by Dale Brown
the pontoon bridges were hanging off the sides, all afire, and in the
glare of the fires he could see men flinging themselves overboard into
the burning-oil-covered gulf. A spectacular explosion sent a column of
flames a hundred meters into the night sky as the fires finally found
the twenty-five million decaliters of diesel fuel still in the LST's
storage tanks. A few of his men stopped to look at the dying ship, and
Yang grabbed them and shoved them forward. "Move it! Secure that
treeline! Search that house! Move it The gunners aboard Dagu began
firing into the sky again, and Yang could hear the sounds of fast and
heavy jets getting closer. "Get off the landing craft!" he yelled.
"Run toward the trees! Run!" But it was too late. Two minutes after the
F-I I Is delivered their canisters of fire, the next strike package
began its ingress from the northeast: four B-52s that had survived the
battle with the destroyer Dalian continued their attacks with Harpoon
missiles and CAPTOR mines; their escort EB-52C Megafortress had been
shot down by a JS-7 fighter over Mindanao as it tried to turn away from
the target area. The four B-52s claimed kills on two amphibious assault
ships and seeded the straits with over a dozen CAPTOR mines that began
to seek out and destroy the surviving vessels that tried to escape
across the straits to Samal Island. Then, sixty seconds after the last
B-52 came off the target, the last and the heaviest-armed warplanes in
the entire battle began their assault; six B- I B bombers swooped in
from the north at treetop level. They were never detected until it was
far, far too late. Colonel Yang could see the bright globes of red and
orange walk down the beach toward him, stitching a path of destruction
fifty meters wide and hundreds of meters long. There was no place to
run-the bomblets from the aerial-mine canisters covered the entire
beach. He could only raise his rifle and fire at the hissing sound as
the sleek American bomber, highlighted for a brief moment against the
glare of the burning tank-landing ship, streaked overhead. Yang turned
his back to the approaching chemical meat-grinder of bomblets and
continued to fire at the bomber until he was cut down by the devastating
explosions and clouds of shrapnel. Never had Major Pete Fletcher, the
B-IB's 050 (Offensive Systems Officer), taken such an incredible array
of weapons into battle before-in fact, never had he even heard of so
many different kinds of weapons carried into battle. His B-IB Excalibur
bomber, Blade Two-Five, had carried eight SLAM missiles on the external
hardpoints-those had already been expended on the larger Chinese vessels
in the Philippine Sea that survived the B-52s' initial onslaught; eight
Mk 65 QUICKSTRIKE mines in the aft bomb bay, which were shallow-water
high-explosive antiship mines that were to be dropped in Dadaotan
Straits and Bangoy Harbor itself, twenty-four GATOR mines in the middle
bomb bay, which were to be released on the beach-each bomb would
disperse hundreds of small softball-sized mines along a wide area that
could destroy small vehicles or kill large numbers of troops who tried
to move through the area after the raid; and finally they carried eight
BLU-96 HADES FAE canisters in the forward bomb bay, which were
designated against the landing craft and Marines ashore north of Samar
International Airport. All of the remaining weapons were to be dropped
within a distance of only twenty miles, on three separate two-mile-long
tracks-and while flying at treetop level at nearly six miles per minute,
it left almost no time to think about procedures. He had taken a fix in
between fighter attacks while going coast-in, and the navigation system
was tight and ready to go. If he had time, Fletcher would try to take
another radar fix going into the target area, but he doubted that would
happen. The bombing computer would have to take care of everything.
"Coming up on initial point... ready, ready, now, " Fletcher called
out. "Heading is good. Thirty seconds to release. Multiple GATOR
release on heading one-eight-one, then right turn to heading two-one-six
for a multiple QUICKSTRIKE mine release, then right turn to heading
two-six-eight for a multiple HADES release. Stand by... fifteen
seconds." The fires that were already burning in Dadaotan Straits and
Bangoy Harbor were spectacular-there had to be at least a dozen large
troopships burning, with spots of fires dotting the entire bay. "My
God, it looks like the end of the fucking world, " the copilot muttered
on interphone. "Five seconds... stand by to turn..." But the huge
fires that made it so easy for the B- I crew to see the target area also
made it easy for the Chinese troops to see the incoming bomber. A row
of tracers from a few of the surviving amphibious assault ships arced
into the sky, the un dulating lines of shells sweeping the sky in
seemingly random patterns-and suddenly several of those lines swept
across the nose of the B-I bomber. The impact of the 57-millimeter
shells from one of the tanklanding ships felt like hammer blows from
Thor himself. The cabin pressure immediately dumped, replaced a
millisecond later with a thunderous roar of the windblast hammering in
through the cockpit windows. Airspeed seemed to drop to zero, and the
crew experienced a feeling of weightlessness as the B- I started to
drift and fall across the sky. Fletcher reacted instantly. While
struggling to keep himself upright in his seat as much as possible, he
selected all remaining stores stations, opened the bomb doors, and hit
the "Emergency Armed Release" button once again. "All weapons away!
