unconscious man back into the shadows of an AA battery. It was the work of a moment to zip himself inside the pilot’s flight suit, don his boots and helmet, and, finally, flip the dark visor down. He then strode quickly, but not too quickly, across the deck, rapidly catching up with the jocular pilots just as they were climbing up into their respective fighters.
He made a beeline straight for the sole unoccupied fighter jet, saluting the two attending deck crewmen who stood aside for him to mount the cockpit ladder.
“Lovely night for flying, boys,” he muttered in his guttural Chinese, sliding down into the seat and adjusting his safety harness. After strapping himself in, he reached forward and flipped the switch that lowered the canopy. He then took a long moment to study the instrument array and myriad illuminated controls, quickly deciding exactly what did what.
Looking at the array of aircraft instruments, Hawke was astonished for the second time since arriving up on the carrier’s flight deck.
Most of the cockpit controls on the fighter looked oddly familiar. Why? Because they were almost identical to those in the prototype of the top-secret new American fighter jet he had flown, the J-2. He was amused (in one way) to see that the Chinese had stolen so much advanced aeronautical technology from the West that getting the hang of basic things here in the cockpit was embarrassingly easy.
But he had flown the first-generation F-35C Lightning off the USN’s George Washington ’s flight deck courtesy of Captain Garry White and the U.S. Navy. And this Chinese airplane? It was vastly more sophisticated in terms of avionics, communications, and, most important, offensive and defensive weapons systems. Holy God, compared to the current F-35C, this thing was like something from another goddamn planet.
Take the cookies when they’re passed, he thought, smiling.
Due to unforeseeable circumstances, a top British intelligence officer was about to take one of what had to be, up until this moment, China’s most closely guarded military secrets for a little airborne test drive!
C H A P T E R 1 1
H awke gave the internationally required hand signal to the crewmen on deck below and flicked the switch that lit the candle. The sudden engine roar behind him was instant and powerful. He added power and taxied into position behind the last jet in line. The blast shield had already risen from the deck behind the lead jet in the squadron, and Hawke watched calmly as the fighter was catapulted out over the ocean, afterburners glowing white hot.
A wave of pain in his rib cage washed over him and he must have passed out because he suddenly heard the air boss screaming in his headset, telling him to get his ass moving. The aircraft directly in front of him had advanced into position and he’d not followed quickly enough for the air boss. Now he added a touch of power and tucked in where he belonged. There remained only three fighters on the deck ahead of him.
He focused for a second on what to say and how to say it. He not only had to get the Chinese right, the words, but also had to get the attitude right, a slangy mixture of swagger and humble obeisance to the air boss gods on high.
“So sorry, boss,” he muttered in the time-honored traditional communicative style of fighter pilots all over the world. For a carrier pilot, the air boss is God himself.
“Don’t let it happen again, Passionflower, or I’ll kick your sugarcoated ass off this boat and clear back to Shanghai.”
“Roger that, sir,” Hawke said, advancing a few feet forward.
“You forget something in your preflight, Passionflower?”
“No, sir,” Hawke said, starting to sweat a bit.
“Yeah? Check your goddamn nav lights off-on switch for me, will you? Just humor me.”
Shit, he thought, flicking the nav lights switch. He’d actually forgotten to turn his bloody nav lights on! Dumb mistake, and he could not afford to be dumb at this point, not in
He made a beeline straight for the sole unoccupied fighter jet, saluting the two attending deck crewmen who stood aside for him to mount the cockpit ladder.
“Lovely night for flying, boys,” he muttered in his guttural Chinese, sliding down into the seat and adjusting his safety harness. After strapping himself in, he reached forward and flipped the switch that lowered the canopy. He then took a long moment to study the instrument array and myriad illuminated controls, quickly deciding exactly what did what.
Looking at the array of aircraft instruments, Hawke was astonished for the second time since arriving up on the carrier’s flight deck.
Most of the cockpit controls on the fighter looked oddly familiar. Why? Because they were almost identical to those in the prototype of the top-secret new American fighter jet he had flown, the J-2. He was amused (in one way) to see that the Chinese had stolen so much advanced aeronautical technology from the West that getting the hang of basic things here in the cockpit was embarrassingly easy.
But he had flown the first-generation F-35C Lightning off the USN’s George Washington ’s flight deck courtesy of Captain Garry White and the U.S. Navy. And this Chinese airplane? It was vastly more sophisticated in terms of avionics, communications, and, most important, offensive and defensive weapons systems. Holy God, compared to the current F-35C, this thing was like something from another goddamn planet.
Take the cookies when they’re passed, he thought, smiling.
Due to unforeseeable circumstances, a top British intelligence officer was about to take one of what had to be, up until this moment, China’s most closely guarded military secrets for a little airborne test drive!
C H A P T E R 1 1
H awke gave the internationally required hand signal to the crewmen on deck below and flicked the switch that lit the candle. The sudden engine roar behind him was instant and powerful. He added power and taxied into position behind the last jet in line. The blast shield had already risen from the deck behind the lead jet in the squadron, and Hawke watched calmly as the fighter was catapulted out over the ocean, afterburners glowing white hot.
A wave of pain in his rib cage washed over him and he must have passed out because he suddenly heard the air boss screaming in his headset, telling him to get his ass moving. The aircraft directly in front of him had advanced into position and he’d not followed quickly enough for the air boss. Now he added a touch of power and tucked in where he belonged. There remained only three fighters on the deck ahead of him.
He focused for a second on what to say and how to say it. He not only had to get the Chinese right, the words, but also had to get the attitude right, a slangy mixture of swagger and humble obeisance to the air boss gods on high.
“So sorry, boss,” he muttered in the time-honored traditional communicative style of fighter pilots all over the world. For a carrier pilot, the air boss is God himself.
“Don’t let it happen again, Passionflower, or I’ll kick your sugarcoated ass off this boat and clear back to Shanghai.”
“Roger that, sir,” Hawke said, advancing a few feet forward.
“You forget something in your preflight, Passionflower?”
“No, sir,” Hawke said, starting to sweat a bit.
“Yeah? Check your goddamn nav lights off-on switch for me, will you? Just humor me.”
Shit, he thought, flicking the nav lights switch. He’d actually forgotten to turn his bloody nav lights on! Dumb mistake, and he could not afford to be dumb at this point, not in
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