Executive Intent Read online

  PROLOGUE

  The greatest obstacle to discovery is not ignorance-it is the illusion of knowledge.

  – DANIEL J. BOORSTIN

  IN THE SOUTH CHINA SEA, 500 MILES SOUTH OF HONG KONG

  WINTER 2010

  “Who the hell is this again?” the lead pilot of the formation of U.S. Navy F/A-18E Super Hornets radioed.

  “Hydra flight, I say again, this is Armstrong,” the unknown female controller repeated. “We have a visual on your single-ship bogey. How do you copy?”

  “Stand by, Armstrong.” The pilot switched over to his interplane frequency. “Lego, you have any idea who this skirt is?”

  “Sure, Timber,” the pilot of the second Hornet in the formation replied. “They told us they’d be on tactical freq but they didn’t say they’d be talking to us. You must’ve been late to the briefing.”

  “Well, who is she?”

  “It’s the space station,” the wingman replied. “Armstrong Space Station. Remember? The big-ass UFO-‘Unwanted Floating Object.’”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, the damned Air Force,” the lead pilot complained. He remembered the briefing now: The Air Force’s military space station, Armstrong-what the Air Force was calling the headquarters of the U.S. Space Defense Force, although there was as yet no such thing-was conducting a test to see if its network of satellites could provide long-range surveillance data to tactical forces around the world. Instead of spying on big targets like enemy military bases, the Air Force wanted to see if they had enough capability to watch over and even direct forces right down to individual aircraft, ships, and squads. “Hey, Hydra One, is this for real?”

  “Timber, this is an operational test,” the CAG, or Carrier Air Group commander, radioed from the USS George H. W. Bush, steaming about four hundred miles away. His radio messages were being relayed via an E-2C Hawkeye radar plane orbiting nearby. “If they can’t keep up, we’ll terminate. Otherwise, play along.”

  “Rog,” the leader responded resignedly. Back on the tactical frequency: “Armstrong, Hydra flight, what do you got?”

  In response, the F/A-18’s MFD, or Multi-Function Display, changed to show the Hornets and the single unidentified aircraft they were pursuing. The Hornet’s radar was in standby, but the display looked as if the radar was transmitting and locked on. The fire control computer was using the information from the space station to compute intercepts, weapon parameters, and was even reporting ready to steer radar-guided missiles-all as if the Hornet’s own radar was providing the information!

  “You getting this, Timber?” the wingman radioed. “Pretty fucking cool.”

  “We get the same dope from the Hawkeye.”

  “Negatory. Select F11.”

  The leader noticed the flashing soft key on the edge of his MFD and pressed it-and to his amazement saw a video image of a large fighter aircraft with two immense weapons or tanks under its wings. It wasn’t a still image either-they could actually see the crewmembers through the canopy glass moving about and the ocean racing underneath. “Is that the bogey?” he asked incredulously. He keyed the button for the tactical frequency. “Armstrong, is that our bogey?”

  “Affirmative,” the controller aboard the space station replied, the satisfaction in her voice evident. She seemed a lot older than most of the female Navy controllers he was accustomed to working with. “Coming at you at the speed of live. I make it as a Sukhoi-34 Fullback. I can’t verify any markings, and we can’t positively identify what it’s carrying, but they look like antiship missiles.”

  Well, the leader thought, that was pretty cool. But it didn’t replace Mark One eyeballs. “I’m impressed, Armstrong,” he said, “but we still gotta go in and do a visual.”

  “Roger,” the Armstrong controller said. “I can’t give you bull’ seye vectors, but I can give you BRA picture calls.”

  The Air Force gadgets were cool, for sure, and the leader was even impressed that the lady Air Force controller knew the difference between “bull’s-eye” vectors-bearings relative to a prebriefed reference point used instead of the fighter’s own location so an enemy that might pick up their broadcast couldn’t use the information to pinpoint the fighter itself-and less secure BRA calls, or bearing-range-altitude from the fighter’s nose. But this was a real mission, not playtime-it was time to go to work. “Negative, Armstrong, we’ll be talking to our own controller for the intercept. Break. Spinner Three, Hydra One-Two-One flight, bogeydope.”

