Sky Masters полностью

Several minutes had passed, and no hits reported by any ships since Kaifeng. If the carrier aircraft were the same speed or a bit faster than the antiradar missiles, the carrier aircraft would be very close by now. They had sailors with night-vision goggles and infrared scanners looking for the missiles, but unless they heard it or got lucky there was almost no chance of their finding a tiny loitering cruise missile up there without radar. A few of the larger patrol boats had low-light TV cameras and infrared fire-control sensors on their 57- and 37-millimeter guns, but their field of view was very small, and getting a lock on a fast-moving target was difficult.

The intercom clicked on: “Bridge, CIC, request permission to activate search radar for two sweeps.”

There was a slight pause; then: “Acknowledged.” To the radar operator, he said, “Two sweeps. Shut down immediately if there’s a target within five miles. Call out bearings to contacts for gun control.”

“Acknowledged. Radar coming on in three, two, one… now.”

One sweep, twelve seconds, and they knew the awful truth: “Bridge, CIC, multiple small targets within five miles, all bearings. Additional air targets, two large targets in trail formation, bearing two-seven-eight, range to closest target ten nautical miles. Radar down.”

The commander of the frigate Yingtan was on the allstations call intercom immediately. “CIC, all thirty-seven gun stations, all thirty-seven gun stations, fire defensive pattern, multiple inbound missiles, all quadrants. Attempt visual acquisition. Release radar decoys. Shut down all radars and verify.”

Almost immediately the frigate’s four twin 37-millimeter antiaircraft guns began firing, sweeping the sky with shells in predetermined patterns that would cover all but the ship’s centerline area — fortunately the patrol boats were dispersed at least six kilometers away to avoid being hit by the frigate’s barrage.

“Helm, forty degrees starboard. CIC, ship turning starboard, shoot portside chaff rockets.”

From the sky, the barrage of gunfire might have looked like a fireworks-show finale, with winks of muzzle flashes and tracers shooting out in all directions. The frigate meanwhile began a series of sharp turns and accelerations designed to get as far away as possible from the last spot where the radar was turned on — they knew that was where the loitering missile was headed. Yingtan also had mortars that fired radar-decoying chaff rockets into the air, launching them on the side opposite the ship’s turn — they would act as decoys if the missiles carried active radar seekers.

Yingtan's gunners were rewarded with several spectacular flashes as the guns found targets, and missiles could be seen splashing down in their wake — a few dangerously close, less than a dozen meters away — but none hit. Two missiles went after the tiny radar-emitting decoy buoys dropped overboard by the frigate, and the bridge crew was treated to a good-sized explosion just a hundred meters aft as the missile impacted. In just a few seconds, all of the antiradar missiles were defeated by the frigate Yingtan.

But all that gunfire only saved them from the small antiradar missiles — the aircraft that launched all those missiles were getting away. “CIC, concentrate one hundred-millimeter guns at the last position of that bomber. Maybe we will get lucky. Prepare to engage with HQ-61 missiles. Comm, radio to all patrol boats and to Fleet Master, suspected heavy stealth bomber aircraft inbound to Davao Gulf, number unknown.”

The sudden flurry of gunfire into the night sky was spectacular and frightening at the same time. It looked like a dome of sparklers had formed over the frigate in the distance, like some unearthly glittering spaceship half-submerged in the ocean — except they both knew that those pretty sparklers meant death to any aircraft that strayed too close. Cobb instinctively banked farther west to avoid the area where most of the gunfire was being concentrated, even though McLanahan estimated they were at least ten miles abeam the closest ship. “Jesus Christ,” McLanahan muttered. “Look at that…”

Cobb said nothing.

“And we’re only seeing about one every twelve tracer rounds…”

“It’s not the guns I’m worried about,” Cobb said. “I’m waiting for the SAMs from that frigate.”