The DF-26B ballistic missile pierced the sky with hypersonic screams. The Guam killers poured heavy rain and Andersen Air Force Base was burned down. The greasy black smoke, illuminated by the bright flashes of the primary explosion, violently rolled into the sky. The war was very loud, very loud, Lieutenant Andrew Cohen thought from the right seat of the B-1B maritime control bomber Bone Daddy. He was the first to board the plane, and before climbing into the cockpit, he pressed the alarm button on the bottom of the nose gear to start the engine. 

Cohen opened his NATOPS pocket list. His hands were shaking and couldn't stop it. This is not a battle. This was a murder that fell straight from the sky, and now a thousand-pound high-explosive warhead would detonate fifty feet above him, and the overpressure would squash him into a thin layer of jelly before his synapse fired. Patriot missiles and THAAD missiles flew into the sky, leading a long misty trail. Bursts of light illuminate the altocumulus clouds that gather at dawn. 

He stared at his NATOPS list for several seconds, as if it were written in some strange foreign language. An explosion shook his plane, and debris from Andersen Air Force Base hit the fuselage. 

Major David Ross, the aircraft commander of Bone Daddy, disappeared somewhere in the burning base; Cohen thought he would not show it. AW1 Patrick Lenihan, Bone Daddy's offensive weapon system operator, appeared. The man's face was burnt red, and his almost non-compliant hair was burned into gray curly hair.

"Sir, if we don't leave here, we will die."

"Sir, no one is here. They are all dead." 

"Okay." Cohen pushed on the throttle, and the four F101 engines ran from idling. The plane tilted forward, and he drove it away from the warning zone and into Runway 6 on the left. "Get up, fasten your seat belt."

  As the plane rolled, Lenihan sat down and tied himself to the left seat. On the runway, Cohen pushed the throttle to the stop position, with full afterburner. When the four afterburners were all lit, Bone Daddy's voice increased sharply. 

The wreckage poured down like rain. Debris of the runway. Fragments of buildings. Pieces of people. The nose fell off a curved slab on the undulating runway. Cohen thought of Air France’s Concorde trailing when flying debris ruptured the fuel cell. The airspeed was established and the nose broke ground. The Air Force’s B-21 Raider hangar exploded, and a river of burning JP-8 fuel crossed the runway.

The main mount slid down, he sucked up the equipment and flew in the fire. He pushed the nose to airspeed. 360 knots. The wings swept back 25 degrees. The middle and tail compartments of this jet plane are equipped with 16 AGM-158D long-range anti-ship missiles, and an auxiliary fuel tank is installed in the front.

 The smartest thing Cohen can do is stay away from zero.

His wife lives in Zero Land. Rachael teaches third grade at the Ministry of Defense School. 

When he escaped from the cliff at Pati Point at the end of the runway, the ground suddenly fell. He leveled at 540 knots at a speed of 350 feet, and the wings swept back, on the sea with morning light. He leaned to the left and rolled in a 360-degree direction. He really didn't know why, it was just intuitive. His heart was beating. He just took off without a plan. He and Lenihan met and saw his fear reflecting back. 

A huge flash of light illuminated the area behind the plane.

"They nuclear us?" Lenihan asked.

Despite its capabilities, the Air Force does not want the B-1B. No matter how sexy it is, if it is not invisible, its ability to penetrate the fiercely competitive airspace is increasingly being questioned, and its teeth are a bit too long, it is a sponge that absorbs new hardware resources. The Air Force does not want the Navy to own it either. The bombing is firmly within the air force's mission, who needs to compete; in addition, the Navy has their P-8 Poseidon hovering in the ocean.

Strangely, the Navy reached a violent agreement and did not want to take over the aging platform. Not only are they expensive, but philosophically speaking, operating the B-1B actually proves that aircraft carriers are vulnerable to shore-based bombers launching off-zone weapons, and the Air Force does not need any help to make this argument. However, a shipbuilding plan that was paralyzed by the continued economic recession, a suspicious shipyard fire that resulted in the scrapping of the USS Abraham Lincoln, and the cancellation of the USS Doris Miller meant that the Navy had a power projection problem in the Pacific. 

