pursue it. I assure you, General Kol, that they will have no idea of
the true situation until it is far too late.”
“The Americans could still pose a serious problem,” the Burmese general
insisted. “The Thais have been their pets for years. And an American
carrier-”
Hsiao kept his face a smiling mask. Kol was as stupid as he was
corrupt, a useful tool within the Burmese military structure who also
happened to be in the pay of the various drug syndicates ruling the
Golden Triangle. Hsiao had been able to control him easily enough so
far simply by threatening to expose those financial connections, but
soon the time would come when he could dispense with the Burmese warlord
entirely. In the meantime, he had no idea that Sheng li was designed
not to destabilize the That government–though that, too, was part of
it–but to bring Thailand and Burma to the brink of war.
“I know about the U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson, General,” Hsiao said. “But
their so-called supercarriers are not as invulnerable as they would have
you believe. You may leave them to me.”
Kol watched the aircraft slowing at the far end of the runway, then
turning in line to make their way toward camouflaged hangers. “Are
these planes sufficient to deal with the American carrier, then?” he
asked.
“Twenty-five Shenyang J-7s once they’ve all arrived,” Hsiao said. “Ten
Nanchang Q-5 ground attack planes. An American nuclear carrier like the
Jefferson carries ninety aircraft. In fighters alone they outnumber us.
But it will not come to that.”
“You seem quite sure of yourself,” Kol said stiffly.
“You must trust me on this, my dear General Kol. When the time comes,
your people will deal with the Royal That Army, Colonel Wu here will
deal with their air force.” He paused and allowed himself a smile. “And
I will deal with the Jefferson!”
Colonel Wu grinned. “That will be a tremendous victory, Comrade
General,” he said in Burmese. “The Central Committee will make you a
Hero of the People.”
Hsiao watched the last of the J-7s vanish into a hangar at the far end
of the airfield. The irony of Wu’s patriotic sentiment was amusing. If
Beijing found out too early what he was doing, it would mean disgrace
… then death.
The rewards, however, made any risk worthwhile. Riches and power far
beyond anything possible in the service of the State would soon be his
… and his alone.
Hsiao smiled. “Yes,” he agreed. “It will be a victory such as the
world has never known.”
CHAPTER 1
1312 hours, 14 January
Tomcat 201, Catapult One, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson
The U.S. S. Thomas Jefferson, CVN-74, surged ahead through gentle seas.
Her flight deck was a confusion of urgent motion as men in bright
color-coded jerseys made ready to hurl two forty-million-dollar aircraft
into the sky.
In the cockpit of an F-14D Tomcat perched on the carrier’s Number One
catapult, Lieutenant Commander Matthew Magruder, call sign “Tombstone,”
made a final check of his aircraft’s systems, his eyes sweeping the
gauges and dials of the F-14D’s instrument console for any sign of
failure or malfunction.
Turning in his ejection seat and glancing back over his shoulder, he
could see the ready light showing yellow high on the island
superstructure of the carrier.
Off the starboard side of his aircraft, he could see the bow catapult
officer, wearing a yellow jersey and the bulbous radio headgear known as
Mickey Mouse ears, cycling his hand vigorously over his head. Tombstone
pushed the twin throttles under his left hand forward, feeling the
Tomcat shudder under the twin-engine onslaught of raw noise and power.
Glancing aft once more, he saw the air above the deck shimmering with
the heat of his jet wash boiling up from the erect shield of Catapult
One’s Jet Blast Deflector.
The island’s ready light winked to green. They were cleared for launch.
“All set back there?” he asked.
“Ready to go, Mr. Magruder,” his RIO said over the Tomcat’s intercom.
Lieutenant j.g. Jerry “Dixie” Dixon was Tombstone’s Radar Intercept
Officer, his backseater for this flight.
To port and aft, a second pate gray Tomcat crouched on Catapult Three,
trembling as its pilot throttled up. The modex numbers stenciled on the