Читать книгу Brother's Keeper - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 7

Deep Strike Command

Yokosuka, Japan

Bob Marrion read the text on his smart phone several times. It was brief, just two short sentences, but more than enough to send the admiral into a momentary lapse of uncertainty as the confluence of elation and dread washed over him. He read the text again:

We’re on the plane tomorrow. Check your e-mail for our itinerary.

You did it! My God, you actually did it! rejoiced one internal voice, while another voice yelled: Shit! Now you’ve gone and done it! Marrion paced about his office, not knowing if he should dance or cry. The fact that this project was now going into stage two was phenomenal and worrisome. There was so much at stake, so much that could be lost.

This had to work, not so much because of the invested money, machines and manpower; but for the bigger picture—the future of air warfare, and the continuance of U.S. air superiority in the Pacific. As far as Marrion was concerned, the latter claim was in jeopardy-if not already lost-the day the Chinese produced the world’s first stealth missile.

Rivers bringing in Jason Li not only gave him an opportunity to advance this top-priority initiative, but if successful, could at the very least, level the playing field against the Chinese. The best case scenario would be to regain the air superiority title despite the existence of those missiles. But as much as he wanted to believe that such a formidable position could be reclaimed, he had to wrestle with the disconcerting reality that this global-shifting event now rested on the shoulders of an unstable, disgraced naval aviator.

Szechuan Village Chinese Restaurant

1430 Willow Pass Road

Concord, California

“So, this is the best Chinese food in Concord?” Scott asked, as he opened the tall laminated menu. Jason laughed quietly, nodding his head.

“It’s so good that this is the second time I’ve eaten here food today. The first time was right before you came in my apartment.” He took a swig from his tall glass of beer. “It was supposed to be my last meal, but you screwed that up for me.” Both chuckled dismissively, not wanting to dwell on one of the most harrowing episodes of their lives. But it was better now, much better.

Scott concealed his absolute relief and contentment behind his cordial and attentive demeanor. Four hours earlier he was pleading with this man not to kill himself, but now he was sitting down to a dinner with him. A massive step was being taken here, and the more he talked with the young man, the more he found himself liking him, empathizing with him and wanting to support him. He wasn’t quite convinced yet that the overall mission would be accomplished with his help, but it was looking up.

The beaming smile on Jason’s face, his youthful chatter and quick, but thoughtful responses brought peace to Scott, confirming that his last ditch effort to bring the boy back from Hell, despite Marrion’s orders, was the right thing to do. He caught Jason staring dreamily into his beer.

“So, Jordan is alive,” he breathed.

“We believe this to be true. But Jason, let’s not jump—”

“To any conclusions,” Jason finished, still smiling. “I know. I’m sorry if I’m all giddy, but the thought of him being alive is overwhelming.” He looked up to Scott with fevered eyes. “He was everything to me: father, brother, best friend, mentor, protector-all of it, encapsulated in this one man.”

“I understand,” Scott acknowledged. “But remember Jason, if you agree to this mission, you will be under contract, under oath and expected to do your best to complete it whether Jordan is alive or not.” The young man nodded pensively.

“I understand. So, about this mission.” Scott was already shaking his head.

“I can’t discuss this now. When we’re with the team in secure spaces, and you’ve been read into your various clearances, we’ll tell you everything.” Jason nodded in acceptance, already familiar with security access procedures.

“Fair enough.” He smiled broadly and raised his beer to Scott. “To the mission! Whatever it is!” Scott raised his beer.

“To you, Jason,” he said in a deliberate tone. “May this be the turning point in your life.” Their glasses tapped while their eyes locked together in a moment of respect and hope. Just then a waitress came out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around Jason, causing Scott to pull back in surprise.

“Mr. Jason! Thank you for coming back!” She squealed as he laughed and hugged her back. “I didn’t expect to see you again for a long time!”He untangled himself and looked to Scott who was smiling amusingly.

“Scott Rivers, this is-”

“Tala, Tala Bantilan!” she intercepted, offering her hand. “It is a pleasure, sir.” Scott smiled and straightened his posture, taking her hand gently.

“Tala. What a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

“Morning star in Tagalog.”

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, still holding her hand. Jason wanted to laugh as he looked at them both, still looking at each other.

“A-HEM!” he coughed purposely, which caused them to release their grasps and look at him. “I think we’re ready to order.” Tala immediately stepped back and pulled out her electronic menu tablet and tapped the number that represented their table. Another tap slid open the menu.

“I’ll take the number four dinner set,” said Jason.