Boeing lobbyists, Congress, and a settled RAND study forced this to happen. Twelve B-1B Lancers were regenerated from the Davis-Monson Type 1000 warehouse and handed over to the U.S. Navy. Six are in Japan and six are in Guam. 

 Only one person will participate in the battle. 

"What are we doing?" Lenehan asked.

"I don't know yet." Cohen has a digital copy of yesterday's intelligence briefing on his security tablet, which says the last known locations of the three Chinese aircraft carrier strike groups. It is very unusual for three people to go to sea at the same time. The Chinese claimed that this was an exercise. 

He rotates between Guam center, tower and ground frequency. lifeless. The frequency at Guam International Airport is also very quiet. It does not make sense to withdraw from one airport and leave another airport. 

"Lenny, you have to defend and attack at the same time. Load the ESM library so we can see who is with us." 

"We only have half of the crew and we have no orders," Lenihan said.

"We will only do our job," Cohen said. "Do our best."

Lenihan looked a little hesitant, but finally said, "I'm doing it." He left the cockpit and took his place at the offensive weapon system operator behind the cockpit.

Calm down now, Cohen took the time to tidy up his cockpit and use his NATOPS checklist to support himself. What does he know?

The GPS and satellite communication systems are malfunctioning. The earth’s orbit may be a tumbling satellite cemetery. Unable to obtain confirmation or authorization. Bone Daddy’s inertial navigation system has been upgraded with the new MAGNAV system to let him know where he is in the world. After a terrible ballistic missile attack destroyed Andersen, he flew unscathed over the sun-drenched blue Pacific Ocean. There is an auxiliary fuel tank in the front compartment, and he has nine hours of fuel, enough to travel to and from Taiwan. Bone Daddy is alone, ready to perform the mission of denial at sea. 

It's time to deny the sea.

"The library is loaded. I am getting more and more popular. There is nothing military. Commercial navigation radar. Development of passive orbits," Lenihan said on ICS.

Cohen thought of his wife, she must be scared. If she is still alive. He went there and indulged the darkness in his heart. In front of him, she was a victim, how chaotic the world must be. "Get me some China and the army to shoot."

The pilot Morales' head was throbbing, and blood ran into his eyes from a wound on his forehead. He felt his scalp numb. He used the front loader bucket to scoop up the powdery concrete shards, and when it rolled forward, a blackened human torso rolled into his field of vision. The intestines were rolled out from the broken body, and the body was gone. Between the broken corpse and the poisonous smoke, the smell is very unpleasant, and with the tropical heat, the stench will only get worse. He stopped and threw up between his legs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sergeant Major Grady shouted.

"Sergeant Major, there are people inside..."

"No. We don't have time. Fill those holes in the runway. Just do it."

Morales nodded. If a man with a third degree burn and a half-length uniform gives you an order, you will follow. Besides, he is the only person in sight who put his shit together.

"There is a bird outside, Morales. It needs to go home," the Sergeant Major explained.

How do you tell? Morales thought. The bumpy runway. Buildings razed to the ground. The blown up plane. The fire burned everywhere, no one extinguished it. It was as if a fierce god descended and stirred the earth. Except for the Sergeant Major, everything is chaotic. Morales wiped his sour mouth and nodded affirmatively. His head thumped. The smoke stung his eyes.

Nothing is easier than filling the holes, there is enough stuff to keep him busy. 

The hood of the front loader passed the screams of people who had almost died.

"I got something. Someone broke EMCON," Lenihan said. "A strike against the Type 348 fire control radar related to the 37mm close-range weapon system. It was installed on a multi-level Chinese warship. Xiong 002, unlimited range. It lasted about 15 seconds."

"Good turn. Keep me up to date." He flew 1,500 feet above the Pacific Ocean. Bharat held on. RADALT suspended. The launch of the radar altimeter is unlikely to spread far enough for detection, but it was considered unlikely that the missile landed on Guam a few hours ago. He calmed down a lot. The daily demands of flying focused his attention. Let training win.

