Empire Rising Read online

  However, that battle would not be waged by PLA aircraft. Even though most were fourth-generation aircraft, they were still inferior to American fighter jets. That task fell to advanced surface-to-air missiles China had spent the last decade developing. It would be missile against aircraft.

  Although the air battle was being directed by the Nanjing Military Air Command, Tsou monitored the progress of the engagement from the East Sea Fleet command center. This was their Achilles’ heel—in the end, it would all come down to whether the United States could gain control of the ocean and skies and cut off the flow of food and ammunition.

  Admiral Tsou watched as a wave of red symbols appeared along the Chinese coast, marching east toward the blue icons. He stood tensely at the rear of the command center as he waited.

  21

  SCARLET ONE • VIPER TWO

  In the cabin of the northernmost E-2C Hawkeye, operating above the Pacific Ocean at 25,000 feet, Lieutenant Commander Julie Austin peered over the shoulders of the two Lieutenants in the Combat Information Center, examining the displays on their consoles. Affixed to the top of the Hawkeye—call sign Scarlet One—the aircraft’s twenty-four-foot-diameter circular antenna, a sophisticated radar capable of tracking more than two thousand targets, rotated slowly, searching the skies for enemy aircraft and missiles.

  The two Lieutenants—the Radar Officer and the Air Control Officer—were tracking two sets of opposing contacts. The first set consisted of the aircraft from Nimitz and George Washington, headed west, along with a stream of aircraft from the northeast. The U.S. Air Force’s largest combat wing, based at Kadena Air Base on Okinawa, was getting in on the action. F-15C/D Eagles and F-15E Strike Eagles were heading toward Taiwan.

  Austin was concerned about the second set of contacts. Over three hundred bogies were inbound from the Chinese coast and had split into a large V, one prong headed toward the Air Force fighters and the other prong speeding toward the carrier aircraft. To the south of Scarlet One, three more Hawkeyes divided up the inbound contacts, relaying the bogies to their fighters.

  Austin studied the display, attempting to determine whether the bogies were inbound aircraft or missiles. Finally, the Hawkeye detected electromagnetic signatures that corresponded to the Chinese Hongqi surface-to-air missile. Nimitz’s and George Washington’s first cycle of aircraft, along with Kadena’s 18th Wing, had their work cut out for them.

  As the red symbols marched over the outline of Taiwan on the electronic display, they were joined by another wave of twenty missiles originating from the east coast of the island. China had apparently transported surface-to-air missile batteries across the Strait to Taiwan, increasing the range of their missiles by two hundred miles. Until this moment, Austin had been comfortable with their station above the Pacific Ocean, well out of range of missiles fired from the Chinese mainland.

  Lieutenant Commander Austin scanned the new wave of missiles, which were leading the barrage from the mainland by sixty miles. The inbound fighters from Nimitz and George Washington had dropped down to ten thousand feet, matched in altitude by the main mass of missiles. But the new wave of missiles from Taiwan remained at fifteen thousand feet. Austin wondered if the missiles were a new variant, designed to drop in altitude at the last minute. Sure enough, as the missiles approached the fighters, the altitude on the Combat Information Console display began changing. But the missiles were climbing, not dropping. It took a moment for Austin to realize the missiles weren’t headed toward their fighters. It took another second to realize where they were headed instead.

  Austin slammed down on the ICS intercom button, activating the speaker in the cockpit. “Incoming missiles, bearing two-seven-three!”

  * * *

  Fifty miles ahead of Scarlet One, Vandal monitored the missiles being relayed from the Hawkeyes behind them. The eighteen Hornets and Super Hornets in Nimitz’s first cycle were divided into nine two-fighter packages, with each package assigned a different ground-support mission once they reached Taiwan. At this point in their approach to the island, the eighteen fighters were strung out side by side at half-mile intervals, with Vandal, designated Viper Two, on the far left, and his wingman, Phoenix, in Viper One on his right. Two EA-18G Growlers—one on each side of the fighter formation—accompanied the strike force toward their targets, jamming incoming missiles and aircraft radars.