“I’ll take the number eight,” followed Scott. They watched Tala tap the appropriate numbers on the screen.

“Anything else to drink?” she asked.

“Tala, does your bartender have any Hennessy XO?” asked Scott, smiling at Jason.

“Oh, of course!”

“How about a couple of shots, and keep the bottle open for us.” She smiled and nodded.

“Where’s Danilo?” Jason asked.

“He’s off now. Went to the movies with friends. They’ll all be by later to eat, but you both will probably be gone by then.” She leaned over slightly. “Thank you again, Mr. Jason. Thank you for everything.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek and left for the back. He caught Scott’s eyes following her.

“Are you married, Scott?” he said abruptly.

“Divorced, actually. Why?”

“What do you mean why? Tala! Look at her, she’s hot and she obviously likes you!” Scott laughed it off dismissively.

“Nah! She’s not interested in me. I don’t know what you’re looking at.”

“Here you are!” Tala was suddenly at the table putting down their shots of cognac. “Don’t drink too many of these,” she said, playfully tapping her finger tip on Scott’s nose. “You may not make it home tonight!” She curled her lips into an alluring grin and left.

“Oh man! She hella likes you!” giggled Jason, making Scott’s embarrassed face turn a reddish hue. Jason lifted his shot glass and regarded Scott seriously.

“To new beginnings.”

Scott raised his glass in kind.

“To new beginnings.”

“Ring of Fire”

East China Sea

Northwest of Taiwan

Captain Chen Xiwang ordered his pilots to ascend to 40,000 feet. Already above the clouds, he and his five-plane formation continued westerly to their routine patrol grid where they would search for Chinese aircraft approaching Taiwan from the north. The tranquil night sky was blanketed with stars; wind speed was only 11 knots and at their backs; it was the perfect night to try out Taiwan’s newest shipment of military technology from the U.S.

The first batch of 60 newly modified F-15D Strike Eagle air superiority fighters had arrived from the States as part of the newest Taiwan Defense Treaty. Although somewhat ancient by U.S. standards, the fourth-generation F-15 was the most advanced fighter in the Taiwanese inventory, and in the hands of a skilled pilot could be absolutely lethal. Retooled and upgraded, these planes boosted more speed, an enhanced avionics and countermeasures suite, carried more armament and had an extended combat and ferry range than all previous aircraft he’d flown.

Captain Chen’s 41^st Tactical Fighter Group, codenamed “Holy Shield” and home based in Hsinchu, was the first air base to receive the advanced aircraft largely because of him. He had been flying the F-16S Super Falcon, the nation’s top tier fighter, for two years but his missions were evolving and he needed a plane with more power, speed and range. As an elite pilot with more hours of flying against the Chinese than most of his senior staff, Chen defended Taiwan airspace religiously and volunteered for as many sorties as his body would allow. His disdain for Chinese air force was legend, and he devoted himself to pushing them, taunting them and besting them at every opportunity.

No stranger to flying near or into enemy air space, he had a reputation for chasing Chinese jets literally all the way back to their airfields, inviting their coastal air defense batteries and SAM sites to open fire on him on a regular basis. In fact, he had more missiles shot at him than any other Taiwanese pilot in history. His skills were legend, if not foolish. He was reprimanded for his recalcitrant and dangerous aerial stunts on several occasions; and for that, he was passed over for promotion four times.

But privately and within the ranks of the air force, he was venerated as a fearless hero who represented the island nation’s defiant roar in the face of the Chinese lion. He was commended countless times and respected by his fellow aviators and the upper command echelons; and for that, he was given the best planes, the best training, the most flying time and command of a squadron which included pilots of much higher rank. These rewards meant more to him than rank, especially the privilege of flying more advanced American planes.

Chen’s tormenting of China also assisted the overall Pacific theater intelligence efforts. His actions helped the strategic analysis arm of the Taiwan and U.S. Intel communities. Each time he sent the PLA defense forces on alert, either by firing at him or scrambling planes to intercept him, Taiwanese, American and Japanese analysts were able to track and maintain a database on Chinese response times and procedures, force allocations and defense strategies employed. Such Intel could be useful for future decoy or reconnaissance missions.

Any analyst could chart Chen’s gradual intrusion progress and increasing boldness with a map and a calendar. He’d broken Chinese sovereign airspace countless times, crossing territorial waters at 13 miles and spending a few seconds flying over their islands until his radar warning receivers (RWR) picked up SAM sites in reaction mode. As months went by, he’d challenge those sites, their missiles and the local airfields which scrambled jets to intercept him.

