Sky Masters полностью

“Attack helicopters, jammers, now a possible Philippine strike fleet,” Admiral Yin muttered. He had been in his command chair in the center of the Hong Lung's small Combat Information Center, trying to piece together the situation as bits of radio messages were slowly merged with long-range radar data.

Were the Filipinos out of their minds? Yin wondered. To attack the Chinese naval forces after the events of just a few months ago wasn’t merely outrageous, it was, in Yin’s mind, idiotic. Certainly they didn’t think they had a chance at defeating a force the strength of his…

Or did they?

What did they know that he didn’t? He mulled this over for the briefest minute. He would have to play this very, very carefully.

“Bridge to Admiral Yin,” Captain Lubu’s voice reported over a loudspeaker. “We are overtaking Wenshan. ”

The Hong Lung was at flank speed, which was at least six to ten knots faster than any of his flotilla’s other vessels except for two of his small Hegu-class fast attack missile craft, Fuzhou and Chukou. That would mean that Hong Lung would have no antimine or antimissile protection other than its own 37-millimeter guns and its phalanx Gatling-gun system. “Shall we pass to port or join up?”

After giving the facts — and his own fears — careful consideration, Yin radioed back: “Pull ahead of Wenshan, reduce speed to twenty until Xingyi catches up, then resume thirty laiots until within radar range of Chagda's last known position.” Xingyi was his Huangfen-class fast attack missile boat, which also carried the supersonic Fei Lung-7 antiship missile as did Hong Lung. “Have the rest of the task force extend and follow. Have Fuzhou and Chukou continue at flank speed towards Chagda's last-known position.”

Yin wasn’t about to storm into a hostile region alone, with only a few lightly armed twenty-seven-meter boats as protection — he was going to send the two small boats to “beat the bushes” and find the Filipino bastards who were doing the shooting.

“Yes, sir,” Lubu replied crisply. “Expect Xingyi to rendezvous in thirty minutes.”

“Message from patrol craft Yaan,” the CIC officer reported. “Chagda in sight and on fire. Reports from crewmen say they were hit by sea-skimming missiles. Patrol craft Baoji heavily damaged but under way, moving southwest at five knots. No contact with minesweeper Guangzou. Yaan requests permission to assist Chagda. ”

“Permission granted,” Admiral Yin replied crisply. “I want a report on the Philippine vessels. Direction, speed — I want it right now. ”

“Yes, sir,” the CIC acknowledged.

Other crewmen in the Combat Information Center were turning to look at Yin, to see the anger and frustration spilling out. Many of them had angry questioning looks on their faces when Yin ordered the reduction in speed — shouldn’t they get over there as fast as possible to help their comrades?

“Report from Yaan, sir,” the CIC officer said a few minutes later. “Commander Ko reports three, possibly four vessels moving away from Phu Qui Island, heading east at twenty knots. Surface-search radars only. Acquisition radars not detected. Helicopters appear to be rendezvousing with the vessels.”

Inwardly, Yin breathed a sigh of relief. At least this wasn’t more complicated than he’d first feared.

Apparently the Filipinos had no stomach for a real fight. And obviously they weren’t seeking to consolidate their gains, refortify Phu Qui Island, or take any other islands in the neutral zone. It was a simple retaliatory battle — swift, decisive, and over with. Cut and run. They probably could have stayed and continued to bombard Yaan and Baoji, board Chagda, take prisoners — that was what Yin would have done — or set up an ambush for Hong Lung, using the crippled ships, but they were doing nothing more than escaping. It put the onus right back on the Chinese — escalate the conflict or end it. Yin had no desire to drive his beautiful ship right into an ambush or into a battle-ready Filipino fleet of unknown size, but neither did he want any appearance of backing away from a fight.

And so he became a picture of triumph. He turned to his men, who had turned to look at him with querying expressions. “They’re idiots. You see how they run? They steal out of the night, attack us like frightened children throwing rocks, then run in the face of something far more powerful. I loathe such spinelessness.”