McLanahan and the other participants at the Strategic Warfare Center had been hearing about the EB-52 for weeks. Nobody had expected it to show up during the exercises. But it had, and McLanahan was right, it was awesome. It had a radome on its spine that had been taken off an NC-135 “Big Crow.” The radome could probably shut down all communications in and out of Rapid City. It certainly jammed everything the F-23s who’d been on McLanahan’s tail had on them. The plane also had capability of carrying twenty-two AMRAAMS — twelve on the wings, up to ten internally on a rotary launcher, including rear-fighting capability. Plus HARM missiles, TACIT RAINBOW antiradar missiles, rear-firing Stingers, Harpoon antiship missiles, conventional cruise missiles, SLAM and Maverick TV-guided missiles, Striker and Hammer glide-bombs, Du- randal antirunway bombs…
General Brad Elliott had six such planes. One was under repair and two more were authorized.
They would revolutionize SAC and SWC.
The first instructor pilot to show up on Colonel Renaldo Tamalko’s orders that evening was twenty-three-year-old Lieutenant Jose Borillo, one of the newest and most energetic young flight instructors at Puerto Princesa; it was no surprise that an enthusiastic hotshot such as he reported immediately when the squadron recall was issued. The “old heads” usually answered the phone call right away — Sergeant Komos had all the phone numbers of the pilots’ mistresses and girlfriends as well as their home numbers — but took their time getting back to base. Colonel Tamalko paired Borillo up with Captain Fuentes, an experienced and competent but unmotivated weapon systems officer (WSO), and he took a relatively new WSO named Pilas with him as his backseater.
The maintenance squadron commander, Captain Libona, was also wide-eyed and enthusiastic as Colonel Tamalko made his way out to the flight line to inspect his jet and brief Borillo.
After the inspection and briefing, Tamalko asked Libona, “Did we get a confirmation that this wasn’t a drill?”
“No, sir. Sergeant Komos, who called you, hasn’t been able to get any confirmation at all. We’re assuming it is real.”
“Don’t be so sure. What about a confirmation on that Captain Banio, the Navy guy who alerted us? Anyone authenticate his identity?”
Libona shook his head. “No one’s been able to, sir…”
Tamalko let out a string of four-lettered words. This was either a really well-executed drill… or it wasn’t a drill at all. He sure as hell didn’t know. More than likely, it was a drill, but he still had to respond as if it wasn’t. After all, what with all the tension in the Spratlys…
Tamalko turned to Borillo. “Once we’re airborne, you leave your fucking finger off the trigger, hotshot, or so help me I’ll shoot you down myself. Stay on my wing, keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. If the Navy files a bad report because of you, you’ll be flying a garbage scow on Mindanao five minutes after you land. Now mount up and let’s see what the hell is going on out there.” Tamalko stomped off to do a fast walkaround, leaving Borillo and Libona in his wake.
Five minutes later the two fighters were airborne and heading north across Honda Bay toward Ulugan Bay.
“Bear flight, one-three-seven point one-five,” Tamalko radioed to Borillo, directing him to dial in the assigned Navy fleet common frequency.
There was a pause; then: “Say again, lead?”
Oh, Christ! Tamalko thought, and hissed: “One-three- seven point one-five.” Borillo should have known enough to ask his WSO for the frequency if he missed it — asking the flight leader to repeat a new frequency was a mortal sin during night formation flight.
“Two,” Borillo finally replied.
Tamalko switched frequencies himself and was about to call to order Borillo to report up on frequency, but the channel was a mass of confused voices in several different languages.
And then…
“Mayday, Mayday.… I’m hit, I’m hit… get over here, someone, help me… missile in the air! Missile in the air…! Hard to port… Watch it…!”
“Bear flight, check!” Tamalko yelled. He heard a faint “Two” over the radio, and he hoped that was Borillo. “Cowboy, Cowboy, this is Bear Zero-one flight on fleet common. Over.” “Cowboy” was the call sign Sergeant Komos had given him for Captain Banio’s ship, but Tamalko couldn’t tell who was on freq or what was going on. There was so much chatter on the channel that he wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. “Cowboy, come in!”
“Bear flight… Bear flight, this is Cowboy.” The voice was frantic. “What is your position? Say your position!”
“I need authentication before I can report, Cowboy…”
“We are under attack, Bear flight, we are under attack,” the voice — now firmly racked with terror — replied. “Smoke… fire in all sections… we need you over here right now, Bear flight, we need you down here right