  “Roger, Hydra flight, ‘Wicker’ Two-Zero-Zero at niner-five, medium, single ship,” the weapons director aboard the E-2C Hawkeye airborne radar controller responded. The “bogeydope” call meant that the Hornet pilot was not using his radar but was relying on the Hawkeye’s radar information for the position of the unidentified aircraft he had been sent to pursue. “Wicker” was the designation of the “bull’s-eye” they’d use for the intercept.

  Of course, the pilot already had the target’s information, because the digital electronic datalink between all American aircraft around the world displayed the Hawkeye’s radar data on the Hornet’s primary flight display as if he was using his radar. The Hornet pilot was an old stick-in fact, he was the squadron operations officer-so he kept on using voice brevity codes even though his reports were all redundant. But the weapons director on the Hawkeye was a veteran, too, and he still liked the voice reports. As long as the radios weren’t saturated and the situation was routine, a little chatter was allowed.

  The unknown aircraft had been detected by the E-2C Hawkeye while over five hundred miles from the aircraft carrier George H. W. Bush and its battle group, and the Bush had immediately launched the “Ready-5” F/A-18E Super Hornet fighters, put more fighters on the number one and two catapults, and prepared to launch buddy air refueling tankers as well. All of the alert Hornets were armed with two radar-guided AIM-120 AMRAAM air-to-air missiles under each wing, one AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking missile on each wingtip, and 578 rounds of twenty-millimeter ammunition for its cannon, plus a 480-gallon fuel tank on a centerline stores station.

  By the time the Hornets caught up with the bogey it was inside three hundred miles to the carrier and still closing. “Flying less than four hundred knots, Timber-gotta be a patrol plane, not a Sukhoi-34,” the wingman radioed, reading the datalinked information streaming from the Hawkeye. “It looked like a fighter, but he’s flying awfully-”

  Just then the radar warning receiver bleeped. “Not so fast, Lego,” the lead pilot responded. “X-band radar-airborne fire control. He’s tracking us. Going active.” The lead pilot activated his APG-79 radar and immediately locked onto the aircraft. “Fence check, Lego, pull ’em tight.”

  “I’m ready to rock-and-roll, Lead,” the wingman reported a moment later.

  “Roger that. Take spacing.” As the wingman moved away to a higher altitude and dropped back a little to be able to launch an attack on the unknown aircraft if necessary, the leader switched his number two radio to the international UHF emergency channel: “Unidentified aircraft, this is U.S. Navy interceptor aircraft, we are at your eleven o’clock position and one thousand feet above you. You are heading toward an American warship. We are maneuvering around you for visual identification. Please acknowledge.”

  “American Navy interceptor aircraft, this is Yu One-Four of the People’s Liberation Army Navy,” a heavily accented voice responded after a slight but disconcerting silence. “We have you on radar contact. Please identify type aircraft.”

  “Yu One-Four, this is Hydra One-Two-One flight of two, F/A-18 Hornets, United States Navy.” Normally he wouldn’t say how many planes were in his flight, but that was a pretty powerful radar this guy had-no doubt he already knew. “Say your type aircraft, please.”

  “Yu One-Four is a Jian Hong-37N, single ship.” The tone was conversational and pleasant, almost jovial.

  “A JH-37?” the wingman remarked. “What the hell is that? Is that like a JH-7?”

  “Yu One-Four, roger,” the leader
responded. “Please say armament if any.”

  “Repeat, please, Hydra One-Two-One?”

  “Are you armed, One-Four? Any weapons?”

  “Weapons. Yes. We have weapons. Am not permitted to reveal type.”

  “Yu One-Four, you are headed directly toward an American warship in international waters,” the leader said. “We will conduct a visual inspection of your aircraft.”

  “Please stay well clear, Hydra One-Two-One. Do not approach.” The tone now was still pleasant, like a friend gently reminding of possible danger ahead.

  “If you continue your present course, Yu One-Four, we will conduct a visual inspection. Please reverse course, or maintain present speed and altitude for our visual inspection.”

  “Close flying is not permitted, Hydra One-Two-One.” More officious now, but still pleasant.

  “Hydra, Spinner, threat, ten o’clock,” the Hawkeye weapons director radioed on the number one radio, advising the Hornets that they were within ten miles of an unidentified aircraft.

