computer displayed a CCIP, or continuously computed impact point,
steering cue on Cobb's heads-up display; the steering cue was a line
that ran from the target at the bottom of the heads-up display to a
release cue cross at the top, with the release pipper in the middle.
Cobb would offset the bomber to one side of the release cue line; then,
at the right moment, would turn and climb so as to "walk" the pipper up
the release cue line and eventually place the release cue cross directly
in the center of the aiming pipper. When the cross split the pipper,
the bomb would release-the hard turn would add "whip-crack" momentum to
the bomb, allowing it to fly farther than a conventional level release.
It was all a very computer-controlled and rather basic bombing
procedure-hardly a difficult task for a fifteen-year Air Force veteran
bombardier. But sortie rates were down and flying hours were being cut,
and McLanahan and his fellow flight test crew dogs were sniveling every
flight they could. Except for a few high-value projects-Dreamstar,
ANTARES, the Megafortress Plus, the A-I 2 bomber, the X-35 and X-37
superfighters, and a few other aircraft that were too weird for words
and probably would never see daylight for another decade-research
activity at Dreamland had almost ground to a halt. Peace was breaking
out all over the world-despite the efforts of nut-cases like Saddam
Hussein, Moammar Quaddafi, and a few renegade Russian generals to
disrupt things-and the military would be the first to pay for the "peace
dividend" that most Americans had been waiting for at least the past
five years. "T minus thirty seconds, final release configuration check,"
McLanahan announced. He quickly ran through the final seven steps of
the "Weapon Release-Conventional" checklist, then had Cobb read aloud
his heads-up display's configuration readouts. Everything was normal.
McLanahan checked the crosshair placement on target, made a slight
adjustment, then told Cobb, "Final aiming... ready. My dark visor's
down." McLanahan told Cobb his dark visor was down because Cobb seemed
never to check around the cockpit, although McLanahan knew he did. "Tone
on." McLanahan activated the bomb scoring tone so the ground trackers
would know exactly when the release pulse from the bombing computers was
generated. "Copy," Cobb said. "Mine too. Autopilot off, TF's off.
Coming up on break... ready... ready... now." He said it as calmly,
as serenely as if he were describing a china teacup being filled with
afternoon tea-but his actions were certainly not dainty. Cobb slammed
the FB- 111 in a tight 60-degree bank turn to the left and hauled back
on the control stick. McLanahan felt a few roll flutters as Cobb made
minute corrections to the break, but otherwise the break was clean and
straight-the more constant the G-forces Cobb could keep on the BLU-96,
the more accurate the toss delivery would be. Through the steady four
Gs straining on every square inch of their bodies, Cobb grunted, "Coming
up on release . . ready . . . ready . . . now. Release button .
. . ready . . now. McLanahan saw the flash of the release pulse on
his weapon control panel, but he jabbed the manual release "pickle"
button just in case the bomb did not separate cleanly. "This is CROWBAR,
good toss, good toss," McLanahan heard on the command channel. "All
stations, stand by... Cobb had just completed a 180-degree turn and had
managed to click on the autopilot again when both crew members could see
an impossibly bright flash of light illuminate the cockpit, drowning out
every shadow before them. Both men instinctively tightened their grips
on handholds or flight controls just as a tremendous smack thundered
against the FB111B's canopy. The bomber's tail was thrust violently to
the left in a wide-sweeping skid, but Cobb was waiting for it and
carefully brought the tail back in line without causing a roll couple.
"Henry-you okay?" McLanahan shouted. He could see a few stars in his
eyes from the flash, but he felt no pain. He had to raise his dark
visor to be able to see the instrument panels. Cobb raised his own
visor as well. "Yeah, Patrick, I'm fine." After returning his left
hand to his throttle quadrant, he made one quick scan of his controls
and instruments, then resumed his usual position-eyes continually
scanning, head caged straight ahead, hands on stick and throttles.
"CROWBAR, this is Vapor Two-One, condition green, McLanahan reported to
the ground controllers. "Request clearance for a flyby of ground zero.
"Stand by, Vapor." The wait was not as long this time. "Vapor Two-One,
request approved, remain at six thousand MSL over the target." Cobb
executed another hard 90-degree left bank-turn and moved the FBI 1 lB's
wings forward to the 54-degree setting to help slow the bomber down from
superSonic speed. They could see the results as soon as they completed
their turn back to the target. There was a ragged splotch of black
around what was left of the concrete target tower, resembling a
smoldering campfire thousands of feet in diameter. The tanks and
armored personnel carriers had been blackened and tossed several hundred
feet away from ground zero, and the regular trucks were burned and
melted down to unrecognizable hunks. Wooden blast targets up to two
miles away had been singed or knocked down, and of course all the
mannequins, regardless of what they had been outfitted with, were gone.
"My God.. ." McLanahan muttered. He had never seen an atomic ground
zero before except in old photos of Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but guessed
he was looking at a tiny bit of what such devastation would be like.