With each successive flight he’d go deeper; three miles, five miles, ten miles; flying over villages, cities and industrial complexes. Anticipating the tracking and lock-on procedures of anti-air batteries, he easily escaped missiles using the F-16’s aggressive and crisp maneuverability, advanced radar jammers and electronic countermeasure equipment. He performed these intrusion flights alone, normally peeling off of his formation and flying rogue from there. All this bewildered and infuriated the PLA high command who couldn’t believe that one pilot could repeatedly cross into China in a non-stealth aircraft.

Chen was a pilot who knew the Chinese like no other. His daredevil aggressiveness was equaled and strengthened by his fanatical study of his enemy. He knew the East China Sea and the Chinese coast like it was his backyard, and he flew over it as if it were his personal property; without fear. He knew every island, every landmark and city he flew near or around. He memorized coastal maps, studied satellite imagery and poured over enemy airfield activity reports.

A high-speed video reconnaissance camera was installed under his port wing to record his flights and everything he flew over, which analysts used extensively.

As much as he mastered the terrain, he also knew which air fields were fast responders or slow, vigilant or vulnerable, heavily fortified or scantily protected. He even knew some of the Chinese pilots by their patrol areas and plane registration numbers. He’d get on their comms frequency and verbally harangue them, curse them and call them out for one–on-one air duels. There had been five challengers thus far, yet each one turned tail and ran when Chen outmaneuvered them, and locked cannon or missiles on their planes. For the past two years no Chinese pilot dared challenge him.

His reputation as a pilot so good that he couldn’t be knocked out of the sky, not only intimidated the PLA pilots, but also earned their respect. All along the coast adjacent to the Taiwan Strait, from Fuzhou to Shantou, Chen was known by the Chinese as “Di yu long” or “Dragon from Hell.”

But now the intensity of his missions were about to heat up a few hundred degrees. Given Chen’s commitment to drive further and deeper into China airspace, the high command felt it was time to give him a plane that was not only an air superiority fighter, but one capable of long-range strategic strike objectives. The F-15 was the perfect weapon; and Captain Chen was the perfect warrior to wield it.

“Distance to Chinese airspace?” Chen asked to no one in particular.

“Forty-two kilometers,” answered his wingman, 45 degrees off his starboard quarter. “You going in?”

“You know I’m going in, Gao!” Chen chuckled. “This is our first flight with these beautiful planes; I have to see if they are worth all the money we spent on them.” He heard several pilots from the formation laughing on the radio.

“All right then,” finalized Gao. “We’ll head back to sector four and await your return.”

“Very well. I shouldn’t be long, maybe 20 minutes.”

“Twenty minutes!” Gao exclaimed. “How can you be gone so long?” His comment was met with Chen’s laughter.

“I think I’m going to go window shopping in Fuqing!”

“Fuqing!? That’s 40 miles inland!” Again, Chen’s confident laugh filled the pilots’ helmets.

“Don’t worry, Gao. I’ll be sure to bring you back something from the market!” More laughter flooded their cockpits.

“Just bring back your ass! And the plane!” snickered Gao.

“Understood, Major. I’ll contact you on channel seven if I’m in trouble.”

“Okay Captain, be careful.”

“Roger. Chen, out.” With that, he slid the stick slightly left and down. The jet rolled and dove easily, separating quickly from the formation. He smiled and settled into his seat, his eyes scanning his instruments quickly. In seconds he was into Chinese airspace. He flipped up his visor and looked up. The night was so clear that he could see major constellations. He looked out over the side of his cockpit and saw the twinkling veins and clusters of lights that mapped out the towns and cities below.

By now he knew he was already being tracked by air-search radars and would have to be vigilant with his instruments. He brought the stick down to decrease his altitude. The plane responded like a luxury car; smooth, tight and effortless. He increased the throttle from subsonic to transonic speed, around Mach 1.2. He wouldn’t go supersonic until he detected a threat.

He leveled out at 35,000 feet. The city lights were even brighter and more beautiful at this altitude. Still the radar had not picked up any Chinese fighters. This was strangely disappointing to him. He had hoped to engage them using the

F-15 and drive the pilots wild with fear. But his screens remained empty, his RFR radars remained silent and the night remained beautiful.

Chen veered left 10 degrees to enjoy the view of a massive cluster of sprawling lights that had to be the city of Fuqing. He was enjoying the scene and relishing his apparent invisible flight status so intently, that he couldn’t see the two objects racing towards him at Mach 3.