Dancing with the Dragon (2002) (22 page)

"Excellent."

"Do I get an in-flight movie?"

"Now, the movies are reserved for the pilot."

Jackie glanced at two F/A-18s taking off in formation. "How are things in the wheelhouse?"

"Well, all the bells and whistles are quiet."

"That's always a good sign."

Scott completed his takeoff checklist as they approached the end of the runway. "Ready to go?"

Jackie keyed her ICS. "Yeah, I just hope everyone is on time."

"They will be."

"You're such an optimist."

He laughed under his oxygen mask. "It's contagious, you know." "Well, I haven't caught it yet."

Just before reaching the runway, Scott called the tower for permission to take off. The response was immediate.

Dalton keyed his radio. "Spooky Four-Fourteen is on the roll."

He added power and made a normal short takeoff. Seconds after leaving the runway, Scott raised the landing gear and flaps and began accelerating to his climb profile.

"Spooky Four-One-Four, contact departure control." "Spooky Four-Fourteen switchin' to departure."

After Scott checked in with departure control, he established radio contact on a common frequency with the E-2C Hawkeye and with Wyatt Craine, call sign Rocky Nineteen. Less than two minutes later Dalton leveled off at ten thousand feet and looked at the moon. "At least we'll have some light this evening."

"And so will the Chinese."

San Nicolas Island, Southwest of Los Angeles

Sitting at a universal console, Craine studied his remote control cockpit. It was equipped with a control stick, rudder pedals, wheel brakes, throttle control, and instruments to fly and navigate without reference to any outside stimulus. The integrated target control system employed a nose-mounted television camera on the QF-4S Phantom that allowed the operator to make remote takeoffs and landings.

The drone's capability was the same as that of a regular McDonnell Douglas F-4. The powerful fighter was capable of Mach 2.2 and had a service ceiling of sixty thousand feet. Other specifics of the QF-4S were classified, but the 82d Aerial Targets Squadron (ATRS) from Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida, and Craine's unit had developed proven techniques for safely flying and maneuvering four airplanes in close formation.

Craine keyed his radio. "Spooky Four-Fourteen, say your posit." "We're seventeen southeast at base plus four." Scott checked his instrument panel. "Ah, lookin' for a turkey."

"You have a bird on the way."

"Copy, Rocky Nineteen."

With Hartwell Prost sitting close to him, Craine taxied the QF-4S onto the runway and carefully aligned the aircraft for takeoff. He held the brakes and turned on the normal exterior lights, then checked his wristwatch for the umpteenth time and keyed his mike. "Prime Time Six-Oh-Two, do you copy Rocky One-Nine?"

"Rocky," the systems operator in the E-2C Hawkeye radioed, "Prime Time Six-Oh-Two has you and Spooky five-by."

"Copy." Craine mentally prepared himself to fly the drone. "Rocky Nineteen is launching a bird."

"We're standing by," the Hawkeye systems operator said, as he watched the Harrier on his radar screen.

Prost adjusted his radio headset and closely watched the former fighter pilot. Craine continued to hold the Phantom's brakes and eased the throttles forward. With the powerful engines winding up to full song, he released the brakes.

The drone rapidly accelerated. Craine waited, correcting for a slight left drift, then eased back on the control stick. Once the console instruments indicated that the. F-4 had a positive rate of climb, Craine raised the landing gear and flaps.

The fighter plane thundered across the water and began a steep climb in the Whiskey-289 Warning Area. Out of ten thousand feet, Craine eased the power back and leveled the Phantom at twelve thousand feet and three hundred knots. He gently banked the aircraft to head toward the appointed rendezvous holding pattern and then began a wide circle to the left.

Spooky 414

With only a thin trace of daylight left Scott turned the Harrier's external lights off and began searching for the Phantom. Seen from ten thousand feet, the brightest stars were twinkling like faceted diamonds. Dalton's eyes rapidly adjusted to the dark. The moonscape had slowly changed from pale yellow to diaphanous silver.

Scott keyed his intercom. "It should be at about our one to two o'clock in a wide left orbit."

"I'm looking," Jackie said, rigging her camera and camcorder fog instant use. "I don't see anything."

"Spooky Four-One-Four, Prime Time."

"Spooky Four-Fourteen," Scott replied.

The Hawkeye systems operator studied his radar screen. "Come starboard about fifteen degrees."

"Fifteen right."

"Your playmate is level at base plus six, two o'clock high." "Copy." Scott had a request for Craine. "Rocky, how about the fireworks? We need some light."

"Stand by."

Three seconds later the F-4 came alive with flashing white strobe lights on each wingtip and the tail. Like the midday sun a bright, reddish-orange glow emanated from the empty cockpit.

"That would get anyone's attention," Jackie said in awe.

"Yeah, it certainly is different."

She snapped a couple of quick photos and reached for the camcorder.

Scott keyed his radio. "Rocky, your boys have certainly outdone themselves."

"Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Oh, by all means."

"Rocky Nineteen," the E-2C operator said, "our pilots want to know how much of California you could power with that system--help them out with their energy problem."

Craine ignored the remark and clicked his transmit button. Spooky, do you think you'll be able to fly form on it?"

"Can you regulate the intensity or turn off part of the package--tone it down some?"

"I'm afraid not. They fabricated the system in record time, and it's all or nothing--sorry about that."

"Okay, no problem. If you'll just turn it off until we rendezvous and position ourselves."

"Lights out. Tell me when you want 'em on."

"We'll do it," Scott said, watching the Phantom momentarily disappear in the sea of flickering stars. "What's the drone's speed?"

"Three hundred even at twelve thousand. I'll keep it in a shallow left bank until you get aboard."