"Cool," was all Cobb said-and for him, that was akin to a long string of
epithets and exclamations. McLanahan turned his attention away from the
ugly burn mark and the holocaust below: "CROWBAR, this is Two-One,
flyover complete, request approach clearance. "Vapor, this is CROWBAR,
climb and maintain eight thousand, turn left heading three-zero-zero,
clear to exit R-4806W and re-enter R-4808N to PALACE intersection for
approach and landing. Thanks for your help."
"Eight thousand, three-zero-zero, PALACE intersection, Vapor copies all.
Good day. Out." McLanahan set up the navigation radios to help Cobb find
the initial approach fix, but couldn't shake the pow~ul impression HADES
had left on him. It was a devastating weapon and would represent a
serious threat and escalation to any conflict. No, it wasn't a nuclear
device, but the fact that one aircraft could drop one bomb and kill all
forms of life within a one-to-two-mile radius was pretty sobering. Just
one B-52 bomber loaded with thirty to forty such weapons could destroy a
small city. Thankfully, though, there wasn't a threat on the horizon
that could possibly justify using HADES. Things were pretty quiet in
the world. A lot of the countries that had regularly resorted to
aggression before were now opting for peaceful, negotiated settlements.
Flare-ups and regional disputes were still present, but no nation wanted
war with another, because the possibility for massive destructi
on with
fewer military forces was a demonstrated reality. And for McLanahan that
was just as well. Better to put weapons like HADES back in storage or
destroy them than to use them. What Patrick McLanahan did not know,
however, was that half a world away, a conflict was brewing that could
once again force him and his fellow flyers to use such awesome weapons.
NEAR THE SPRATLY ISLANDS, SOUTH CHINA SEA WEDNESDAY, 8 JUNE 1994, 2247
HOURS LOCAL nst as fifty-seven-year-old Fleet Admiral Yin Po L'un,
comander of the Spratly Island flotilla, South China Sea Fleet, People's
Liberation Army Navy of China, reached for his mug of tea from the young
steward, his ship heeled sharply to port and the tray with his tea went
flying across the bridge of his flotilla's flagship. Well, evening tea
would be delayed another fifteen minutes. Sometimes, he thought, his
lot in life was as if the gods had sent a fire-breathing dragon to
destroy a single lam-and the dragon finishes drowning in the sea along
the way. The skipper of Yin's flagship, Captain Lubu Vin Li, chewed the
young steward up one side and down the other for his clumsiness. Yin
looked at the poor messboy, a thin, beady-eyed kid obviously with some
Tibetan stock in him. "Captain, just let him bring the damned tea,
steward with a slap on the chest and a stern growl. "I apologize for
that accident, sir, " Lubu said as he returned to stand beside Yin's
seat on the bridge of the Hong Lung, Admiral Yin's flagship. "As you
know, we have been in typhoon-warning-condition three for several days;
I expect all the crew to be able to stand on their own two feet by now."
"Your time would be better spent speaking with Engineering and
determining the reason for that last roll, Captain, " Yin said without
looking at his young destroyer skipper. "The Hong Lung has the world's
best stabilizer system, and we are not in a full gale yet-the
stabilizers should have been able to dampen the ship's motion. See to
it." Lubu's face went blank, then pained as he realized his mistake,
then resolute as he bowed and turned to the ship's intercom to order the
chief engineer to the bridge. The most sophisticated vessel in the
People's Liberation Navy should not be wallowing around in only
force-three winds, Yin thought-it only made the rest of his unit so
unsightly. Admiral Yin turned to glance at the large, thick plastic
panel on which the location and condition of the other vessels in his
flotilla were plotted with a grease pencil. Radar and sonar data from
his ships were constantly fed to the crewman in charge of the bridge
plot, who kept it updated by alternately wiping and redrawing the
symbols as fast as he could. His ships were roughly arranged in a wide
protective diamond around the flagship. The formation was now headed
southwest, pointing into the winds which were tossing around even his
big flagship. Admiral Yin Po L'un's tiny Spratly Island flotilla
currently consisted of fourteen small combatants, averaging around
fifteen years of age, with young, inexperienced crews on them. Four to
six of those ships were detached into a second task force, which cruised
within the Chinese zone when the other ships were near the neutral zone.