  The first wave of missiles curiously passed overhead, and a moment later, the trailing missiles disappeared from his display, no longer relayed from the Hawkeyes behind him. Vandal shifted to his organic sensors, and the missiles reappeared. Most of the missiles were represented by a red 6, which corresponded to the Chinese Hongqi surface-to-air missile. Interspersed within the mass of Hongqi missiles were sixteen bogies with an unknown designation. These bogies weren’t radar-guided or his Radar Warning Receiver would have classified them based on their electromagnetic signature. They were most likely heat-seekers, which Vandal hoped to defeat with the Hornet’s flares and evasive maneuvering.

  As Vandal studied the incoming bogies, they broke into two groups of eighty missiles—one group headed toward George Washington’s aircraft and the other group headed Vandal’s way. He did the math. Eighty missiles against twenty aircraft. Not good odds.

  The missiles closed the remaining distance rapidly, and Vandal discerned that four missiles were targeting his aircraft, each missile thirty seconds behind the other. Four more missiles were targeting Phoenix. As the first wave of missiles approached, Vandal’s APG-79 indicated the incoming Hongqi had failed to lock on to his Hornet. The nearby Growler’s electronic jamming was working well. Vandal broke left as his wingman veered right. The other Hornets took evasive action as the missiles reached them. As the first wave of twenty missiles passed by, two pinpricks of bright light illuminated the black sky, one to his immediate left and another in the distance to his right. Two of the missiles had found their target.

  The initial engagement was ominous. With two aircraft lost in the first wave and three more waves of missiles coming, they’d lose almost half of their first cycle even before they reached Taiwan. Unfortunately, Vandal soon realized the situation was far worse. The aircraft shot down to his left was one of the two Growlers accompanying them. After checking his radar display, Vandal confirmed the Growler on the right side of the formation had also been lost. The unidentified heat-seeker missiles had taken out both of their radar-jamming support aircraft.

  Without the Growlers, the remaining eighteen jets were more vulnerable. Vandal was about to find out just how vulnerable; the second wave of twenty missiles was approaching. The next missile targeting Vandal was a Hongqi missile with a radar-seeking head, so Vandal dispensed chaff from the fuselage of his Hornet, then broke left. His jet veered out of the way as the missile continued straight ahead, attracted by the cloud of aluminum-coated glass fibers. Vandal hoped the missile’s proximity fuse would detonate as it passed through the chaff, but no such luck. This missile was a new generation, because it turned around and headed back toward Vandal’s jet.

  As the missile closed rapidly on Vandal’s Hornet, this time from behind, Vandal dispensed more chaff, then pushed his stick forward, rocketing down toward the ocean. Instead of passing through the chaff and continuing straight ahead, this time the missile turned downward, following Vandal toward the ocean’s surface. As the missile quickly closed the distance, Vandal kicked on the afterburners. He had only a few seconds to decide on his next course of action. The chaff wasn’t going to destroy the missile following him. So he had to destroy it another way.

  As his Hornet screamed toward the water, Vandal decided to wait until the last possible moment, then pull out of the dive. The maneuver would be a challenge; he couldn’t pull more than nine g’s without losing consciousness, while the missile could pull far more. As a result, the missile would gain on his aircraft during the turn, unless it was distracted.

  Warning signs flashed inside his cockpit as Vandal headed straight toward the ocean’s s
urface at maximum speed. He eased off on the throttles and pulled back on the stick, pulling his Hornet out of the dive, simultaneously dispensing chaff. It was an eight-g turn, and he tightened every muscle in his body, trying to keep the blood from draining from his head and losing consciousness. The legs of his G suit filled with air, helping to keep blood in the upper half of his body. Vandal grunted through the turn, leveling his Hornet off at five hundred feet. Barely a second later, the missile passed through the chaff and continued straight down, detonating as it slammed into the ocean’s surface.

  Vandal’s relief was short-lived. His APG-79 alarmed again. Another Hongqi missile was descending in altitude and had already locked on to him. Somehow the Chinese were guiding these missiles to their targets. Perhaps long-range command and control radars had been moved onto Taiwan. Vandal decided to stay close to the deck and try the last trick in reverse. By the time the missile passed through the chaff and figured things out, he’d be long gone.

