“Hard starboard!” Chow shouted. “Flank speed! Chaff rockets! Release batteries on all guns! All guns, antimissile barrage!” The portside 30-millimeter antiaircraft guns, twin- barrel automatic guns housed in two-meter domes, began pounding into the sky, guided by the Round Ball fire-control radar. The furious hammering, so close to the bridge, turned Chow’s guts inside out. At the same time, small rockets fired off the fantail into the night sky — this was the ERC-1 decoy system, which consisted of racks of small cylindrical mortars that fired parachute-equipped shells several hundred meters away and about a hundred meters high. Some of the rockets streamed pieces of tinsel that would act as bright radar- reflectors, while others would spew globes of burning phosphorus that would decoy an infrared-guided missile. His ship also carried floating radar reflectors, buoy polelike devices, like tall punching bags, that were weighted to pop upright when tossed overboard; they were laughably inadequate devices, but someone always found the time to heave a few over the side in the slim hope that a missile might find it more appealing than a two-hundred-ton patrol boat.
Every member of the bridge crew was staring out toward Phu Qui Island when suddenly a terrific burst of light split the air, and for several seconds the low profile of the minesweeper Guangzou was highlighted in a huge ball of fire. Several secondary eruptions quickly followed — the shock wave and sound of the explosion that hit the Chagda several seconds later was like a three-second hurricane and thunderstorm rolled into one. Commander Chow had never seen such a horrifying sight. “Guangzou… the minesweeper’s been hit…”
“Look!” someone shouted. Chow turned in time to see a streak of light pass not more than a hundred meters astern of Chagda, a blur of a missile-looking object, just before another huge explosion rocked the patrol boat. The second missile fired from near Phu Qui had miraculously missed the patrol boat and homed in on the chaff cloud and formerly comical-looking radar reflectors, detonating after hitting the floating decoy. The blast was so tremendous that Chow thought his eardrums had ruptured. Except for a loud ringing in his ears and a few crewmen knocked off their feet by the concussion, the small patrol boat was unharmed.
The attack continued. Even though Yaan and Baoji were larger and better equipped than Chagda, neither of them carried any decoy rockets, and their electronic countermeasures emitters were small; they relied on their antiaircraft guns, two twin 57-millimeter and two twin 25-millimeter rapid-firing cannons, to defend themselves. Both ships’ guns were lighting up the sky as the helicopters closed in from the southeast.
“Sir! Baoji reports the helicopters are launching missiles!” Commander Chow swung his seat over to search the horizon, but could see nothing through the darkness except for the thin bursts of light from his escort’s antiaircraft guns.
But the fast attack boat Baoji lost its battle seconds later. The Filipino helicopters carried two Sea Ray missiles each, small, short-range laser-guided antiship missiles with one- hundred-and-fifty-pound fragmentation warheads; one helicopter was paired with one patrol boat, and they drop-launched their missiles when within four miles of their targets. The patrol boat Yaan destroyed its helicopter with a burst of 40-millimeter gunfire, which caused the Sea Ray missiles in flight toward her to break lock and fall harmlessly into the ocean. But the helicopter tracking Baoji managed to swerve and dodge around long enough to keep the laser beam on target. Both Sea Ray missiles guided directly on the forecastle of the Baoji, and although the warheads were small and probably would not have done much damage if they had hit the hull or decks, the missiles plowed into the bridge and combat control center, killing the captain, twelve senior crewmen, and decimating its fighting capability.
Chow did not see the explosion aboard Baoji several kilometers astern; he was frantically trying to sort out the jumble of targets that had suddenly seemed to surround his tiny task force. The jamming was so heavy now that Chagda was virtually blind, the surface-search radar a jumble of spikes and false targets, the electronic countermeasures ineffective. “Come to heading three-zero-zero, flank speed,” Chow ordered. “Designate radar return on Phu Qui Island as target one and launch a two-missile C801 salvo.”
He felt Chagda begin its sharp turn left, but the Combat officer shouted the response Chow had been fearing: “Sir, radar target track information unreliable… switching to manual target track… sir, I can’t get a track with all this jamming…”