Maybe we should see it coming? The breakdown of domestic stability, the strengthening of the Taiwan independence movement, and the threat of losing power to the elderly Xi Jinping, need to win a major victory in front of external enemies. It seems that today is this day. 

"I was hit again. X-band, KLJ-7A came from FC-31 fighter jets. Multiple hits. Hostile and friendly. The world becomes active. Something big is happening. Multiple surface search and fire control radars carry 006. "

Once the hostile forces find the opponent, the battlefield space will be illuminated by electromagnetic energy. Quiet and meaningless once discovered. Kinetics followed closely behind. The DF-17 hypersonic missile launched from the H-6N bomber fell from the sky and was attacked by directed energy fire from the Constellation-class frigate. The Aegis-guided SM-3 interceptor hit the DF-21 anti-ship ballistic missile. The deeply penetrating F-35 lightning resolves the battlefield space into millimeter-level fidelity. As the weapon system achieved concrete results, radar and countermeasures became bleak. The ship was burned down. The wingless plane descended from the sky. 

But this has nothing to do with him. 

The AN/ALG-161C electronic support measures system classifies targets into hull numbers, and he knows which hulls need to be destroyed.

"Lenny, do you have anything for me?" Cohen asked. 

"I do. I have a Triton Link 16. We are participating," Lenihan said. 

The mission panel display electronically outlines the largest naval battle since World War II with abstract symbols. Three Chinese aircraft carrier battle groups and two U.S. aircraft carrier battle groups have promised to destroy each other. Kennedy and Ford battled Liaoning, Shandong and the newer Type 003 aircraft carrier, Chairman Mao Zedong. 

"Let's get into the fight," Cohen said. Now that he knew where he was going and whom to shoot at, he descended to 500 feet and accelerated.

"Specify a goal," Lennyhan said. "platform."

Cohen flattened his wings. Press the preload/release switch. He opened the hatch and increased power to maintain airspeed.

There is no need to specify AGM-158D. Their evil little brains have entered the open architecture of the offensive weapon kit, and they know their role in this matter very well. The weapons cooperated and decided to take action to defeat the shotgun destroyer flanking the Chinese aircraft carrier. They proposed a plan to the aircraft commander, as if he could think of a better way.

"Contact inbound. FC-31. We are getting engaged!" Lennyhan said. "Am I innocent?"

"Released," Cohen said.

Time and time again, the annual general meeting of shareholders has fallen into a wake. The wings opened like a switchblade, and the engine was ignited. Transition to cruise. 

Lenihan called the deployment. "One of them is sixteen. Two-sixteenths away."

When one wing could not extend, the sixth missile failed. The engine ignites and the missile dives into the sea.

The first AGM outside the door throttling down, waiting for their brothers and sisters to catch up. The weapons were formed and swarmed, divided into three segments, each with five segments. Each calculation can travel 200 nautical miles and reach the target within a few milliseconds. 

 "Sixteen of the sixteen are allowed to maneuver," Lennyhan said.

Cohen closed the weapon bay door and threw the plane into a ninety-degree blade turn. A small part of his war is over. He pushed the nose down and aimed at 200 feet, hoping to get lost in the waves. He closed the throttle. There is no better low-altitude flight in inventory than bones. 

FC-31 was shut down, and his defense system could feel the tingling sensation of the KLJ-7A radar burning under Lenihan's interference. The KLJ-7A radar guided two PL-12, Chinese AIM-120 equivalent missiles, until the missile activated its own terminal guidance radar.

"Two PL-12s. Positive. Stinger is very hot," Lenihan said. "platform."

Cohen has a choice. Try to defeat the missile through maneuvering and conventional jamming, or let the wings fly horizontally, and then let the 90-kilowatt laser pod "Stinger" installed on the tail of the Bone Daddy exert its sci-fi magic.

Well, he can't pull 39 grams to evade, and the missile uses his own attack mode. "Platform," he admitted. 

The laser was fired, and only an alarm was displayed on his panel. He held his breath and waited for the missile to destroy his plane. 

"Spray two. The target drops," Lennyhan said.