  Another ten seconds and the missile was dangerously close. Vandal kicked in the afterburners, increasing speed. He waited until the last possible moment, then dispensed chaff again and pulled back on his stick, turning his Hornet skyward. As planned, the Hongqi passed through the chaff and continued straight ahead. Vandal watched on his display as the missile turned around, searching for him, but Vandal was already five thousand feet above it.

  Vandal continued higher, leveling off at ten thousand feet, attempting to get his bearings on the remaining missiles and Nimitz’s first cycle of aircraft. A blue-white flame streaked by on his right. Phoenix had twisted her Hornet around and kicked in her afterburners. One Hongqi missile had just missed her but another was in hot pursuit. As he contemplated whether there was a way to help her, an alarm activated again in his cockpit. Two more missiles were headed toward him.

  Vandal steadied up in the direction of the first missile, dispensing another round of chaff as he broke right. The thin aluminum-coated decoys worked again, and the missile lost track of Vandal’s Hornet as it passed through the chaff. But it wasn’t long before the missile turned around. Even worse, the second Hongqi was in front, headed directly for him. Compounding the problem, he had only one burst of chaff left.

  As he analyzed his predicament—one missile behind him and another in front—he realized the two missiles were racing directly toward each other. He did a quick mental calculation, guesstimating that if he slowed about a hundred knots, both missiles would arrive at his Hornet at the same time—in about ten seconds. He eased off the throttles.

  Just before the two Hongqi missiles closed on Vandal’s Hornet, he dispensed his last round of chaff, then kicked in his afterburners and pushed down on the stick, vacating the area as quickly as possible. The two Hongqi missiles, decoyed by the chaff, continued straight ahead, locking on to each other and detonating above Vandal as he raced toward the ocean’s surface.

  Vandal pulled up as the illumination above him faded to darkness, leveling his Hornet off at seven thousand feet. He let out a deep breath, checking his instrumentation. There were no additional missiles locked on to him.

  He spoke into his headset. “Viper One, how are you doing?”

  Michalski’s voice came across the radio. “I’ve got a Hongqi on my six. I’m out of chaff and out of ideas. I can’t shake it!” Vandal glanced at his display. Phoenix was five miles to the north at ten thousand feet, headed his way.

  Vandal got an idea. He banked his F/A-18 hard left into a 360-degree turn, climbing in altitude toward Michalski. Vandal adjusted the diameter of the circle so that he came out of the turn headed perpendicular to his wingman’s flight path. Michalski was one of the best pilots in the squadron, and Vandal wasn’t surprised she’d been able to keep the Hongqi missile at bay even without chaff, juking her Hornet at the last possible second as the missile approached, taking advantage of the missile’s excessive speed.

  The surface-to-air Hongqi were very large missiles compared to the air-to-air missiles aircraft carried, packed with fuel for the long transit from the coast. Their large size made them less maneuverable, which thankfully gave Michalski and the other pilots a fighting chance. But what the Hongqi lacked in agility had been replaced with persistence. Its guidance and control processing was advanced indeed. It was only a matter of time before Michalski maneuvered too soon or too late, and the missile would remain locked on and home to detonation.

  Michalski had kicked in her afterburners again after her latest maneuver, and her Hornet was streaking toward Vandal, the missile in hot pursuit. Vandal thumbed the trackball on his flight stick, switching to his six-barrel Vulcan 20mm cannon as he spoke into his headset.

  “Viper One, do you trust me?”

  “Hardly!” Phoenix replied. “With a call sign of Vandal?”

  Michalski had a point, but there was no time to debate its merits. “I need you to fly straight,” Vandal replied. “No juking until I say so, okay?”

  “Okay,” Michalski repeated as her Hornet screamed by a half-mile in front of Vandal.

  Vandal focused. He had timed it as best as possible—the geometry was perfect. The Hongqi missile was a mile behind Phoenix and closing fast, and the missile would cut across Vandal’s flight path in about five seconds. It was going to come down to hand-eye coordination, and he was better than most. Maybe all those days skipping high school, hanging out at Fat Eddy’s Billiards playing video games, would pay off after all.

