Текст книги "End Game"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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“When will we attack?” Memon asked Captain Bhaskar, the ship’s executive officer.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for your questions, Mr.

Memon. I have work here.”

He turned and walked toward the radar section, Memon’s eyes burning a hole in his back.

“The marines will take off in twenty minutes,” said a lieutenant who was standing nearby. He was tasked to maintain communications with the ship boarding team; Memon could not remember his first name but resolved to find a way to help him in the future. “Two Sea King helicopters. We’ll see their positions on this screen here. They will be accompanied by a Mk42B with Sea Eagle missiles.”

The Mk42B was a special version of the Sea King helicopter equipped with antiship missiles and special search radar. All of the Sea Kings were variants of the Sikorsky END GAME

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SH-3 built by Westland; in America, the originals were known as Sea Kings, with an Air Force version called the Jolly Green Giant.

“When the aircraft are airborne,” continued the lieutenant, “the admiral will give the tanker the order to stop and be boarded. The marines will secure the ship and the search will begin. The divers will arrive in a second wave, once the tanker is secured. No inch of the tanker will be left unexamined.”

“And if they launch a torpedo at us in the meantime?”

“We will be at safe distance and detect it instantly. The decoys will be launched to detonate it a mile from the ship.

The hull of this ship is considerably better protected than the Calcutta, and even if we were to be struck, we would survive. And the tanker will be dealt with mercilessly. The jaws of hell will receive it.”

“Yes,” said Memon. “That would be most appropriate.”

Aboard the Levitow,

taking off from Drigh Road

0412

MACK FELT THE MEGAFORTRESS LIFT UP ABRUPTLY BENEATH

him as it came off the runway. Somehow being a passenger made him feel out of sorts. It wasn’t just that there was no way to anticipate the tugs and pulls of flight properly. It was the fact that you were just along for the ride, like you were a passenger in a bus. And who wanted to be in a bus?

He was still sore at Bastian for demanding that he fly only one plane at a time. That seemed ridiculously cautious. The argument that only Starship and Zen had handled two in combat was ridiculous; the same could have been said about them before they did it. He’d done fine on his last sortie.

However, he would follow his master’s orders. No sense 120

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

going against the old graybeard, especially with his daughter at the helm of the plane. She’d be tattling in no time.

Mack shared the Flighthawk control compartment with Ensign Gloria English, who would be taking over as Piranha pilot once they reached their station. The ensign was a Navy girl; he didn’t hold that against her, but unfortunately her face could sink a thousand ships. Even though she had literally nothing to do for the next two hours, English was busy at her station, examining previous mission tapes.

“Levitow to Flighthawk leader. Mack, we’re climbing through ten thousand feet,” said Breanna a short time later.

“You’re going to want to start getting ready.”

“You don’t have to tell me my job, Captain,” snapped Mack. “I have it under control.”

“I don’t doubt that. Flight plan calls for a launch in ten minutes. We’ll be over international waters—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know the drill.”

SAME OLD MACK, BREANNA THOUGHT AS SHE PREPARED THE

Megafortress for the Flighthawk launch. He’d seemed a little more mature over the past few months, but bad cream always curdled in the end.

“Captain, we have two Sukhoi Su-33s orbiting directly to the west, fifty miles,” reported Stewart. “Flying at twelve thousand feet. One helicopter as well. Additional aircraft from the south—three helicopters. All aircraft are Indian.”

“Where are they coming from?”

“Believe the Indian warship to the south,” said Stewart, tapping the configurable display in front of her. Data from the surface and airborne radars were forwarded to her station when they were operating, giving her a much longer-range view than normal.

“Ship on the surface,” added Stewart. “Oil tanker.”

“Flighthawk leader, be advised we have a pair of Indian Sukhois ahead,” Breanna told Mack.

“Yeah, I see them on the sitrep.”

END GAME

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“Let’s go ahead and launch,” said Breanna. “Get Hawk Three off the wing before we get too close.”

“Yeah, roger. Let ’er rip.”

Aboard the Shiva ,

northern Arabian Sea

0430

MEMON WATCHED THE OIL TANKER ON THE SCREEN IN THE

combat center. The image was blurred and shadowy, but one thing was clear—the tanker was not stopping. The helicopter with the antiship missiles and its two companions with the marine boarding party were now less than two miles away.

Memon had donned a headset that allowed him to switch into the different radio channels being used during the mission. He listened now as the admiral repeated his warning.

“You are ordered to halt your ship. If you do not stop and allow yourself to be boarded, you will be sunk. Those are your alternatives.”

There was a flurry of activity to Memon’s right. An airplane coming from the vicinity of Pakistan had been picked up on radar about fifty miles away. Two of their planes were going to meet it.

