FATAL T ER RAI N 231
which would porpoise him all over the sky. Nice, easy, small
corrections from here on out. "Five hundred to decision
height.
Shen completed another scan, ran his eyes over the engine
instruments-all OK, all needles pointing in roughly the same
direction-then back to the HSI-righton the glidepath-then
quickly up to the mag compass above the center of the wind-
screen ...
... and it read sixty degrees differently than the inbound
course to Matsu Airport. A sharp thrill of panic clutched at
Shen's throat. The ILS needles were perfectly centered, the
DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) put them at the proper
position on the approach-but they were sixty degrees off
course! If the ILS was wrong and the gyro and mag compasses
were correct, they were far, far off course-into Red China's
airspace. "What in hell's going on with the heading?" Shen
shouted. "I'm centered up, but the compass says we're way
west."
"My VOR's centered up, too," the copilot said. He quickly
punched the buttons on the audio panel. "I've got good idents
on the ILS, VOR, and NDB. DME's okay..."
"Electrical and vacuum systems okay," the engineer said.
"The tower's got us, they cleared us for landing-if we
were off course, they'd have said something," the copilot said.
"The gyros must be screwed up."
"But the gyro compass and mag compasses are both reading
the same," Shen shouted, the fear rising in his voice. He sud-
denly jammed the throttles to full power and raised the nose,
trying to stop the descent on the "glideslope." "Damn it,
we've been MIJIed!- MIJI stood for Meaconing, Interference,
Jammi , ng, and Intrusion, a common enemy tactic to disrupt
communications or air traffic by playing havoc with radios and
radar signals; oftentimes it was done just to confuse, but some-
times it was done to force a pilot into unintentionally violating
enemy airspace. On the radio, Shen said excitedly, "Matsu
Tower, Transport One-Five, executing missed approach pro@
c6dures, proceeding to holding point Tango, acknowledge."
No response. "Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five, how do you
copy? We are executing missed approach. We suspect enemy
Mliling in effect. Acknowledge!"
"Transport One-Five, Matsu Tower, cancel missed ap-
proach, we have you on the glidepath. You are cleared to land,
232 DALE BROWN
winds three-three-zero at seven knots, if YOU can hear me,
ident, please."
The copilot automatically hit his IDENT button, which would
electronically draw a highlight box around the data block for
his aircraft on the tower controller's radarscope. "Matsu
Tower, Transport One-Five is executing a security missed ap-
proach, we are in the turn, acknowledge, over!" The radio
was still scratchy, as if they were still a long distance away
from the base ...
through the
... and seconds later, the C-130 popped
clouds-and the windscreen was filled with the lights of the
city of Lang-Ch'i, just a few miles ahead, and farther ahead
on the horizon was the mass of lights of the city of Fu-Chou,
less than twenty miles away- Shen realized they were well
within Chinese airspace-they were practically over Chinese
soil!
"Transport One-Five, ident received," the voice said.
"Continue inbound, do not turn. Be advised, still clear to land.
Acknowledge with an ident."
The copilot was about to automatically hit the IDENT button
again, but Shen hit his hand away. "Don't touch that! Some-
thing is not right," he said. "Set EMER in the IFF, get on
GuARD channel, and notify someone that we are being MUled.
We're flying over Chinese airspace!"
"What in God's name is happening?" the copilot breathed,
as Shen started a steep right bank turn to the east.
-I do not know," Shen said. "We can do nothing but the
proper procedures. We shall go to point Tango and attempt
to-"
feet, as if it had hit a sudden wave of turbulence, sharp and
hard enough to disengage the autopilot. "I have the aircraft!"
Shen shouted, grasping the control yoke and rolling wings-
level. "Check instruments!" struments. "All
The engineer quickly scanned the engine in
systems okay" I he responded.
okay," the copilot agreed. "Clear to
"Everything looks
reengage the autopilot."
"I will hand-fly it," Shen said, "until we get everything
straightened Out. I will fly the mag compass until we get every-
thing sorted out. Get on squadron common channel and--
"Hey!" the copilot shouted. He pointed out the windscreen
FATAL T ER RAI N 233
in horror, then looked at his pilot. "Is that ... is that Matsu?"
Shen stopped and stared out the window; his copilot fol-
lowed his gaze, then gaped in amazement as well. Half of the
island seemed to be on fire. Smoke billowed from hundreds
of burning buildings, the northern half of the island was com-
pletely obscured in black smoke-even the ocean seemed to
be on fire. "What is it? What's happened?"
"The are attacking," Shen said woodenly. "The Corn-
munists ... this entire thing was a diversion. The Communists
must've launched a rocket attack on the island, thinking that
we we re attacking them! Gear up! Let's head back to Sung-
shan, fast!
