Sky Masters

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