CARRIER 8: ALPHA STRIKE By: Keith Douglass

“Negative. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else,” the OS said

calmly.

Bird Dog turned southwest, following the OS’s intercept vector. Moments

later, Gator reported gaining the contact on his radar.

Ten minutes later, the unknown contact was a black blip on the horizon.

“MiG-23,” Gator reported matter-of-factly, “based on the radar he’s using.”

“You called it,” Bird Dog said, as the contact grew larger. “Definitely

a MiG. They’re sending their front-line units out.”

“What’s he look like?” Gator asked.

“Clean wings–no weapons on any station.”

“Good news for Homeplate.”

“Depends on whether there’s a submarine in the area. Clean-winged didn’t

mean anything last time.”

The MiG suddenly tipped its nose down and headed for the deck, not

actively evading the approaching Tomcat, but clearly not in the mood to

cooperate with an American inspection.

“Catch the Vietnamese markings on the tail?” Bird Dog asked.

“Yep. I’ll let Mother know.”

Bird Dog glanced at the fuel gauge. “We’ve got time to play follow the

leader. Let’s see what he’s up to.” He turned the Tomcat and followed the

MiG down. “Surface contacts,” Gator announced.

“I see them.” A huge RO-RO, a roll-on, roll-off container ship, came

into view. “Whose is it?”

“Can’t see the flag,” Gator muttered.

“E-2 got anything on it?”

“Hawkeye’s calling a U.S.-flagged ship,” Gator reported, after querying

the circling E-2. “It’s on a normal commercial route.”

“So what’s the MiG want with our merchant ship? Don’t tell me he wants

to play kamikaze!”

“Not likely. The Vietnamese don’t have so many that they’d be willing to

waste them. Probably doing just what we’re doing–going down for a look-see

and a photo op.”

“Hard as hell to take pictures at 450 knots,” Bird Dog said.

“Hey, I didn’t say they’d be good pictures.”

“Jeez, he’s low and fast. Gonna scare the hell out of that merchant!”

Bird Dog said.

“Sometimes they’ve only got one person on the bridge during a long haul,

and there’s no guarantee that he’s awake.”

“Maybe we ought to loan them you,” Bird Dog said snidely.

0950 local (Zulu -7)

On board Kawashi Maru

Vicinity Spratly Islands, South China Sea

Third Mate Gringes settled back in the chair and glanced at the

engineering status display for the hundredth time in the last two hours. Two

more days at sea before liberty! While the weather had been relatively good

on this voyage, even the most favorable conditions–and the generous amounts

of overtime–couldn’t completely make up for the monotony of being at sea.

For want of anything better to do, he checked the surface radar display

again. Still no contacts, although he wouldn’t be surprised to start seeing

more ships soon. While the South China Sea was a large body of water, the

trade routes were heavily traveled.

With the automatic pilot functions engaged, there was little to do on the

bridge. He strolled out to the bridge wing and took a cursory glance at the

horizon. Radar picture confirmed–not another ship within fifteen miles or

so, at least.

A strange thrumming sound caught his attention, and he glanced up,

looking for the aircraft that was causing it. After two years of making

voyages on the Kawashi Maru, he knew every sound his ship was capable of

making. This was clearly external to his ship.

He saw the movement first and went back inside the pilot house to

retrieve his binoculars. By the time he’d found them and lifted them to

examine the aircraft, the contact was gone. He dropped the binoculars and let

them dangle around his neck from the strap.

The sound returned, coming now from the other side of the ship. Thankful

for anything that broke up the sheer monotony of his four hours at the conn,

he strolled across the pilot house to the other side of the ship.

The aircraft was much lower now–lower and closer. It didn’t take

binoculars to identify the sharp angles of a MiG-23 slicing through the humid

South China Sea air. He watched the aircraft come from astern, draw abreast

of the ship, and then cut quickly to the right.

Within seconds, the aircraft was above him, so close and so low that

Gringes felt as much as heard the thunder of the engines. His hands went to

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