The radios were a completely indecipherable babble of
voices, so the re forgot about reporting their position and
c w
prayed that their coded transponder would still be showing to
Taiwanese air defense forces while they turned away from
Matsu. Everyone on the flight deck was riveted to the left-side
cockpit windows as they I turned eastbound away from the air
base. "Fighters are airborne," Shen said. "At least we have
fighter coverage. We should. . . " And then he froze, his mouth
turning dust-dry: "Those are not Taiwanese fighters! Those
are Communist fighter planes!" Soon, those fighters were
swarming over the C- 1 30, and moments later it was sent crash-
ing down into the sea.
It turned out to be a vefy well-coordinated attack-a missile
bombardment from shore-based batteries from Lang-Ch'i
Army Base on the mainland, followed moments later by a
wave of fighter-bombers from Yixu Air Base. Captain Shen,
his crew, and his aircraft were only a small part of the casu-
alties of the Chine'se attack on the entire Matsu island chain.
Within hours, the Matsu Islands were completely defenseless.
NEAR QUEMOY ISLAND, OFF THE COAST
OF MAINLAND CHINA
THURSDAY, 19 JUNE 1997, 0800 HOURS LOCAL
(WEDNESDAY, 18 JUNE, 2000 HOURS ET)
"Headbanger Two reporting on station," Nancy Cheshire ra-
dioed on the secure satellite net.
7-
234 DALE BROWN
"James Daniel copies, Headbanger," came the reply.Just
ten miles north of the EB-52 Megafortress, flying 15,000 feet
above the Formosa Strait, was a small task force of two Amer-
ican Oliver Hazard Perry-class guided missile frigates, the
Duncan, a Naval Reserve Fleet ship with eighty Naval Re-
servists on board, and the lead vessel in this task force, the
James Daniel; they had been moved into the area of the recent
skirmish between the Chinese People's Liberation Army Navy
and the Quemoy flotilla of the Republic of China's navy. The
American task force's nominal orders was to stand by and
render any possible assistance if requested by both China and
Taiwan, as salvage and recovery vessels from their respective
countries tried to recover whatever was left of their stricken
vessels; their actual mission was to show the American flag
and try to prevent a re-eruption of hostilities between the two
Chinas. But even though there was very little rescue or recov-
ery work being done by anyone, the frigates-and now the
EB-52 Megafortress-were on patrol, ready for action.
The crew of the Megafortress was very quiet, except for the
intense but hushed coaching going on in the back of thec'rew
cabin. Extra seats had been bolted into the deck beside the
offensive and defensive operator's consoles, and Patrick
McLanahan and the crew DSO, Megafortress veteran Air
Force officer Major Robert Atkins, were seated in the jump
seats giving instruction on using the sophisticated electronic
attack, surveillance, and defensive systems to newcomers Air
Force Captain Jeff Denton in the OSO's seat, and Navy Lieu-
tenant Ashley Bruno in the DSO's seat.
-There-is that Xiamen's long-range surveillance radar?"
Bruno asked, pointing at the largethreat display.
"Don't ask me-ask the computer," Atkins said, acting his
part as the patient but demanding instructor. "You've got a
full-up system, so use it." Atkins had joined the Megafortress
program almost at its inception, recruited from the handful of
4.0-grade-point-average-or-better Air Force Academy gradu-
ates who had also graduated high in their Undergraduate Pilot
Training classes. Atkins was the best of the best-a straight-
A student in electrical engineering from the Zoo, in the top 20
percent of his UPT class, who had managed to earn a master I S
degree in business administration while a FAIP (First Assign-
ment Instructor Pilot). He had been recruited personally by
Wendy Tork McLanahan, the director of the Megafortress's
FATAL TER RAI N 235
advanced electronic warfare suite design team at HAWC, and
he had remained there for several years, refining the high-tech
electronic detection, analysis, countermeasure, and counterat-
tack systems on the Megafortress "flying battleship."
And, like Nancy Cheshire flying in the copilot's seat, he had
seen combat before in the Megafortress: over the Philippines,
over Lithuania, and over the United States. Back then, actually
flying the beast hadn't been his strong point-he could design
systems built perfectly for a crewdog, but he didn't enjoy fly-
ing itself. But flying was part of the job, and besides, no one
said "no" to the boss, Lieutenant-General Bradley James El-
hott. Even after HAWC disbanded and Atkins set off to get
his doctorate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology as
part of a joint industry-Air Force program, he could not es-
cape, or resist, Brad Elliott's call to glory.
"Right, right," Ashley Bruno responded. Bruno, a former
Navy engineer from the China Lake Naval Weapons Center,
touched the threat display and keyed the computer voice in-
terface button with her left foot and said, "Computer, iden-
tify. I I
SIERRA-BAND BEAN STICKS EARLY-WARNING RADAR, the
computer responded.