  The odds of hitting a missile with a gun were low, but it was worth a shot. Unfortunately, the Hongqi would get dangerously close to Phoenix. If he missed the missile and told her too late to juke out of the way …

  Vandal caught the red engine exhaust of the missile in his peripheral vision. He fired his Vulcan gun, watching the path of the red tracers race out ahead of him, judging whether they would intersect the path of the missile streaking across the night sky. He would not get another shot. At the last instant, he adjusted his angle down a fraction of a degree, and the Hongqi missile slammed into the stream of 20mm bullets, breaking into fragments in an orange-red puff. A second later, Vandal passed above the missile debris, then banked left and kicked in his afterburners.

  “Splash one Hongqi missile,” he said as he pulled up alongside Phoenix.

  “Thanks Vandal. I thought I was a goner.” The faint glow from Michalski’s cockpit instrumentation illuminated her profile, and he could see her turn her head toward him. He couldn’t see her face behind her visor, but he knew she was smiling.

  Now that the immediate danger for him and his wingman had passed, Vandal turned his attention to the rest of Nimitz’s first cycle of aircraft. A glance down at his display returned startling information: Vandal and Phoenix were the only two aircraft remaining. Another review of his instrumentation told Vandal they could not continue their mission. They’d consumed too much fuel during their evasive maneuvers. They’d have to head back to Nimitz. Vandal was about to inform Phoenix when her voice broke across his headset.

  “Incoming bogies, bearing two-seven-three.”

  Vandal checked his display as his APG-79 alarmed. Six incoming bogies. A few seconds later, the APG-79 identified them as Hongqi.

  They were out of chaff and low on fuel. Their only option was to run and hide. “Down to the deck! Head back to Nimitz.”

  Vandal pushed his stick forward, pitching the nose of his Hornet down. Phoenix followed, and both Hornets raced toward the ocean’s surface. Vandal banked left and Phoenix right, the two jets turning back toward Nimitz, leveling off at five hundred feet. Vandal checked his APG-79. The Hongqi were closing and dropping in altitude.

  As the Hongqi continued to close, Vandal had two choices—wait until the last second and then climb, or veer to the left or right. Without chaff, neither option offered a reasonable chance of success.

  He checked his fuel gauge again. With the evasive maneuvers they were about to make, they weren’t going to have enough fuel to make it back to Nimitz. They were too heavy—they had too much
ordnance. Ordnance that was a liability as they headed home. It was useless against incoming missiles, and it weighed them down as they maneuvered their Hornets.

  “Viper One. Drop all ordnance. We need to get lighter.”

  Phoenix acknowledged, and seconds later the two Hornets dropped their payload of bombs into the Pacific Ocean.

  Vandal wiggled his flight stick back and forth. His Hornet felt lighter, nimbler. And just in time. The six Hongqi had closed on them, and it was time to maneuver. But then he decided against the two previous options. Instead of pulling up or veering to the side, he decided to descend even lower.

  “I’m dropping down as low as possible. Let’s see if we can lose the missiles in the ocean clutter.”

  Pushing his stick forward, Vandal eased his Hornet toward the ocean, dropping down to an altitude of fifty feet, dangerously close to the top of the waves breaking on the ocean’s surface. On a calm day, flying this low was dangerous enough. But the higher the sea state, the more unpredictable the wave height. The weather had steadily deteriorated through the night, and average wave height was now between thirty and forty feet. One fifty-foot wave and it’d all be over.

  Phoenix matched his maneuver, pulling up alongside him on his nine o’clock position. But the Hongqi missiles also matched their maneuver, descending to fifty feet, continuing to close. It looked like Vandal’s last-ditch effort had also failed, when one of the missiles trailing them disappeared from the display. Vandal’s best guess was that it had been taken out by a random fifty-foot wave. That meant fifty feet was too low to be flying. He called into his headset.

  “Viper One. A wave just took out one of our bogies. We’re too low. Come up to seven-five feet.”