“The charge was back in the main tunnel. It blew down the entrance.”
Stoner stood. “Help him,” he told the other Marine. “I’m going to see where this hole goes.”
“You think we’re trapped?” asked the Marine. There was no fear in his voice; he might have been asking about the daily special at a restaurant.
“If we are, Danny Freah’ll get us out,” said Stoner. He took his radio out and gave it to the Marine.
“Make sure Captain Freah knows we’re here and take care of your buddy. I won’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Aboard Raven
0220
ZEN RAN H AWK Three ahead of Raven, concentrating on intercepting the first of the planes to be checked, a 767 supposedly chartered by an English tour group headed for China. The Boeing carried identification gear that could be queried to show its identity. As he drew close, Zen used the Ident gear; the registry jibed with the flight that had taken off. The gear was not foolproof, however, and they had to assume that anyone clever enough to manufacture the UAV and a nuclear device would have the wherewithal to fake an ID. Zen pushed the Flighthawk toward the aircraft, needing a visual to make sure the plane was in fact what it said it was.
The massive Boeing lumbered ten miles ahead, flying at 32,000 feet, about 5,000 below the tiny Flighthawk. Zen checked Hawk Four in the bottom screen—he’d had the computer take her in to be topped off, getting potential fuel problems out the way—then nudged Hawk Three’s nose gently earthward so he could get a look under the 767’s wings. He had to check his speed, however; Raven had slowed to complete the refuel, and he got a warning from C3that the connection was about to break.
“Zen, be advised we have some communications coming off the target plane indicating there are passengers aboard,” said Wes Brown, one of the Elint operators. “Cell phone communications.”
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“Roger that,” said Zen.
The infrared cameras on the Flighthawk synthesized an image for Zen in the main screen, gradually sharpening their focus as he pulled closer to the tail of the massive airliner.
Clean.
“They don’t have a UAV,” Zen told Dog.
“Copy that,” said Colonel Bastian.
“Think they have a bomb aboard?” asked Zen.
“I doubt it, but the Taiwanese authorities are looking for a divert field so it can be inspected. Let ’em know you’re there, see how they react.”
Zen tucked his wing and slid away from the airplane, running down and then coming back up close to the cockpit area. As he rose, he contacted the pilot, asking him to identify himself. Though there was surprise in his voice, nothing the civilian captain said indicated he was flying anything but a charter packed with tourists. The sensors on the Flighthawk couldn’t get a comprehensive read on the interior of the moving plane, but there were clearly passengers aboard.
“Taiwanese are sending two F-5s north for him,” said Dog. “They’re going to order him home.”
“Roger that.”
“I have our second target north at one hundred miles, making 400 knots. We’ll take him next.”
“Hawk leader,” said Zen, acknowledging.
Pentagon, Washington, D.C.
1420
JEDBARCLAY LISTENEDas the secretary of defense and the secretary of state debated whether to inform the Communist Chinese of what was going on. The Mainlanders were already scrambling aircraft, probably in response to the Taiwan activity.
“They’ll just shoot all the planes down,” said Secretary of Defense Chastain. “I would.”
“If a nuclear device is exploded in China, they will retaliate,” answered Hartman.
“Not necessarily,” said the defense secretary.
“That’s what Chen Lee is counting on,” said the secretary of state. “It’s insanity.”
Jed glanced at the video screen from the White House, where his boss was sitting with the President, listening to the debate. Before leaving to come over here, Jed had given Freeman a briefing paper from the CIA that argued that Mainland China would not nuke Taiwan; instead, they’d invade the island using conventional forces. An appendix to the paper suggested that the communists would threaten America with nuclear missiles if it interfered.
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“Can we stop all of the aircraft that have taken off in the last hour before they’re over China?” asked the President.
“We can get close,” said Jed. “But there’s no guarantee that we can stop them.”
“We can shoot them down ourselves,” suggested Hartman.
“In that case, I’d rather inform the Chinese and let them do it,” said the President.
“Then they may consider it a first strike and retaliate,” said Hartman. “They may obliterate Taiwan.”
“We’re not even sure that Chen launched his plane,” noted Freeman. “Let’s give the Dreamland people a little more time to work on it.”
“The way the intercepts are lined up right now,” said Jed, checking the feed from Dreamland that gave the planes’ positions, “Colonel Bastian is going to fly into Chinese territory just off the coast to check that last flight.”
“Then that’s what they’ll have to do,” said the President.
Aboard Raven
0250
THERE WERE NOWfour different flights of interceptors within fifty miles of Raven, two from Mainland China and two from Taiwan. The Taiwan flights—all F-5Es—were out at the end of their normal operating radius and would have to return to base fairly soon. The Mainland interceptors were J-8s, grouped in twos and also getting close to bingo. A pair of JJ-2 “Midgets” ordinarily used for training and not particularly adept at night operations were also in the air over Wenzhou on the coast, but were probably not much of a threat to anyone but themselves. Dog’s crew had its hands full sorting through the intercepted communications; Zen, meanwhile, pressed on toward the next craft they had been tasked to intercept, a 767 cargo craft.
“We’re on the Chinese ground intercept radars,” reported the copilot. “Tracking us. They’ll vector the fighters at us any second.”
Dog grunted in acknowledgment. A pair of spanking new Taiwanese Mirage 2000s had just selected afterburners, pushing their delta-winged airframes north to come up and take a look what was going on.
“Target plane is at ten miles,” said Zen. “Ident checks. Hailing him.”
One of the communist flights did the same to Raven, telling Dog he was violating Chinese airspace.
“Bullshit,” said Delaney. “We’re more than fifty miles off the coast.”
“Standard Chinese practice,” said Dog.
“Like I said, bullshit.”
Dog answered that they were in international airspace and pursuing their flight plan. While true as far as it went, the statement was not particularly informative, and the Chinese pilot countered that the American Page 214
plane had better turn around.
“What’s his controller telling him?” Dog asked Wes, who was listening in on the frequency.
“Telling him to challenge us and take no nonsense or something along those lines,” said Wes. The transmission was in Mandarin, but the computer gear aboard Raven included a competent on-the-fly translator.
“Activating his weapons radar,” warned Delaney. “Asshole.”
The J-8 challenging them was roughly fifty miles away, and flying a nearly parallel course—there was no way the aircraft could hit the Megafortress with anything but four-letter words.
“Want to go to ECMs?” asked the copilot.
“Let’s not give him the satisfaction.”
Sure enough, the communist pilot gave up a few seconds later, turning back toward his base on the Mainland.
THE 767 APPEAREDon Zen’s screen, a blur at eight miles away. While the ID checked out, the pilot had not answered Zen’s hail.