Runway No. 6 on the left looks like a dirt belt, but it is much better than No. 6 on the right. The bulldozer pushed the wreckage of a Batwing B-21. The plane hit a crater at near takeoff speed and broke down into a toxic compound fire. Somewhere in the entangled, smoldering material are the remains of two pilots. Someone will watch it in the future. 

The chief sergeant left a deep impression on the walking wounded who joined the work force. They trained the sixth from left with shovel, rake, broom and bare hands. It was like a zombie FOD walkthrough, but he took what he could get. What should he do? The damn runway is his, until someone walks over and tells him to stop, he will do what he is supposed to do, keep it flat and smooth. Someone's pickup truck brought in sacks of concrete bought from the city. They poured the bag on top of the tamped gravel to fill the gap. If they can get some water, they can make a surface without tearing the gears directly from under the plane. Maybe the Marines are right. Verticality is the way to go. 

He stood on a 30-foot-high volcanic crater and knew it was someone's grave.

Cohen ran with smoke when the No. 3 engine was shut down due to excessive turbine temperature. He recognized Guam from the smoke on the horizon. No one answered the radio.

He bypassed Andersen and took the lead in the Guam international competition. No one challenged him. Guam International is still burning, the airport looks like the surface of the moon, but the area around the airport looks intact. Thank God for the precise weapon. 

Lenihan stood up and stared through the windshield: "It's still there."

"It's hard to sink an island."

Cohen flashed his wings over his house. If Rachel was alive, she would look up and see a B-1B with Jack Carrington's nose art, and she would know he was okay. He tried to identify his house through the smoke and summer haze, but he couldn't.

"She's okay," Lenihan said.

"I know," Cohen said, but he really didn't. 

They flew over Andersen, into a broad overhead mode, paying attention to one of his engines. People and construction equipment scattered from the left side of Runway 6. It looks rough, but he doesn't think his plane will fall into the crater. He extended his tailwind and turned to the final. Full front sweep.

The main mount landed and tweeted. He pinched his nose, bleeding airspeed. The plane trembled on the rugged place, but did not sink into the water. When all three were on the ground, he deployed the spoiler and brakes and threw him into his belt. The plane was on a roller coaster on a filled crater, but it remained straight, with its dirty side down. He lay on the wheel and brake hard. 

God bless those who fill these holes. He drove off the last taxiway and died in front of a pile of smoldering debris.

Fatigue overwhelmed him, passing through his body like a train. He thought he could sleep in his seat, which also had pins for ejecting the seat.

He pulled the throttle to the closed position and ignored the closing check or the activation of the APU, and his cockpit gradually darkened under protest. His NATOPS is somewhere near here.

"I have to find Rachel."

"I will go with you."

Lieutenant Colonel Martha Flackey is the commander of a Virginia-class V-class submarine, the "Bubu" submarine. Her sight saw the injured and unescorted Mao Zedong, the only surviving Chinese aircraft carrier. A B-1B attacked her from an unexpected direction, and the aircraft carrier hit AGM-158D three times. The ship’s island is a twisted steel pile, and the hangar deck is a burnt cave. It didn't fight, but it was still floating.

That is the problem she wants to solve.

She felt the thumping of four Mk-48 torpedoes from the launch tube. She waited and listened. 

Her sonar turned and nodded. All four thousand-pound warheads have been aimed at the target and detonated. 

The drone broke through the sea and flew towards the seriously injured aircraft carrier. 

She guided the drone's BDA to the ship's display panel.

She and her crew watched in silence. Such a high-definition spectacle is more like a Hollywood special effect than a military victory. Tons of water poured into the hull of the aircraft carrier. It suddenly rolled over disastrously, throwing debris and people from both sides. Witness such a terrible thing.

"Send a message. Scratch a flat top."

Mike Barretta is a naval pilot who has deployed SH-60B helicopters many times. He currently works for a defense contractor as a maintenance test pilot.

Featured image: "Boeing B-1 Bomber Concept" created by James Vaughan through Artstation.

Great story, very well written. Have you ever published it like a complete book or other short story? Would love to read them. thanks.

Great reading. Thank you, Mike.

Wow! Dale Brown, cheers! well-done! I want it all! ! ! !

God, I like it very much, and I am a navy

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