Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan by Peter von Bleichert Page B
Authors: Peter von Bleichert
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transporter-erector-launcher. The long black, red, and white interceptor roared skyward.
Kadena’s tower operators watched the missile pitch over and
dive.
“Damn,” somebody uttered.
Unable to distinguish the lead enemy missile from surface
clutter, the PATRIOT had missed and plunged into the water, disintegrating on
impact.
“Targets now inside PAC-3 envelope. Switching to I-HAWKs,” the tech in the air-defense
trailer announced.
Delta-finned HAWKs—Homing All the Way to Kill interceptors—ripple-fired
from a sandy revetment at Kadena’s seaward perimeter. Based on 1950s technology and tweaked to
bring down medium- and high-altitude targets, the HAWKs had little hope of
intercepting the low-level stealthy threat.
The Badger bomber-fired East Seas cast shadows as they crossed
the clear shallows, the sandy beach, and green dunes of Okinawa’s eastern
shore. The Chinese land-attack cruise
missiles leapt coastal Route 58. Startled by the noise and red blurs overhead, a panicked Japanese
motorist swerved his car.
“Curse those Americans. Could they fly any lower?” the motorist asked his wife. She checked the children in the
backseat. Although shaken by the radical
maneuver, the kids were fine.
The East Seas switched from satellite to terrain recognition
guidance. Their digital eyes recognized
Kadena’s perimeter fence and runways, and utilized these landmarks to refine
their flight path to within one meter. The flock of cruise missile hopped over the base’s tall outer fence,
and, as programmed, divided and flew down the center of each of the 12,100-foot
parallel runways. Fairings on the lead
four missiles broke away.
A cargo of bomblets then released and showered the runways,
ripping gaping craters in the asphalt and concrete. Softball-sized munitions then scattered over
the damaged area, forming instant minefields that would impede engineers and
their repair work. More East Seas arrived
and continued their advance on the American air base’s flight line.
Kadena’s sirens shouted a sorrowful wail. Airmen, ordinance vehicles, and fuel bowsers
danced about, as if the curtain would fall at any moment. Big, dark grey KC-10 Extender aerial tankers served
as the backdrop, their third tail engine and tucked refueling booms high above
the tarmac. A clutch of Strike Eagle
fighter-bombers powered up to escape, and an E-3 Sentry AWACS—an airborne warning
and control system aircraft with a large rotating saucer on its back—moved
along Kadena’s apron.
Watching from the base’s tower, the controller lowered his
binoculars, shaking his head in disgust.
“They’ve caught us with our pants down,” he said. Unable to resist voyeurism of the coming
carnage, he again raised his field glasses.
The Chinese cruise missiles began final dives, and crashed among
the American airplanes. The resultant
explosions shattered windows in nearby Kadena Town. A firestorm engulfed the scattered, shattered
remains of aircraft, buildings, and people. Japanese ambulances and fire trucks emerged from hospitals and stations
in neighboring Chatan, Kadena, Okinawa, and Yomitan. They sped for the main gate of the American
air force base.
◊◊◊◊
East Seas skimmed the wind-whipped waves southeast of where the
Chinese submarine Changzheng 6 had
fired them. Ahead of the cruise missiles
was a palm-covered, hilly island that had emerged from behind a dark wall of
tropical showers.
Drenched Andersen Air Force Base occupied the northeastern
plateau of the American Pacific Territory of Guam, glistening in the emergent
sunshine. Andersen was one of the US Air
Force’s Bomber Forward Operating Locations and played host to the gamut of
American strategic bombers: B-1 Lancers; B-2 Spirits; and, those ‘Big Ugly Fat
Fuckers,’ the B-52 Stratofortresses. Having
ridden out the tropical deluge, a Lancer supersonic strategic bomber held short
of Andersen’s main
Kadena’s tower operators watched the missile pitch over and
dive.
“Damn,” somebody uttered.
Unable to distinguish the lead enemy missile from surface
clutter, the PATRIOT had missed and plunged into the water, disintegrating on
impact.
“Targets now inside PAC-3 envelope. Switching to I-HAWKs,” the tech in the air-defense
trailer announced.
Delta-finned HAWKs—Homing All the Way to Kill interceptors—ripple-fired
from a sandy revetment at Kadena’s seaward perimeter. Based on 1950s technology and tweaked to
bring down medium- and high-altitude targets, the HAWKs had little hope of
intercepting the low-level stealthy threat.
The Badger bomber-fired East Seas cast shadows as they crossed
the clear shallows, the sandy beach, and green dunes of Okinawa’s eastern
shore. The Chinese land-attack cruise
missiles leapt coastal Route 58. Startled by the noise and red blurs overhead, a panicked Japanese
motorist swerved his car.
“Curse those Americans. Could they fly any lower?” the motorist asked his wife. She checked the children in the
backseat. Although shaken by the radical
maneuver, the kids were fine.
The East Seas switched from satellite to terrain recognition
guidance. Their digital eyes recognized
Kadena’s perimeter fence and runways, and utilized these landmarks to refine
their flight path to within one meter. The flock of cruise missile hopped over the base’s tall outer fence,
and, as programmed, divided and flew down the center of each of the 12,100-foot
parallel runways. Fairings on the lead
four missiles broke away.
A cargo of bomblets then released and showered the runways,
ripping gaping craters in the asphalt and concrete. Softball-sized munitions then scattered over
the damaged area, forming instant minefields that would impede engineers and
their repair work. More East Seas arrived
and continued their advance on the American air base’s flight line.
Kadena’s sirens shouted a sorrowful wail. Airmen, ordinance vehicles, and fuel bowsers
danced about, as if the curtain would fall at any moment. Big, dark grey KC-10 Extender aerial tankers served
as the backdrop, their third tail engine and tucked refueling booms high above
the tarmac. A clutch of Strike Eagle
fighter-bombers powered up to escape, and an E-3 Sentry AWACS—an airborne warning
and control system aircraft with a large rotating saucer on its back—moved
along Kadena’s apron.
Watching from the base’s tower, the controller lowered his
binoculars, shaking his head in disgust.
“They’ve caught us with our pants down,” he said. Unable to resist voyeurism of the coming
carnage, he again raised his field glasses.
The Chinese cruise missiles began final dives, and crashed among
the American airplanes. The resultant
explosions shattered windows in nearby Kadena Town. A firestorm engulfed the scattered, shattered
remains of aircraft, buildings, and people. Japanese ambulances and fire trucks emerged from hospitals and stations
in neighboring Chatan, Kadena, Okinawa, and Yomitan. They sped for the main gate of the American
air force base.
◊◊◊◊
East Seas skimmed the wind-whipped waves southeast of where the
Chinese submarine Changzheng 6 had
fired them. Ahead of the cruise missiles
was a palm-covered, hilly island that had emerged from behind a dark wall of
tropical showers.
Drenched Andersen Air Force Base occupied the northeastern
plateau of the American Pacific Territory of Guam, glistening in the emergent
sunshine. Andersen was one of the US Air
Force’s Bomber Forward Operating Locations and played host to the gamut of
American strategic bombers: B-1 Lancers; B-2 Spirits; and, those ‘Big Ugly Fat
Fuckers,’ the B-52 Stratofortresses. Having
ridden out the tropical deluge, a Lancer supersonic strategic bomber held short
of Andersen’s main
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