"It's not necessary to preface your commands with 'com-
puter' or anything else," Atkins said.
"I know," Bruno said, wearing a playful grin. "But I guess
I'm still a Trekkie at heart. Mr. Spock always started a voice
command with 'computer.' " She keyed the voice command
switch again: "Computer, are we in detection range of the
Bean Sticks radar?"
NEGATIVE.
"Computer, what is the estimated detection range of the
Bean Stick radar?"
ESTIMATED EFFECTIVE DETECTION RANGE IN CURRENT CON-
PIGURATION, FIFTEEN MILES, the computer responded. EFFEC-
TIVE DETECTION RANGE WITH BAY DOORS OPEN,
TWENTY-SEVEN MILES. EFFECTIVE DETECTION RANGE IN CLEAN
CONFIGURATION ...
Bruno keyed the voice command button twice to cancel the
report. "Thank you, computer," she said.
"I think, I hope, what Atkins is saying, Lieutenant Bruno,"
Brad Elliott cut in on interphone, "was that it would be faster
and more efficient in a combat situation to just say what you
236 DALE BROWN
want and can the fticking bullshit! " He spat the last four words
like heavy-caliber gunshots. "This is not a starship Enterprise
reunion, and it's not a computer game. Now, do it right or I'll
beam your Trekkie ass into the goddamn ocean-with my
boot, not a transporter."
"Yes, sir," Bruno responded contritely.
McLanahan said to Denton, "Read up on the emergency
electrical attack procedures for a few - " While the student OSO
called up the hypertext tech order flight manual on the super-
cockpit display and began reading, McLanahan leaned back in
his jump seat and clicked the interphone button twice. He and
Elliott had used that command many times in their ten-year
relationship to signal one another to "go private" on the in-
terphone panel, which would allow the two to talk to each
other without the rest of the crew listening in.
Sure enough, Elliott was on private to meet him. "What9"
"Ease up a,bit, Brad," McLanahan said.
"The newbies need to keep their minds on the job and stop
fucking around."
"Bruno's doing okay," McLanahan said. "So is Denton.
We can all use a little comic relief."
"If Bruno does her Star Trek routine in training, she'll do
it in combat," Elliott said. "You know it, I know it."
"Okay, Brad, okay," McLanahan said. "Yes, you're right,
we're supposed to be training like we're going to fight. But
you're being a little hard on Bruno. Wouldn't be because she's
sitting in Vikram's seat, is it?"
"Screw you and your amateur psychoanalysis, Muck," El-
liott snapped. "I know how to train newbies." McLanahan
heard the click that meant Elliott had switched back to normal
interphone.
McLanahan fell silent as he followed Elliott back to normal
interphone. In the past two weeks since the skirmish near Que-
moy Island, Brad Elliott had been quiet, moody almost to the
point of irritation, and demanding of everyone with whom he
came into contact. He flew the EB-52 with practiced, method-
ical precision, strictly by the book-which he should know,
because he had personally written most of it and rev
iewed all
of it for many years-but he did it more with dogged impa-
tience, without his usual sense of happiness and purpose.
Well, there was certainly nothing going on to get too excited
about right now. The worldwide hue and cry over the nuclear
FATAL TER RA I N 237
detonations near mainland China had quieted all participants
down considerably. Only about a third of the world media
believed the People's Republic of China's Liberation Army
was responsible for the dreaded nuclear explosions; the rest of
the blame was equally divided between the United States and
Taiwan. This was considered a major propaganda victory for
China and a complete propaganda disaster for Taiwan and the
United States.
As a result of the heavy media and governmental scrutiny,
however, the Formosa Strait was relatively free from heavy
military presences fact that McLanahan was able to verify
by looking at the EB-52 Meg4brtress's God's-eye display on
the supercockpit monitor, which was now being operated by
Captain Denton. The fifty-plus-vessel People's Liberation
Army Navy carrier battle group was gone, dispersed to various
bases or sent south toward Hong Kong to participate in Reu-
nification Day festivities. As far as McLanahan could tell, the
PLAN had only one ship of any size in the region; it had just
appeared on the latest NIRTSat inverse synthetic aperture radar
sweep.
"Okay, did you get IDs on the ships closest to the frigates?"
McLanahan asked.
"Yep," Denton responded. "Coastal trawlers and fishing
vessels, both less than fifty tons. Neither moving faster than
nine knots."
"Good," McLanahan said. "Remember, the system can
squelch out small vessels like that if necessary, based on size
or speed, but it's always best to check out everything. Also
remember that the ISAR system isn't infallible, so even if
those ships show as not hostile, even if youi recheck six times,
don't ignore them. But right now they're far enough away
from the frigates to be safe, so you can mark those ships as
Noncombatants.
That action turned out to be a mistake, because precisely at
that time, crew members aboard the two Chinese noncom-