  “Hydra One-Two-One flight is ‘judy,’ going in for a closer look,” the leader radioed back. On the secondary radio he said, “I say again, Yu One-Four, do not make any sudden maneuvers.”

  “Hydra flight, this is Armstrong,” a different, more urgent male voice from the space station cut in. “We got a better-angle look at his weapons, and we think they’re AS-17s, repeat, AS-17s.” The Russian-made AS-17 was one of the most feared air-to-surface weapons in the world, carrying a large high-explosive or small nuclear warhead over one hundred miles at speeds in excess of Mach 3. “I recommend you launch your alert fighters in case this guy is hostile.”

  “Tallyho, Timber,” the wingman radioed. “Eleven o’clock on the horizon.”

  “Tally,” the leader responded after spotting the target a moment later. “Armstrong, we’re tied on visual, we’ll take it from here, okay?” His voice was a little more irritable than he wanted, but this close to a Chinese fighter so far from the ship made things more and more tense, and the unfamiliar voices coming from space weren’t helping to make the tactical picture any clearer.

  The bogey was a tiny light dot in the distance, about three miles away. The lead pilot took a quick glance out the starboard side to be sure where his wingman was-high and to his right, able to watch the bogey, his leader, his radar, and his instruments without having to concentrate on formation flying-then began a slow turn as the Chinese aircraft began to pass off his left. The Chinese fighter’s radar remained locked onto them the whole way, even from behind-that had to be sophisticated fire control radar to remain locked on even directly astern. That got the lead Hornet’s blood pumping even faster, and he kept the power up to quicken the intercept.

  It was the first time either American had seen a Sukhoi-34 fighter, one of the newest and most high-tech combat aircraft in the world. It was a big aircraft, larger than an American F-15 Eagle or F-14 Tomcat-much larger than the Hornet-with twin vertical tails and a large cockpit area with a large bulge behind the canopy. It was painted in light blue gray, making it hard to see against the sky or the sea, with large bright red numerals on the side below the cockpit and a red star with red stripes on either side on the aft fuselage-definitely Chinese naval aircraft markings. The aircraft had canard foreplanes just below and behind the cockpit, and the Hornet leader could see cooling vents around what appeared to be a very large-caliber cannon muzzle on the right side. “I’ll be damned-it sure is a friggin’ Russian Sukhoi-34 Fullback,” the lead pilot exclaimed. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. But it’s in Chinese colors. And it’s carrying those two big honkin’ missiles. I’m moving in for a closer look.”

  The closer the leader maneuvered his Super Hornet to the Chinese plane, the more shocked he became. “Lego, he’s got freaky huge missiles under the wings,” he radioed to his wingman. “They have to be twenty feet long and weigh three tons each. One under each wing. No other weapons visible.”

  “If he’s got antiship missiles, he’s outta here.”

  “Roger that.” On the secondary radio he said, “Yu One-Four, this is Hydra flight, you are carrying unidentified weapons that appear to be offensive long-range antiship missiles. You are not permitted to fly within two hundred miles of any United States warship with such weapons. You are instructed to reverse course and depart the area. Acknowledge.”

  “American interceptors, you may not interfere with any peaceful flight over international waters,” the Chinese pilot radioed. The friendly tone was completely nonexistent now. “Terminate your dangerous close flying immediately and leave us alone.”

  “Lego, get on the horn to ‘home plate,’ confirm they are listening in, and ask for instructions,” the lead pilot radioed.

  “Two.”

  On the secondary channel the Hornet pilot said, “Chinese warplane Yu One-Four, this is Hydra One-Two-One flight, U.S. Navy, on GUARD, this is an air defense warning in the clear, you are carrying two suspected offensive antiship missiles and are headed directly for U.S. warships in international waters.” This description was for the benefit of his own ship’s cockpit voice recorders, for the recorders aboard the Hawkeye radar plane, as well as for recordings made by any other nearby ships who were certainly listening in. “I am ordering you to reverse course immediately or you may be fired on without further warning. Comply immediately. This is your final warning.”

  “CAG says two hundred is the brick wall, Timber,” the wingman reported. “Based on your description, intel says he might be carrying AS-17 Kryptons. That checks with what Armstrong told us.”

