left main gear tires, which ripped open the left fuel tank
completely. Raw fuel began streaming out of the bomber; the
self-sealing foam fuel tanks kept the fuel from spreading to the engine
compartment, but within seconds the left trailing edge fuel tank was
empty and the number-one primary hydraulic system was dead. Inside the
cockpit, the explosion, the shock, the concussion, and the vibration
were as severe as if they had hit the The airspeed dropped one hundred
knots as the huge bomber uncontrollably heaved and rocked across the
sky-the Black Knight seemed to spin violently to the left, toward the
dead number-one engine. The controls shook violently, then turned mushy
and completely unresponsive, then seemed to freeze. The left wing
dipped lower and lower, and there seemed nothing Cobb could do to stop
it. "We're hit!" Cobb screamed. He hauled on the sidestick controller
with all the strength of his right arm. "Get on the controls!" he
shouted to McLanahan. "Get the left wing up!" McLanahan unstowed his
sidestick controller, which was normally stowed underneath the right
instrument panel glare shield. He moved the grip but nothing happened.
"It's not active!" The interphone died as the number-one generator
popped off-line. Cobb ripped off his oxygen mask and screamed, "Then get
out, Patrick! Get out!" Despite the emergency, Cobb still wasn't going
to yell "Eject!"-that would elicit an immediate response from any
well-trained crew dog. "Get the wing up, Henry!" McLanahan yelled. Cobb
took his left hand off the throttles and pushed on his control stick.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the left wing seemed to riseand McLanahan
decided right then and there that he wasn't going to eject. The bomber
could be milliseconds from hitting the ground, there could be a fire
spreading throug
h the bomb bays-but unless Cobb ordered him to eject he
was going to stay. There was enough of a hint of aircraft control left
to convince him they still had a chance. Several loud bangs rattled the
three-hundred-thousandpound bomber as if a giant hand were throwing them
against a mountainside, picking them up, then hurling them again.
McLanahan turned away from his pilot and scanned the engine and flight
instruments. "Airspeed one-eighty. RPMs on number-one engine fifty
percent, TIT and EGT on redline . . . number-one engine compressor
stall, shut down number one. Number-one throttle." McLanahan put his
left hand on the center console throttle quadrant, guarding the three
good engines to make sure Cobb didn't shut off a good engine. The
leftmost throttle snapped back to idle, then to "Cutoff." A compressor
stall was a common but potentially dangerous engine malfunction in which
the airflow through the engine is disrupted and the engine stops
producing thrust-but fuel continues to flow through the engine and
ignite in terrific shuddering explosions, one after the other, causing a
huge fire inside the combustion chamber. "Off!" Cobb yelled back.
"Turbine inlet temperature and exhaust temps, " McLanahan said. He
checked the right-side multi-function display, but it had gone dead when
the number-one engine generator popped off-line, so he went to the rows
of tiny standby gauges. "RPMs on number-one forty percent, TIT and EGT
still redline. All the others are OK. Gotta shut number one down."
Since the MFDs had shut off, they couldn't tell if the computer had
already initiated the shutdown procedures, so they assumed it had not.
"Fuel cutoff T-handle, number-one engine, pull."
"You get it!" Cobb yelled-he dared not take a hand off the control
stick. McLanahan released the inertial reel lock on his shoulder
harness and reached across the forward instrument panel to a row of
yellow-and-black-striped handles labeled "Emergency Fuel CutoffPull." He
laid his left hand on the first handle, stopped, double-checked that he
had the right oneagain, to avoid shutting down a good engine and killing
them for sure-then pulled the handle. "Number one T-handle, pull. Fire
lights." McLanahan checked the row of engine fire lights near each
T-handle-all four were out. He hit the "Press to Test" button to