“Sir, GPS interference increasing,” Captain Liao Renjie reported from the EW station. “BeiDou constellation is attempting to override civilian signals.”
“Execute jamming protocols. Deny them satellite navigation.”
“Dragon-Eye is defensive!” Major Ke shouted. “J-10s attempting missile lock. Our CAP is engaging.”
The main door burst open. Admiral Han Ji-cheng strode in, still buttoning his uniform jacket, with General Tseng Zhaoming right behind him. Their eyes took in the tactical display — a maelstrom of missiles, countermeasures, and maneuvering forces.
“Who fired first?” Han demanded.
“PLA corvette
On the screen, one of the red diamonds suddenly flashed and disappeared.
“Splash one!” Commander Qiu announced. “
But the PLA response was swift and overwhelming. More missiles filled the air, and the ghost contacts Major Ke had worried about suddenly materialized.
“J-20s dropping stealth!” Ke warned. “Four bandits, they’re on our CAP flights!”
The calm before the storm was over. In the space of ninety seconds, the Taiwan Strait had become a killing field.
The tactical display erupted in crimson as the first C-803 antiship missile streaked across the screen. Mick Matsin gripped the edge of the console, watching the inevitable unfold in real time.
“Impact in five seconds,” Commander Tang announced, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. The secure operations center beneath Magong Naval Base hummed with controlled chaos — operators called out targets, electronic warfare officers jammed frequencies, and the constant ping of sonar returns from their deployed assets rounded out the cacophony.
The red line merged with
“Direct hit,” Tang confirmed. “She’s taking water. Damage control teams responding.”
Vice Admiral Lo Hua stood rigid behind them, eyes locked on the master display. “Return fire. All units, weapons free.”
Mick’s fingers danced across his control interface, managing six Seeker-class XLUUVs prowling beneath the churning waters. Each autonomous submarine carried three Copperhead-500 AI torpedoes, their neural networks trained on PLA acoustic signatures. “Shark One confirms Piranha Protocol active. My girls are hunting.”
“Dragon-Eye is taking fire!” The air defense coordinator’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Multiple Fox Threes inbound!”
On the display, six J-10s bore down on the lumbering P-3 Orion. Four F-16s broke formation, afterburners blazing as they moved to intercept.
“Vipers engaging,” someone called out. “Fox Two, Fox Two!”
The aerial ballet played out in digital clarity. Sidewinders and PL-12s crisscrossed the sky. Two J-10s exploded immediately, then a third. An F-16 took a missile to the port wing, spiraling down in flames. The remaining Vipers pressed their attack with savage precision.
“Splash four, five, six!” The air coordinator’s excitement died in his throat. “New contacts — fast movers from the northwest. Stealthy signatures resolving—”
“J-20s,” Admiral Lo said grimly. “Four of them.”
Mick watched the stealth fighters materialize on the scope like phantoms becoming solid. They’d waited, let the F-16s expend their missiles on the J-10s. Now they’d struck.
“Dragon-Eye is hit! She’s going down!”
Three more F-16s vanished from the display in rapid succession, overwhelmed by the J-20s’ beyond-visual-range missiles. But Penghu’s defenders weren’t finished.
“Patriot battery has lock,” Tang reported. “Birds away!”
Two PAC-3 interceptors roared skyward. The J-20s, caught transitioning from stealth to attack profiles, tried to evade. Two weren’t fast enough — orange blossoms marked their deaths at thirty thousand feet.
“
The response was immediate and overwhelming. The Type 055
“
The
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The last