The voices spiked with excitement—something had flared from below the plane.

A missile launch!

Memon’s stomach tightened. The treacherous Pakistanis had lured them into a trap.

The voices calmed—the plane was identified as an American Megafortress, bound for the Indian Ocean near Africa. It had launched a small robot aircraft, not a missile.

“You look disappointed,” said Captain Bhaskar.

Memon pulled off his headset. “How’s that?”

“You want a battle, don’t you?”

“I don’t run from conflict. We must not be intimidated.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

As Bhaskar frowned, one of the officers behind him announced that Admiral Kala had just given the order to stop the tanker.

Aboard the Levitow ,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0432

“TANKER BEING TARGETED!” SAID STEWART, PRACTICALLY

shouting. “The helicopter is going to fire—Sea Eagle antiship missile, active radar.”

“Jam it,” Breanna told her copilot.

“Captain—”

“Jam the guidance radar, now. Full ECM suite,” said Breanna. She put her hand on the throttle glide, urging more speed from the Megafortress. “Hawk Three—be advised Indian helicopters are firing on the oil tanker.”

“Roger that. I see it. What do you want me to do?”

“Just stay close.”

“I’m hugging you,” said Mack.

Breanna reached to the communications panel. But before she could tell Colonel Bastian what was going on, Stewart reported that the ECMs were on.

“They’re firing anyway,” added the copilot. “We’re not optimized for weapons like that.”

Breanna hit the preset on the communications panel so she could broadcast on the UHF frequency universally used for emergencies.

“This is Dreamland Levitow to Indian helicopters. Why are you firing on an unarmed civilian vessel?”

“First missile missed,” said Stewart. “They’re going to try again.”

“Where are the Sukhois?”

“A mile and a half south. Aircraft carrier—bear with me,” said Stewart, struggling to sort out the alerts and icons END GAME

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that were flashing on her screen. “Ship-to-ship—they have a targeting system for SS-N-12 Sandbox antiship missile.

Surface-to-air. Short-range—um, SA-N-4 Gecko. Guns.”

The SA-N-4 was a Russian-built short-range antiaircraft missile. Guided by radar, it was not a threat to the Megafortress as long as she stayed above sixteen thousand feet. The guns—they would be 30mm antiaircraft cannon—were likewise not a threat.

“SS-11—Grisons,” added Stewart. “That’s it.”

“Also short-range. All right. Concentrate on the Su-33s,”

Breanna told her copilot.

Also known to NATO as CADS-1, Dagger and Chestnut Tree, the SS-11 Grisson was a close-in weapons system and was not a problem at present. The Sukhois were the real threat, though Breanna was confident she could handle them.

“Wisconsin, this is Levitow,” said Breanna, clicking into the Dreamland Command communications channel.

“More missiles!” warned Stewart.

“Continue ECMs,” said Breanna. Even if the electronic countermeasures confused the targeting radar, eventually whoever was piloting the helicopter would simply get close enough to hit the tanker without guidance. It was a pretty big target and it would be hard to miss.

“Breanna?” said Colonel Bastian, coming on the screen.

“We have a situation here—Indian helicopter firing missiles at an oil tanker. There are Sukhois—other helicopters.

I can’t let them kill civilians.”

“Stand by.”

“Sukhois are changing course,” warned Stewart.

“Hawk Three—Mack, we have their attention.”

“Good.”

124

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

Aboard the Abner Read , off the coast of Somalia

0435

BASTIAN’S VOICE BOOMED IN STORM’S EAR AS HE SWITCHED

into the channel.

“Indian aircraft are attacking a Pakistani oil tanker,” said Dog. “One of our aircraft is in the vicinity.”

Typical Dreamland, thought Storm. Always getting their bull necks into the middle of a firefight.

“Explain it to me simply, Bastian.”

“I just did. The aircraft is Dreamland Levitow, an EB-52

with Captain Stockard in command. You can speak to her directly on the Dreamland Command line.”

Captain Stockard—aka Breanna Bastian Stockard. A chip off the old renegade, trouble-seeking block.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. He had one of his radio operators make the hookup. In seconds he had the pilot on the line. “This is Captain Gale. What’s going on?”

“A helicopter gunship launched two radar-guided missiles at a civilian oil tanker. We’ve blocked them with our ECMs but they’re maneuvering for another shot. Two Sukhoi jets changing course to intercept us.”

“Indians?”

“Roger that.”

Storm knew the aircraft must be from the Shiva, India’s new, so-called superweapon.

“Don’t interfere,” said Storm. He could just imagine what Admiral Johnson would do to him if he got into a pissing match with the Indians.

Not that he wouldn’t mind taking the Shiva down a few notches.

“Stand down, Captain,” he told Breanna. “We’re not at war with the Indians.”

