Brother's Keeper. Joaquin De Torres
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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.
Chapter 5
The Die is Cast
Deep Strike Command
Yokosuka, Japan
Bob Marrion shook his head in despair. He exhaled laboriously and looked back up to the massive wall-mounted screen in his conference room. Divided evenly in two large squares were the members of this video call: NSA Imagery Director and OPTICA specialist Carol Bishop, and NSA China Forces Analysis Director, Laura Chang. The news these women brought was ill-timed and unwelcomed to Marrion who in just two hours would host the most important meeting of his career. Nevertheless, the news was critical and possessed damning implications that would directly impact his later meeting.
“Go on,” said Marrion.
“As you know, OPTICA monitors the Chinese coast along the strait and all of the Ring,” stated Bishop. “We are particularly interested when Taiwanese pilots are fired upon for infringing into Chinese airspace. We’re able to pinpoint mobile launching platforms and fixed sites for our databases and for the Taiwanese analysts.”
“You were mentioning something disturbing,” Marrion lead.
“Yes, Admiral. While it is pretty much routine how the Chinese react to such intrusions, last night’s incident made our analysts conclude that the stealth missile, the “Dragon Fang”-is now being deployed, or at least being tested.”
“Are you sure?” Marrion’s face was now etched in worry.
“Look at this OPTICA overview map, Admiral.” The screen partitioned, separating the women; between them was a detailed map of the China coast, the Taiwan Strait, and Taiwan proper. “The red dots show the fixed SAM sites; the green dots show the mobile sites, and the red stars show airfields. Laura, jump in whenever you like. Now this is a static OPTICA image from last night. Everything is in place. It was a clear, starry night over the Fujian province.”
Bishop enhanced the image and zoomed down. “Now look at the image from 40,000 feet. Beautiful. You can see the city and village lights, roads, everything. Now let’s go to 35,000 feet. There. See that speck?” Bishop’s electronic pointer highlighted a dot.
“What is it?” Marrion asked as he squinted his eyes. Bishop increased the zoom by 100. Marrion sat back, looking at an amazingly clear rendering of a dark plane.
“It’s an F-15, Admiral,” mentioned Chang. “A Taiwanese
F-15 from the Holy Shield squadron out of Hsinchu.”
“Look how far inland it is! That must be more than 30 miles from the coast!”
“Forty-five miles to be exact, sir.”
“Who is it? And what’s it doing in there?”
“That would be Captain Chen, Admiral,” answered Chang bluntly. Marrion looked at both women incredulously.
“The Captain Chen? Famous for his aerial skills and his notorious jaunts into Chinese airspace?”
“That’s him.”
“So, what’s this all have to do with the Dragon Fangs?”
“Before I answer that question, Admiral, first look at these images from past Captain Chen intrusions.” Bishop used her slideshow button to slide various images across the screen. “In all of these images, we can see SAM and anti-air gun sites lighting up the sky with tracers, firing at Chen. These shots show his skill in escape maneuvers. He’s never taken a single hit.” The screen reverted back to last night’s image.
“He’s damn good,” breathed Marrion.
“Probably the best Taiwanese pilot they have,” added Chang.
“But there’s something else, Admiral,” continued Bishop. “In those shots you’ve just seen, Chen had not ventured more than three or four miles inland before they opened fire. Now look at last night’s image again. He was 45 miles deep and still not one battery, not one SAM site opened fire. Look at the difference again.” She put up one of the past images next