"Thanks." Scott reversed to the left and began climbing and turning inside the Phantom to follow a constant bearing line to the F-4. The radios remained quiet while Scott searched for the drone.

"Do you have it?" Jackie anxiously asked.

"Yeah, barely."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for a midair."

"Don't worry, I can't afford the payments on a new Harrier." "Yeah, the general would have your ass . . . ets."

Scott adjusted the Harrier's speed to 315 knots and closed on the left side of the F-4. As Dalton got closer, he eased the power back until he was stabilized in a loose parade position. He smoothly added a touch of power and crossed under the Phantom, then drifted out to a relaxed location at the drone's four o'clock position.

"Lights."

"Comin' on."

Scott studied the glowing empty cockpit of the F-4 and keyed the intercom. "Look, Ma, no pilot."

"That doesn't give me any warm fuzzies. It just isn't natural to see a plane flying around with no one at the controls."

"I feel the same way."

Scott radioed Craine. "Rocky Nineteen, we're finally aboard and ready to head for the carrier."

"Prime Time," Craine said, "what's a good heading for Lincoln?' "One-eight-zero."

"Copy."

Dalton and Craine remained silent while the formation turned south toward the carrier and the cargo ships.

Scott called the Hawkeye. "Okay, Prime Time, Spooky Four-Fourteen is ready for our first look-see."

"We have one ship, the Kapitan Zhirnovsky, at Mother's seven o'clock for fifty-five miles. The other ship is at Mother's three for thirty-seven. Your choice, Spooky."

"We're closer to the Chen Ziyang,"Jackie suggested.

"Let's take the target at Mom's three for thirty-seven." Scott mentally figured a heading of 205 degrees to the cargo ship.

"Steer two-zero-zero," the systems operator said.

"Two hundred on the heading. We'd like to pick up the speed and descend to eight thousand."

"Spooky is cleared as requested," the Hawkeye operator radioed, then added, "the area is clear of traffic, maneuver at your own discretion."

"Copy, Spooky Four-Fourteen." Scott keyed the ICS. "Okay, Jackie, are you ready to make the first pass?"

"As ready as I'll ever get. Let's take it down and see what we find." "Rocky, we're ready to descend to eight thousand and pick it up to five hundred knots."

Wearing his own headset and microphone, Hartwell Prost nervously chewed on an unlit cigar while he listened to the action.

Craine keyed his radio. "Starting down and coming up on the power."

Hartwell's assistant, Juanita Trujillo, was monitoring a secure link to President Macklin and Secretary of Defense Pete Adair at the White House.

"Prime Time, Spooky."

"Go."

"Do we have all the recon players on line?"

"That's affirm, Spooky. We're good to go--you're the star of the show."

Scott checked again to make sure his exterior lights were turned off. "Jackie, I have an idea."

"Shoot."

"Let's keep the camcorder on the ship and continuously record until we break off and depart."

"You don't want any still photos?"

"If we're dealing with a laser-based weapon, we'd probably miss it with a regular camera, even if you were snapping pictures as fast as possible."

"Makes sense--I've got the camcorder ready."

"Good."

Scott moved farther away from the Phantom while his eyes darted around the cockpit. Convinced that everything was normal, he glanced at the altimeter. They were descending through 8,400 feet. Dalton continued to move away from the drone. Leveling at
8,000 feet and 505 knots, Scott judged his distance from the F-4 at 200 yards.

"Spooky," the controller radioed, "Prime Time."

"Go."

"Come right five degrees, your target is at twelve o'clock, ten miles."

"We're looking."

"Spooky, we have confirmation that the ship is slowing and that it isn't showing any lights."

"Copy." Scott looked for any sign of a ship's wake. "They're probably monitoring all of our frequencies."

"Yeah, for sure," the Hawkeye operator said. "They obviously know something is up."

"But the question is," Scott said to Jackie, "will they show their hand?"

"We won't know until we try."

"Rocky," Scott radioed, "I can't see much from here. Let's take it down to four thousand."

"Down to four." Craine eased the drone's nose down and tweaked the throttles. "Still want five hundred knots?"

"You can leave the power where it is, uh, and come back left a few degrees--need to be in a little closer."

"Rocky Nineteen."

"Six miles," the Hawkeye operator warned.

"Do you have anything yet?" Jackie asked, trying to sound calm. "Not yet."

Seconds later Scott caught a telltale glimpse of a ship's wake. "There, down to the left--see it?"

Jackie surveyed the ocean, and then saw the slowly vanishing wake. "I have it--the video is running."

"Great," Dalton said, then switched to the radio. "Rocky, let's ease it out to the right a little bit, about five degrees of bank."

"Coming right." Craine expertly maneuvered the F-4 Phantom away from the ship.

Hartwell Prost chewed his cigar and watched the remote control panel.

"Three miles," the systems operator said.

"Okay, Rocky, level the wings," Scott said calmly. "I have a tally on the ship, looks like it's almost dead in the water and completely blacked out."

Craine concentrated on flying the Phantom as smoothly as humanly possible. "Just let me know when you want to come left." "Will do."

Scott concentrated his attention on the Chen Ziyangand leveled off at 4,000 feet. Abeam the ship and a mile away, Dalton keyed the mike. "Okay, Rocky, let's start a shallow, climbing turn to the left."

"Coming up on the power." Craine banked the F-4 to the left. Flying in very loose formation, Scott glanced at the ship and keyed the ICS. "Keep your eyes open."

"Open? I haven't blinked in three minutes."

Passing through ninety degrees of the turn and 9,300 feet, Jackie sharply sucked in her breath. "Nine to ten o'clock high." "I see it!" Scott focused on the brilliant bluish-white object. It streaked down from high above the jets and made an astonishing turn, then shot directly over the Phantom.