“This is a civilian ship—”

“What part of ‘stand down’ do you not understand?”

END GAME

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“Can I defend myself?”

“Get your butt out of there.”

“Yes, sir,” she snapped, and the connection died.

Aboard the Levitow,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0435

MACK CHANGED COURSE, BRINGING THE FLIGHTHAWK TEN

miles ahead of the Megafortress, on a direct line with the mother ship’s nose. The two Sukhoi Flankers were forty-five miles ahead, flying abreast of each other, one on his left wing and one on his right. They were climbing at a good pace, but both Mack and the Megafortress were more than ten thousand feet above them.

“Weapons ID’d on Sukhois,” said Stewart, passing along information that had been gleaned from the Megafortress sensors. “Air-to-surface missiles, long– and short-range.

Only air defense weapons are Archer heat seekers; four apiece.”

The Archers were short-range weapons, similar—some said superior—to the American Sidewinder.

C3’s tactics section offered up a suggestion—fly north, tackle the bogey there, then hit number two.

“Yeah, like number two is going to be stupid enough to suck his thumb while I’m zeroing out his buddy,” Mack told the computer mockingly.

“Dreamland Levitow to Flighthawk leader—Mack, we’re going to cut north.”

“Levitow, tell you what—I’m going to take Bogey One,”

said Mack, using the ID on the screen. “Suggest you pound Two with a Scorpion missile.”

“Negative, negative, Flighthawk—we’re ordered to dis-engage.”

“What do you mean? Run away!”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Yeah, well, those are my orders. Stay with me. Do not attack.”

Mack jerked the control stick to the right so hard the aircraft took almost eight g’s, skidding through the sky as it tried to follow his instructions.

BREANNA CONTINUED TO STEW AS SHE HELD THE MEGA-fortress on the course north, tracking toward the Pakistani coast. To allow a civilian ship to be fired on was uncon-scionable.

But so was disobeying a lawful order from a superior.

Zen would say screw it. Zen would say you do what you gotta do, and deal with fallout later.

And her father?

He wouldn’t have handed her off to Storm if he didn’t think she should do what he said. They were under Captain Gale’s command.

“We’re going back south,” she told her copilot. “Open the bay doors. Maybe we can bluff them.”

“But—”

“We’re not firing,” added Breanna. She punched up the weapons panel, activating the AMRAAM-plus Scorpion missiles’ radar herself. “I have the weapons screen on my station. Hawk Three—we’re changing course. Keep an eye on those Sukhois.”

“Now you’re talking, Breanna.”

“Hang on,” she said, pulling the Megafortress south.

THE SUKHOIS HAD TURNED BACK WEST WHEN THE MEGA-fortress went north, and were slow to react as it swung back. By the time they turned to meet the Megafortress, Mack already had Hawk Three on a dead run at the leader’s nose.

As he closed to within a mile, the Sukhoi’s radar finally found him. But that was far too late. The Indian pilot threw flares and electronic chaff in the air, probably mistaking the radar indication or the blur speeding toward him for a mis-

END GAME

127

sile. He also inexplicably jerked his plane in Mack’s direction, perhaps panicking in his sudden haste to get away. The move would have been fatal had Mack been allowed to fire his cannon; the Sukhoi presented a fat target, and even a quick burst would have riddled the fuselage with bullets.

Instead, Mack went after the second Sukhoi, five thousand feet below and a mile southwest of his leader. Jamming his stick in that direction, he managed to skid through a turn and point the U/MF’s nose at the bogey. Here was one advantage of flying a robot plane: The aircraft took somewhere over nine g’s in the maneuver, which would have scrambled the brain of anyone sitting inside, even Mack’s. C3 used the entire airfoil as a brake, pitching the airplane’s tail up and then spinning onto the course like a knuckleball floating toward the plate.

And here was one disadvantage of flying a robot plane: Mack got a disconnect warning from the computer. He was eighteen miles away from the Megafortress, and would disconnect in five seconds if he didn’t get closer.

“Twenty, twenty, I’m supposed to have twenty miles,” he grumbled. Hoping the computer was just being conservative, he stayed on his course toward the Indian aircraft.

“Disconnect in three seconds,” said the computer.

Cursing, Mack pushed the stick in the direction of the Megafortress to the east, but it was too late; the main screen went white and black letters appeared at the center: CONNECTION LOST.

TO JAN STEWART, IT SEEMED AS IF SOMEONE HAD HIT THE

fast-forward switch on the world. Icons on her configurable screens popped up in rapid succession. She no sooner interpreted one and began to act on it when two more flashed on the other side of the dashboard. The radar operators were jabbering in her ears, and she was also trying to listen to the radio channel used by the Indian pilots as well.

