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“How far?” he asked.

“Just five more minutes,” Roger replied.

I don’t think we can make it.

Wizard 323

Navy P-8A Poseidon

South China Sea

Lieutenant Commander Ashley Mitchell sat on the edge of her seat and pressed her face to the windscreen to look up at the brilliant stars twinkling overhead. It was hard to believe so much chaos could be happening around them. They had been on station for the duration of the operation to monitor Chinese naval activity — including the fishing vessels that had moved south in force — but things seemed to be spiraling out of control. It wouldn’t be long before they needed to do more than just monitor.

“Ma’am, the HQ-9 is targeting Dusty One,” Lieutenant Turner said over the intercom.

She reached for the rocker switch on the yoke, toggling it down to reply. “Fire control?”

“Not yet. But chatter indicates an imminent intercept.”

She glanced down at the navigation display that showed their position relative to the Chinese surface-to-air missile battery located on Woody Island, then pressed the autopilot disengage button on the yoke to take command of the modified Boeing 737–800. She gripped the controls and banked the plane left to point their nose into the missile engagement zone.

“Scar Nine Nine, Wizard three two three,” she said.

“Go ahead, Wizard.”

“Electronic surveillance indicates missile battery designated one alpha targeting Dusty One. How copy?”

There was a pause as the task force personnel manning the TOC at Clark Air Base correlated their report with information received from other assets in the area. Ashley wasn’t privy to what other ships and aircraft were participating in the operation, but she knew of at least one MQ-4C Triton drone flying high-altitude surveillance twenty thousand feet above them.

“Good copy, Wizard.”

Her tactical coordinator spoke over the intercom again. “Ma’am, they’re activating their fire control radar.”

“Roger that,” she replied, then turned to look at her copilot.

“What are you thinking?” Logan asked.

For as capable as the P-8A Poseidon was, they didn’t have many options for targeting a surface-to-air missile system. Their internal bay included five hard points for carrying the Mark 54 torpedo and the HAAWC, or High-Altitude Anti-Submarine Warfare Weapon Capability, air launch accessory that allowed them to employ a torpedo from as high as thirty thousand feet.

But they did have one trick up their sleeve.

She pressed down on the rocker switch again. “Ed, load the HQ-9 coordinates into the SLAM-ER.”

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Shouldn’t we ask—”

“We don’t have time,” she snapped.

“The SLAM-ER, ma’am?” Lieutenant Turner asked, obviously sharing Logan’s sentiment that employing the AGM-84K Standoff Land Attack Missile — Expanded Response without authorization would, at best, land them in hot water.

“You heard me,” she said. “Let me know when it’s ready. I’m maneuvering us into position.” She reached over and pushed the thrust levers forward, increasing the output of the Poseidon’s twin turbofans to their maximum.

Dusty One

Air Branch Mi-17 Hip

The tension in Charlie’s shoulders turned into solid knots and ached, but he practiced his box-breathing technique to push through his anxiety and focus on the one thing he could control — flying the helicopter to the best of his ability.

“Scarborough Shoal in sight,” Roger said.

“Pedro One is loitering north of South Rock,” the Marine Osprey pilot responded.

In the distance, Charlie saw the triangular-shaped chain of reefs and rocks encircling a large central lagoon and angled their approach to the right, where he knew the highest elevation was located just short of a single inlet. The terrain of South Rock was supposed to be almost six feet above sea level at high tide, but he didn’t know if it was flat or wide enough to allow a safe landing.

Not that it mattered. The chorus of flashing red lights from the Chinese surface-to-air missile and imminent fuel starvation meant he had no choice. They were going to put down as close to South Rock as possible, even if it meant they got wet in the process.

“Dusty One is making our approach to South Rock now,” Charlie said.

“A quarter mile to feet dry,” Roger said, letting him know the distance to their intended touchdown point.

“Let’s hope it’s dry,” Charlie replied, the tension in his shoulders intruding on his voice.

Roger ignored the comment. “Fifty feet over the water, come forward four hundred.”

With one more glance at the fuel gauges now reading empty, Charlie focused his attention on the looming landmass that appeared like little more than a slightly less dark patch of water. He slowed their approach and descended closer to the surface, paralleling the shallows at the southwestern corner of the atoll.

“Forty feet over the water… thirty…”