On the outer perimeter of the flotilla, Admiral Yin Po L'un deployed
three Huangfen-class fast-attack missile boats, capable against heavy
surface targets, and four Hegu-class fastattack missile boats with
antisubmarine and antiaircraft weapons. He had an old Lienyun-class
minesweeper on the point, a precautionary tactic born of the conflict
with the Vietnamese Navy only six years earlier. He also had two big
Hainan-class fast patrol boats with antiair, antiship, and antisubmarine
weapons operating as "roamers, " moving between the inner and outer
perimeters. All were direct copies of old World War II Soviet designs,
and these boats had no business being out in the open ocean, even as
forgiving and generally tame as the South China Sea was. The ships in
Yin's flotilla rotated out every few weeks with other ships in the
six-hundred-ship South China Sea Fleet, based at Zhanjiang Naval Base on
the Leizhou Peninsula near the Gulf of Tonkin. Yin's flagship, the Hong
Lung, or Red Dragon, was a beauty, a true oceangoing craft for the
world's largest navy. It was a Type EF5 guided-missile destroyer that
had a Combination Diesel or Gas Turbine propulsion system that propelled
the 132-meter, five-thousand-ton vessel to a top speed of over
thirty-five nautical miles per hour. The Hong Lung had a helicopter
hangar and launch platform, and it carried a modern, French-built
Dauphin II patrol, rescue, antimine, and antisubmarine warfare
helicopter. Yin's destroyer also carried six supersonic Fei Lung-7
antiship missiles, the superior Chinese version of the French Exocet
antiship missile; two Fei Lung-9 long-range supersonic antiship
missiles, experimental copies of the French-built ANS antiship missile;
two Hong Qian-9 1 single antiair missile launchers, fore and aft, with
thirty-missile manually loaded magazines each; a Creusoit-Loire
dual-purpose 100-millimeter gun; and four single-barreled and two
double-barreled 37-millimeter antiaircraft guns. It also had a single
Phalanx CIWS, or Close-In Weapon System gun. Developed in the United
States of America, Phalanx was a radarguided Vulcan multibarrel
missiles; from its mount on the forecastle perch behind and below the
con, it could cover both sides and the stern out to a range of two
kilometers. The Hong Lung also carried sonar (but no torpedoes or depth
charges) and sophisticated targeting radars for her entire arsenal. The
Hong Lung was specifically designed to patrol the offshore islands
belonging to China, such as the Spratly and the Paracel Islands, and to
engage the navies of the various countries that claimed these islands-so
the Hong Lung carried no antisubmarine-warfare weaponry like the older
Type EF4 Luda-class destroyers of the North Fleet. The Hong Lung could
defeat any surface combatant in the South China Sea and could protect
itself against almost any air threat. The Hong Lung's escort ships-the
minesweepers and ASW vesselscould take on any threat that the destroyer
wasn't specifically equipped to deal with. "Position, navigator, "
Admiral Yin called out. The navigator behind and to the Admiral's right
called out in reply, "Sir!", bent to work at his plastic-covered chart
table as a series of coordinates were read to him from the LORAN
navigation computers, then replied, "Sir, position is ten nautical miles
northwest of West Reef, twenty-three miles north of Spratly Island air
base."
"Depth under the keel?" "Showing twenty meters under the keel, sir, "
Captain Lubu Vin Li replied. "No danger of running aground if we stay
on this course, sir." Yin grunted his acknowledgment. That was exactly
what he was worried about. While his escorts could traverse the shallow
waters of the Spratly
Island chain easily, the Hong Lung was an
oceangoing vessel with a four-meter draft. At low tide, the big
destroyer could find itself run aground at any time while within the
Spratly Islands. Although the Spratlys were in neutral territory, China
controlled the valuable islands informally by sheer presence of force if
not by agreement or treaty. Yin's normal patrol route took the flotilla
through the southern edge of the "neutral zone" area of the island
chain, scanning for Philippine vessels and generally staying on watch.
Although the Philippine Navy patrolled the Spratlys and had a lot of
firepower there, Admiral Yin's smaller, faster escort ships could mount
a credible force against them. And since the Philippine ships had no
medium or long-range antiship missiles or antiair missiles in the area,
the Hong Lung easily outgunned every warship within two thousand miles.
They were currently on an eastward heading, cruising well north of the
ninth parallel-and as far as Yin was concerned, the "neutral zone" meant
that he might consider issuing a warning to trespassers before opening
fire on them. The shoal water was also south of their position, near
Pearson Reef, and he wanted to stay clear of those dangerous waters.
"CIC to bridge, " the interphone crackled. "Wenshan re ports surface
contact, bearing three-four-zero, range eighteen miles. Stationary
target." Captain Lubu keyed his microphone and grunted a curt,
"Understood, " then checked the radar plot. The Wenshan was one of the
Hainan-class patrol boats roaming north and east of the Hong Lung; it
had a much better surface-search radar than the small
Huangfen-classboat, the Xingyi, in the vicinity; although the Xingyi was
equippe~Fei Lung-7 surface attack missiles, often other ships had to
seek out targets for it. Lubu turned to Admiral Yin. "Sir, the surface
contact is near Phu Qui Island, in the neutral zone about twenty miles
north of Pearson Reef. No recent reports of any vessels or structures
in the area. We have Wenshan and Xingyi in position to investigate the
contact." Yin nodded that he understood. Phu Qui Island, he knew, was a
former Chinese oil-drilling site in the Spratly Islands; the well had
been capped and abandoned years ago. Although Phu Qui Island
disappeared underwater at high tide, it was a very large rock and coral