Terminal Run

but it’s all we have. It’s down loaded into Cyclops, but we’re either going to have to put up our own Predator to confirm the targets or use a UUV.” The Mark 60 Unmanned Underwater Vehicle operated like a torpedo but collected intelligence for the mother submarine, relayed back either by a wire to the torpedo tube or by trailing a small buoy that transmitted to the overhead tactical satellite, which could then be transmitted to the submarine’s passive reception buoy to the Cyclops system. “It sets us back having the satellites and the network out,” Jouett complained.

“That’s war,” B.D. Dallas said, his attention fixed on the acoustic daylight imaging display of the Cyclops system on the command console. “You have to be able to play hurt. If that’s the only battle casualty we have, it’s an easy day. Officer of the Deck, man battle stations We’re going to hit the Chinese with the Vortex battery as soon as we can power them up. Make Vortex tubes one through twelve ready in all respects and open outer doors.”

Jouett smiled. “Aye aye, sir, man battle stations and spin up Vortexes one to twelve. Diving Officer, over the 1MC, ‘man battle stations

Thirty-two minutes later, twelve Vortex Mod Echo missiles were away, blasting through the water at a supercavitating velocity of three hundred knots, their processors loaded with the locations of the Red battle fleet.

Fuzzy Whitworth checked her Breitling as BBC Radio Taipei came over the radio circuit, waiting for the half past three weather report coming on. The attack profile called for absolutely rigid em-con — emissions control, the modern term for radio and radar transmission silence — to aid them in surprising the Chinese battle group At the same time, the attack needed to be coordinated with a time-on-target assault, so that at the designated second in the designated minute, all their ordnance would be exploding at once over the ships of the Red fleet. Anything less coordinated than that risked the battle fleet being alerted to the attack, and the ships would be much more vulnerable in a defensive maneuver at full antiair warfare battle stations The Viking wanted the Chinese asleep in the middle of the night, steaming in their normal formations, with no idea of the incoming strike. The sensitive radio direction finders and frequency scanners would not be able to detect the aircraft if the Americans kept their radars and radios completely shut down.

The aircraft had been directed to tune to BBC Taipei, and when the bottom-of-the-hour weather report came on, em con would be lifted, and all the radars would light off at once, locking on to their targets in fractions of a second, the firecontrol computers sorting out the targets in the next ten seconds, and minutes later the missiles would arrive on target and detonate.

“… Red Chinese Strategic Rocket forces were brought to full alert today according to U.S. military sources at the Pentagon,” the BBC reporter announced. Whitworth tapped her helmet with her left hand, waiting. “And the Red ambassador was called to the White House this morning, reportedly to account for the fueling of the PLA missile silos.”

“Baldy, what’s the status?” Whitworth asked.

“All JSOWs armed and powered up, awaiting target assignment from firecontrol radar.”

“You standing by with your finger on the radar set?”

“My finger hurts from holding it on the toggle switch.”

“… concludes our world news. At half past the hour, BBC Radio Taipei brings you this weather report, sponsored in part by Samsung flat panel displays—”

“Radar energize!” Whitworth shouted.

“Radar on, and targets illuminated,” Lieutenant Commander Felix replied. “Firecontrol computer assigning targets on the attack profile presets.”

“Come on, Bald. I need to shoot here.”

“Firecontrol target assignment at nine zero percent, firecontrol is go! JSOW one, foxtrot!”

“JSOW fire one,” Whitworth said calmly, arming the stick weapons control, selecting missile number one and punching the fire button on the stick. On the starboard outboard wing rail, the first standoff weapon ignited to full thrust and left the wing launcher. Whitworth was temporarily blinded as the missile accelerated away, diving gently downward on its serpentine glide slope to the aircraft carrier Nanching. Felix called units two through six, and Whitworth fired them, the F-22 then coming around in a Mach 2 seven-g turn as Whitworth cleared the launching position. The fighter climbed to an altitude five thousand feet higher, at her operational ceiling. The reports from the other planes of the squadron came in, reporting their weapons releases, since emission control had ended at the weather report.