Dancing with the Dragon: A Novel

From Publishers Weekly Heavy on high-tech thrills but light on almost everything else, Weber's seventh novel zeroes in on that villain of the moment, China, and the ill-conceived fight it decides to pick with the United States. Using jingoistic language that at times harks back to fears of the "yellow peril," Weber (DEFCON One) portrays a nation hungry for power and territory fighting on three fronts Taiwan, the Panama Canal and the skies above the Pacific Rim. The key to China's military might is a new, top-secret laser gun that destroys U.S. aircraft. As the fierce fighting rages, Washington dispatches private intelligence specialists and former pilots Scott Dalton and Jackie Sullivan to China to kidnap the scientist who built the laser. Quickly learning that its secret has been uncovered and it's now overmatched, China falls back on its last resort: launching nuclear weapons at Hawaii and Alaska. Dalton and Sullivan, who were introduced in 1999's Primary Target, may be very brave, but they're also flavorless and stiff. As lovers whose relationship feels as dull as their personalities, they often appear to compete over who can utter the most banalities. (Sullivan: "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." Dalton: "Yeah, it's going to be a hot time in Beijing tonight.") Weber's initially promising plot nosedives after the first few chapters, hampered by hokey dialogue, exposition-heavy battle scenes and flagging suspense. From Booklist A prolific and proficient technothriller writer, former marine pilot Weber turns his sights on the next cold war, the one impending with China. A few years from now, the Chinese procure advanced missile-defense laser technology through the defection of one Dr. Cheung. With this protection against American retaliation, they threaten Taiwan, and just to compound the crisis, act against the Panama Canal, to cut off American naval reinforcements to the Pacific. This, of course, brings the U.S. directly into the situation, overtly with naval and air protection for Taiwan and covertly with penetrations of China to retrieve or terminate Cheung. The action is brisk, the prose and characters are serviceable, Weber's expertise on U.S. military matters is high, and his depiction of Chinese motives and methods well above the level of Yellow Peril fantasies. A solid accomplishment for thriller readers. Roland Green Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved “THE ACTION IS BRISK. . . . A SOLID ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR THRILLER READERS.”– Booklist “HEAVY ON HIGH-TECH THRILLS.” –Publishers Weekly From the Paperback edition. From the Inside Flap In a page-turning techno-thriller from start to cliff-hanging finish, bestselling author Joe Weber delivers a gripping plot that could have been torn from tomorrowx92s headlines.During routine night operations off Southern California, an F/A-18 from the USS Abraham Lincoln is inexplicably blown from the sky. The Pentagon wants to throw a blanket over the incident, but then another navy fighter jet is mysteriously destroyed in midair. The president orders an investigation to find out who is responsible for the attacksx96and why. Tagged for the job: ex-CIA operatives and former military pilots Scott Dalton and Jackie Sullivan.As Dalton and Sullivan proceed, they are surprised to learn that the loss of the navy jets is just the latest in a series of seemingly unrelated and previously unexplained losses of American combat aircraft. Yet their investigation soon uncovers a deadly conspiracy that seems to lead directly to the heart of Beijing.< “THE ACTION IS BRISK. . . . A SOLID ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR THRILLER READERS.”– Booklist “HEAVY ON HIGH-TECH THRILLS.” –Publishers Weekly From the Paperback edition. Joe Weber was a carrier-qualified fighter/attack-trained pilot for the United States Marine Corps. After his release from active duty, Weber flew commercially until 1989. His unique inside knowledge and flair for explosive drama have earned him praise from today’s masters of military fiction. His books have appeared on the New York Times , Publishers Weekly , Chicago Tribune , and Associated Press bestseller lists. Weber lives with his wife, Jeannie, near Pensacola, Florida.Readers can contact the author through e-mail at [email protected], or visit his Web site at www.JoeWeberNovels.com. From the Paperback edition. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Knifing through the calm seas off the coast of southern California, USS Abraham Lincoln and her battle group turned into the wind for the last aircraft launch of the evening. High above the Nimitz-class supercarrier, a luminous commander's moon dominated a black canvas splashed with millions of twinkling stars. Except for a few isolated thunderstorms in the southern California operating area, the balmy night was perfect for carrier training exercises.The slippery flight deck, dangerous enough during the day, but extremely hazardous during night operations, was alive with airplanes, tow tractors, yellow-shirted aircraft directors, and green-shirted aviation boatswain's mates prepping the two forward catapults. Bathed in a soft haze of red floodlights, shadowy figures with yellow flashlight-wands carefully guided pilots around the crowded maze of airplanes waiting to taxi to the catapults.From bow to stern, the 4.5-acre flight deck of Abraham Lincoln was a genuinely hostile environment of screaming jet engines, blazing exhaust gases, whirling propeller blades, guillotine-like arresting gear cables, and foul-smelling catapult steam mixed with jet fuel and salt spray.Listening to the low whine of his two jet engines, Lt. Comdr. Sammy Bonello saw two wands of light suddenly flash on in front of his plane. The time had arrived--no turning back now.Following the taxi director, Bonello released the Super Hornet's brakes and taxied his sleek two-seat F/A-18F across the jet-blast deflector behind the starboard bow catapult. Despite all my years as a fighter pilot, these night carrier operations still give me the creeps, he thought.Unlike day operations, when pilots can visually and viscerally tell if a catapult shot is good, night operations rob aviators of critical visual cues. When the catapult fires, the pilot accelerates under heavy G-forces straight into a seemingly endless black hole. The sensation is an eerie feeling of being completely at the mercy of fate. To say the least, night catapult shots and landings (traps) on the boat are character-building exercises.Manning the backseat of the supersonic, twin-engine strike fighter, Lt. Comdr. Clarence "Chick" Fossett went through his checklist and then gazed across the busy flight deck.Even with the additional anxiety of night operations, Bonello and Fossett could wring the best from the Super Hornet's combination of performance and firepower. The single-seat F/A-18E and two-seat F/A-18F are evolutionary upgrades of the combat-proven F/A-18C/D Hornets. The newest night-strike fighters are able to conduct unescorted missions against highly defended targets early in a conflict.This evening Bonello and Fossett would be flying a routine training mission with a more junior crew from the VFA-113 Stingers of Carrier Air Wing Fourteen.Fossett, the weapons-systems officer, adjusted his oxygen mask and then looked down at a sailor holding a lighted weight board. Noting their total weight for the catapult shot was correct, he gave the teenager an okay signal with his flashlight."There's a confirmation on sixty thousand pounds." Chick glanced at his kneeboard. "Lookin' close this evening.""Yeah, we'll be a little tight on gas." Feeling the normal amount of oxygen escaping from his mask, Sammy completed his takeoff checks and set the trim for takeoff. He glanced at the full moon and then looked at his instruments. "If we run short on gas, we'll hit the tanker.""We're always short." Fossett glanced at the catapult officer. "That's what makes this so damn much fun."Sammy adjusted his helmet visor. "If we lose an engine, I'm gonna concentrate on the HUD--you back me up."The head-up display could easily spell the difference between a deadly crash and a successful single-engine landing back aboard the ship. Projected at eye level on the windscreen, the HUD provided the pilot with his plane's angle of attack, airspeed, attitude, and rate of climb."Roger that." Fossett checked the status of their wingman. "Ham's gone into tension--looks like a go."Casting off a momentary feeling of claustrophobia, Sammy glanced at the other Stinger F/A-18F; it belched long, jagged white/orange flames from its powerful General Electric turbofans, each producing twenty-two thousand pounds of thrust. He turned his flashlight on in case of an electrical failure--nothing like a dark cockpit when the grits hit the fan.Shortly after Bonello saw the Hornet's exterior lights flash on, the all-weather, Mach 1.8 fighter squatted on the catapult, then blasted up the flight deck and thundered into the inky darkness.Sammy watched the twin yellowish-orange streaks as the pilot made a shallow clearing turn and started climbing. Okay, God, it's our turn."I'll counter any roll or yaw with rudder and stick," Sammy said. Swirls of hazy, reddish superheated steam drifted out of the