Weapons away!" he shouted. "Right turn to escape, Doug!" He called to
the pilot, Captain Doug Wendt. "Right turn! Head west!" All of the
mines and BLU-96 canisters made a normal release-except one. One of the
racks in the forward bomb bay was hit by gunfire, the rack jammed, then
released, and the canister was flung against the aft bomb-bay bulkhead
and detonated. Fire and debris from the bomb and the damaged bomb bay
flew into the right engine intakes, shelling the starboard engines and
causing another terrific explosion. There was a sound like a raging
waterfall filling the entire crew compartment, and smoke began to fill
the cabin. The B- I seemed to be hanging upside down, twisting left and
right and fishtailing around the sky. "Doug? Answer up!" No reply.
"George?" Again no reply. Without thinking of what he was doing,
Fletcher pulled the parachute release mechanism on his ejection seat,
which unclipped him from his seat but kept his parachute on his back. He
dropped to the deck and began crawling on his hands and feet toward the
clipboard. "Pete!" Lieutenant Colonel Terry Rowenki, the DSO (Defensive
Systems Operator), yelled behind him. "What the hell are you doing? Get
back here!" Fletcher ignored him. Flat on his stomach, he made his way
through the howling windblast to the cockpit. Through the glare of
flares outside, he could see that all of the windshields were blown in,
and both Wendt and
Lleck were slumped over in their seats, unconscious.
The autopilot was not on, but the B- I was light and trimmed enough to
maintain wings-level even without hands on the control stick. "Terry!
Get out! Eject!" Fletcher screamed, but he could not be heard over the
windblast. Crawling forward another few feet, he pulled himself up onto
the center console, keeping as far below the murderous wind coming
through the shattered windows as he could, reached across, and lifted
the right-side ejection handle on Doug Wendt's seat. The large red
"Eject" light snapped on in every section of the cabin-it came on
automatically whenever the pilot's ejection handles were raised.
Fighting the force of the wind hammering on his entire body, he reached
up and hit the ejection trigger with his left hand. The inertial reel
thankfully yanked Doug Wendt's body upright in his seat a fraction of a
second before the overhead escape hatch blew off and the seat roared off
into space. But the ejection seat's rocket motor flared right in
Fletcher's face, and he screamed again as his vision was replaced by
angry stars of pure pain. He was on the verge of unconsciousness, and
only another explosion from somewhere inside the bomber brought him back
to his senses. Struggling through the pain to regain his vision, he
finally gave up trying to open his eyes, groped around for Lleck's
ejection handle, found it, and pulled. This time the white-hot fire
from the motor seared his chest and stomach, and he slumped to the deck.
"Pete! Pete, dammit, wake up!" Someone was calling his name . . .
someone . . . Fletcher raised his head. "Pete! This way! Crawl this
way! Hurry!" It was Terry Rowenki-the idiot hadn't ejected yet.
Fletcher's head hit the deck with a dull thud. That was his problem, he
thought blissfully as he drifted off toward unconsciousness-the man had
a perfectly good ejection seat, now was the time to use it. But sleep
wouldn't come. He soon felt someone pulling his legs. "Pete, dammit,
crawl this way . . . you motherfucker, wake up, dammit, wake up..."
To humor him, Fletcher pushed against the center cockpit console toward
the systems compartment. The odd pitch angles of the deck seemed to
help him-the Excalibur's nose was high in the air, as if they were in a
steep climb-and Rowenki's grasp was extraordinarily strong. He heard
another loud sound, more windblast sounds the farther back he moveduntil
he realized that it was the big entry hatch. Rowenki had jettisoned the
hatch and the entry ladder and was trying to pull Fletcher out! Somehow
Rowenki managed to get Fletcher pulled to the hatch and over onto his
stomach, head toward the open hatch. "What the fuck did you think you
were doing up there?" Rowenki yelled as he continued to wrestle with
Fletcher's ragdoll-like body. "Being a damned hero? You get me killed
up here, Fletcher, and I'll fucking haunt you for a hundred years."
Attaching the emergency rescue rope to the D-ring on Fletcher's
parachute harness, Rowenki used his feet and shoved Fletcher headfirst
out the entry hatch. The escape rope yanked taut, spinning Fletcher's
body around but pulling the ripcord D-ring and opening the parachute.
One of Fletcher's legs got tangled in the parachute risers, but it
whipped free and the chute safely opened. Rowenki was right behind him,
leaping out of the hatch as if he were going to do a cannonball from a
high-diving board. He broke his left foot when it hit the aft edge of
the hatch, but the pain only served to remind him to pull the D-ring as
he sailed toward the lush tropical forests below. The stricken B- 1
continued to sail in a nose-high climbing right turn for several
minutes, almost executing a full 180degree turn, until it finally ran
out of airspeed, stalled, and crashed to earth near the town of Cadeco.
The last aircraft of the first raid of the Air Battle Force had
completed its journey. "Sir, report from a J-7 fighter over Samar
International Airport, " the radioman announced. Admiral Yin was on his
feet. "Speak!" he shouted, loud enough to startle just about everyone
in the room. "Is the airport taken?" The radioman listened for a
several moments, his face look ing more ashen and disbelieving every
second. He glanced at Yin, then at Sun9 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 Guoming 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-1 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 FourFour. 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 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 HongLung'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