  “I dunno-they look bigger than Kryptons,” the lead pilot responded. The AS-17 had been used by the Russians against targets in the United States during their attacks in 2004, and the whole world was now well familiar with those deadly weapons, as well as with the other supersonic and hypersonic weapons in the Russian arsenal.

  “The Ready-Five is airborne,” the wingman added.

  “Rog. Okay, we’ll climb the ladder as usual and see what he does. Light him up.”

  “Two.” The wingman selected his “MASTER ARM” switch from “SAFE” to “ARM” and selected an AIM-120 missile. With the Chinese aircraft designated as the target, the fire control computer changed the pulse-rate frequency of the radar signal for target tracking, which would show up on most radar-threat warning receivers as a locked-on warning. No reaction from the Chinese jet.

  “Two-fifty,” the wingman reminded his leader.

  “Rog. I’m moving to his left side.” The lead Hornet quickly climbed and slid over the Chinese plane’s canopy and flew beside the plane close enough to see the rank patches on the Chinese pilot’s flight suit. The pilot continued looking straight ahead, but the Hornet leader could see the weapons officer staring back at him cross-cockpit, occasionally making some kind of gestures.

  “You giving me the finger, buddy? Here’s my reply.” The Hornet pilot armed his weapons, selected the twenty-millimeter cannon, and fired a one-second burst. The Chinese pilot made a brief glance at the Hornet but then looked straight ahead again. The weapons officer stopped gesturing and seemed frozen in surprise. “Are you getting the picture yet, boys?” the Hornet pilot said. But the JH-37 did not alter course. “Okay, we’ll try-”

  And at that instant the lead Hornet pilot saw a brief burst of heavy machine-gun fire from the right-side cannon, the reverberations of that cannon fire rumbling through space and easily felt in the Hornet. “Bastard fired his cannon!” the leader reported. “Felt like a thirty-mike.” He didn’t need a reminder to stay away from the Chinese fighter’s nose, but he got one anyway.

  “Five minutes, Timber,” the wingman said. “How ’bout I buzz him?”

  “I don’t want you within range of that cannon. It’s gotta be a thirty-millimeter.”

  “Then how about I do a handstand on his ass?”

  The leader thought about it for a moment, then said, “Okay, c’mon in.”

  The wingman shut down the radar lock, mov
ed his weapons switch back to “SAFE,” then descended and closed in on the Chinese fighter. The leader moved away from the fighter. “Little more…little more…down a touch…” the leader said, directing his wingman closer until he was directly above and slightly ahead of the Chinese attack plane. “Okay, Lego, hit ’em.”

  The wingman abruptly raised his nose almost to vertical and fed in full afterburner power, directing his jet blast directly down on the Chinese fighter from just a few yards away. That did the trick. The JH-37 looked as if it had completely stopped flying, and it started a drastic wobbly descent.

  “How does that feel, bitch?” For a moment the Hornet leader was afraid the JH-37 wasn’t going to recover, but after nearly flat-spinning and descending a couple thousand feet or so, it finally stabilized. It was off-heading perhaps twenty degrees, but its course was still aimed in the direction of the USS Bush. “Lego, c’mon back around, radio home plate that the bandit is still heading in and request permission to shoot.”

  “Two.”

  The Hornet leader descended slightly and slowed to keep the JH-37 in sight. It was now about thirty degrees offset, but it definitely wasn’t reversing course. “Don’t make me spank you, buddy,” the Hornet leader said to himself. “Bring it around or I’ll-”

  And at that instant his jaw dropped open, his eyes bulged, and his mouth turned instantly dry…because the large missile on the JH-37’s left wing dropped into space, the engine ignited with a tremendous tongue of yellow fire, and it shot ahead with a massive glob of fire and a trail of white smoke. Seconds later, the second antiship missile dropped free and launched as well!

  “Holy shit…home plate, home plate, Hydra One-Two-One, Vampire, Vampire, Vampire!” he shouted on the number one radio, using the brevity code “vampire” for launch of an enemy antiship missile. “Two Vampires in the air! Lego, I’m clearing to the east and high, nail this bastard!”

  “Two cleared in hot…fox two!” Seconds later, the AIM-9 Sidewinder missile hit the Chinese fighter, sending it out of control and spinning into the South China Sea.