port catapult track, but Bonello's practiced routine was taking over and shoving his anxiety attack aside. "Throttles will remain at military or min burner. I'll snap the rollers up and jettison the luggage if we have a problem.""Roger."On cue Sammy followed the yellow-shirted taxi director as he positioned the airplane in the catapult shuttle. Following a signal from the taxi director, Bonello eased off the brakes. The catapult fires with such force that brakes would be useless in trying to stop the launch. The tires would simply explode, sending deadly shrapnel flying down the cat track.Deck crewmen scurried beneath the powerful aircraft as they prepared the jet to be launched. Bonello and Fossett felt the Hornet squat, then, at the command of the yellow-shirt, Bonello raised the launch bar. Out of habit, he reached for the ejection handle between his thighs to make sure he wasn't sitting on it--split seconds count in the carrier business.Seconds later, the catapult officer, known as the shooter, began rapidly rotating his lighted wand."It's show time." Sammy inched the throttles forward into the detent, locking his left hand on the throttle grip. The engines spooled up to an earsplitting howl as the blast deflector took a beating from the tremendous heat of the white-hot flames. The airplane shook and vibrated while Sammy completed his final cockpit checks and did a wipeout on the flight controls."Stick forward, aft, left, right, rudders right and left," Bonello said, verifying the movements of the major flight control surfaces."Lookin' good, Burner.""Hydraulics, oil, rpm, and EGT are normal," Sammy said, monitoring the exhaust gas temperature and the master caution panel. "Everything looks clean--I like it." He braced his helmet against the back of the ejection seat. "You ready?""Ready.""Here we go." Bonello took a breath of cool oxygen and snapped on his external lights, indicating that he and his jet were ready to fly. Sammy reached forward with his right hand and grabbed the catapult handle to brace for the launch.With their pulse rates increasing, Sammy and Chick anticipated the crushing G-forces that would hurl them into the dark void beyond the bow. Their destiny, whatever it was going to be, would be out of their hands for the next few seconds.The catapult officer made one final safety check of the flight deck and then dropped to one knee. He pointed his flashlight wand toward the bow, giving the signal to launch the Super Hornet.After a short pause the catapult fired, hurling the strike fighter from zero to 152 knots (175 mph) in 2.1 seconds. Sammy's helmet was pinned to the ejection-seat headrest as his eyeballs flattened, causing momentary tunnel vision during the impressive shot. He uttered a guttural sound as the airplane raced toward the black emptiness--the dark void waiting to trick him into taking a one-way trip to the bottom of the ocean.Off the end of the flight deck and finally climbing, they filled the cockpit with a mutual sigh of relief."Good airspeed, good shot," Sammy said. His adrenaline-induced sensory overload was becoming more manageable. Thank you, God.He snapped the landing gear handle up and immediately made a clearing turn. "How you doin'?""Couldn't be better--let's see how quickly Ham can get aboard.""I'd bet about forty-five seconds," Bonello said.While they continued to accelerate, Sammy cleaned up the Super Hornet. Trimming for a normal climb profile, he reduced power a small amount while they intercepted an arc around Lincoln. Bonello and Fossett checked in with the departure controller and contacted the strike controller while they waited for their wingman to rendezvous with them.Less than two minutes later, Lieutenant "Ham" Hamilton guided Stinger 303 into a loose parade position. "Dash Two's aboard.""Okay, Ham." Bonello smoothly advanced the throttles to continue his climb. "Let's switch to Black Eagle and go upstairs.""Roger, switchin'."Sammy keyed his radio. "Black Eagle, Hornet Three-Oh-Seven, flight of two, state thirteen-point-eight.""Roger, Hornet Three-Zero-Seven." The mission systems operator in the E-2C Hawkeye airborne-early-warning aircraft closely watched the two strike fighters.The latest version of the venerable Hawkeye incorporated a mission computer upgrade for the nerve center of the weapons systems, an advanced control-indicator set that revolutionized operator interface in the combat information center, and a sophisticated navigation suite with state-of-the-art laser technology.The Hawkeye systems operator keyed his radio. "Three-Zero-Seven, for weather avoidance recommend heading one-niner-zero.""Okay, that's one-ninety on the ... Read more