Red Tide

the deck. His arm snapped forward. That was the signal for the deck edge operator to press the launch button. Greer felt as if an elephant were sitting on his lap as the plane hurled forward. Then everything became a blur as the end of the deck rushed at him.
Within seconds the screeching, whirring, and hissing noises associated with a takeoff were replaced by a steady hum. Greer was airborne, but not just airborne, he was a fucking target.
Most of the action was taking place at around 20,000 feet over Luzon. That’s where the Chinese Shenyang J-15s were trying to fire ship killers at the American strike force while American F-18s sought to shoot them down.
But Greer, along with Lieutenant Katie “Soccer Mom” Bowers, had orders to go after the enemy carrier. And to accomplish that it didn’t make sense to go high.
Greer kept his F/A-18E Super Hornet 200 feet above the waves and therefore well below Chinese radar. A quick glance confirmed that Bowers was off his left wing and hanging back.
Luzon was a dark line up ahead at first. Then the island took on more definition, turned green, and flashed below. Greer knew where the Chinese carrier was because his plane knew. Had they been spotted yet? Hell no, Greer decided. And I know that because I’m alive.
It seemed logical to suppose that most of the Chinese J-15s were to the east, attacking the group, and equally logical to assume that two or three were flying CAP (combat air patrol) over the enemy flattop. They would be at twenty thou or so. That would allow them to dive on the Americans.
But before the Chinese pilots could intervene, the American pilots would try to hit the carrier with AG-88 HARMs (High-speed Anti-Radiation Missiles). The HARMs were designed to home in on the ship’s main surface-to-air radars, as well as those that controlled the carrier’s close-in weapons systems.
And Greer knew that if the effort failed the F-18s would be met by a devastating curtain of 30mm cannon fire. “Gun Daddy to Soccer Mom,” Greer said over the radio. “All HARMs on three. Over.”
“Roger that,” Bowers replied. “On three. Over.”
Each F-18 was carrying four of the anti-radiation missiles for a total of eight. The hope being that at least half of the HARMs would get through.
Greer cleared his throat. “One, two, three. Over.”
“Birds away,” Bowers replied. “Over.”
Once fired, Greer knew the HARMs would take care of themselves. He could see the carrier by then. It was little more than a speck but getting larger with every passing second. “Standby to fire the AGMs. Over.”
The F-18s each carried four AGM-158C Long Range Anti-Ship Cruise Missiles. Unlike previous systems the AGMs could independently target enemy vessels without support from Global Positioning Satellites or data links. And assuming that the HARMs were able to blind the carrier’s anti-air capability, the AGMs were going to pound it.
“All AGMs,” Greer said. “On three. One, two, three. Over.”
“Birds away,” Bowers responded. “Go Navy. Over.”
Flashes were visible ahead as the HARMs struck the carrier. A scant minute passed before the first AGM arrived. Greer would never know how many of the cruise missiles got through before he was forced to pull up and climb. But he saw at least three explosions, and knew that major damage had been done.
There was no time to celebrate. Two Shenyang J-15s were coming down to play, and since his Radar Warning Receiver was buzzing, Greer knew a missile was tracking him.
The F-18’s ECM (electronic counter measures) jammer was on. But, since the Chinese plane was less than twenty miles away, it could burn through Greer’s ECM.
That left Greer with chaff and flares. He fired one of each, went into a hard-right turn, and prepared to fight.
***
Aboard the Chinese aircraft carrier Henan, west of Luzon
The Henan shook like a thing possessed as the anti-radiation missiles struck. Some of them hit the towering structure called “The Island,” which was home to radar installations, flight deck operations, and the bridge where Admiral Wen was standing.
The impacts threw him to the deck. And that’s where Wen was, when a cruise missile slammed into the flight deck, and blew a large hole in it. Alarms sounded as more weapons arrived—each striking a different part of the carrier.
A sailor helped Wen to his feet. Damage reports were flooding in. Senior Captain Kwan was in command of the ship, and it was his job to supervise damage control efforts, and assess the Henan’s readiness to fight.
All Wen could do was stand with hands clasped behind his back, and a scowl on his face, as planes were recalled and ordered to fly CAP above the carrier. And when Kwan delivered his assessment Wen wasn’t surprised.
“The Henan is seaworthy, sir,” Kwan reported. “And the ship can return to port without assistance. But the flight deck was holed in two places. That means we can’t launch or retrieve planes. I recommend that the fighters that have enough fuel return to Yulin. And I suggest the others land on Luzon, consistent with the emergency assistance pact we have with the Philippine government.”
All of that was to be expected. Wen nodded. “I concur. But the battle isn’t over yet. Request additional air cover from the mainland, and disperse the ship’s planes as you see fit. But the Henan is to remain here until the battle is over. We cannot, and we will not, run.”
***
In the air over the South China Sea
Greer shouted “God damnit!” as Bower’s F-18 disappeared in a flash of light. More Shenyang J-15s had arrived on scene, and even though Soccer Mom had scored a kill, the Americans were badly outnumbered.
All Greer could do was run, or try to, with a pair of J-15s on his tail. He was over Luzon by then, and firing flares, when a missile exploded. It was a miss. But his starboard engine shut down as pieces of shrapnel tore into it.
And, as Greer lost half his power, a