“Flighthawk is no longer under direct control,” she told Breanna. “Uh—on course to return.”

128

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Roger that.”

“You want to launch the second one?” asked Stewart.

“No time. It’ll be back inside a minute anyway if we’re still on this course. Hail the Indians again and tell them not to attack.”

“I’ve tried. They’re not acknowledging us at all.”

“Where are the helos?”

Stewart looked at the sitrep screen but couldn’t find them. She start to change the zoom but her brain froze; she couldn’t remember how to do it, even though it was something she did maybe ten times an hour on a normal flight.

“Shit!” said Breanna.

“Don’t yell at me,” snapped Stewart, but as she raised her eyes from the screens to the windscreen, she realized Breanna hadn’t been cursing at her at all—a black-rimmed fireball rose from the oil tanker ahead.

They were too late.

Aboard the Shiva ,

northern Arabian Sea

0436

WHEN MEMON REACHED THE BRIDGE, HE FOUND ADMIRAL

Kala receiving a report from the air commander. Two of the jets patrolling above the tanker they were stopping had encountered an American aircraft, probably a B-52. They believed they had been fired upon without warning.

Memon was shocked by the report. While the United States was not technically a military ally, the two countries had many economic and diplomatic ties. This was a be-trayal of the worst sort.

“The aircraft is now flying back in the direction of our helicopters,” added the air commander. “It is acting in a hostile manner.”

“What happened to the plane that was fired on?”

“The missile flew close to one of our aircraft but he was END GAME

129

able to avoid it. There were no radar guidance indications—the situation is unclear to me.”

“Shoot them down,” said Memon. “They’ve provoked it.”

The air commander turned to him. “Shoot down an American plane?”

“We were fired at first, Admiral,” he said, making his plea directly to Kala. “We have a right defend ourselves.”

“Warn them to leave,” said the admiral. “If they do not, shoot them down. They are a danger to the Shiva, as well as the boarding force.”

Aboard the Levitow,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0436

MACK SMACKED THE BUTTON TO CHANGE THE SCREEN CONfiguration. The view from the Megafortress’s forward television camera snapped onto his main screen. A red tongue of fire filled the lower left-hand corner.

“They hit the oil tanker,” said Ensign English next to him.

“Looks like it.”

“The Flighthawk disconnected?”

Mack turned to her, ready to tell her to mind her own business. But the puzzled look on her face stopped him.

“Yeah, the intercept took me too far away after the Megafortress changed course.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll come back, though, right? It’s programmed to fall back into trail?”

“Yuppers.” The Megafortress’s latest maneuvers had increased the distance between it and the Flighthawk; C3 predicted it would be another four minutes before it could catch up if the EB-52 stayed on its present course and speed.

“The Indian aircraft carrier is preparing to launch more 130

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

aircraft,” English added. “I’ll bet they’re going to launch another set of fighters and send the ones providing air cover over the ship to intercept us. The ones you chased away were equipped for surface combat, not air-to-air. They only had two short-range missiles.”

“How do you know they’re going to launch?” asked Mack.

“They’re maneuvering to get into the wind. They don’t know what they’re doing yet,” added English. “Their procedures are awkward. The ship is still brand new and they’re learning. They also may not be as well-equipped as we are.

Things we take for granted, they’re working through.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” said Mack, tapping his fingers against the still useless control stick.

BREANNA BANKED INTO A TURN TO THE WEST, ANGRY WITH

herself for flying north and then taking so long to change her mind. She’d accomplished absolutely nothing.

The tanker was on fire and the crew was abandoning ship. The Sukhois that had chased them earlier were about thirty-five miles to the northeast, at the border of Pakistani territory. One of the two planes patrolling over the Indian carrier was moving northward in their direction.

“ID weapons on that Su-33 coming for us,” she told Stewart.

“Uh—”

“Heat-seekers only or AMRAAMskis?”

“No weapons radar for—”

“Go to weapon query mode,” said Breanna. “The W3

button at the left side of the screen. Box the target, then tap the button.”

“Heat-seekers,” said Stewart. “Four AA-11s. That’s it.”

“Levitow, this is Flighthawk leader. Bree, we have to launch the second Flighthawk.”

“Negative, Mack. Colonel Bastian said you’re only supposed to fly one at a time.”

“Hawk Three is not under my control. It’ll be four minutes END GAME

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before it’ll catch up to us. The Indian aircraft carrier is getting ready to launch more planes; I say we launch Hawk Four.”

“If we launch it now, it’ll stay up for the entire flight.”

“We need to launch,” insisted Mack. “I’ll let the computer fly it,” he added in a calmer voice. “Come on.”

“Stand by.”

Breanna looked at the sitrep plot. At their present course and speed, Hawk Three would catch up with them three and a half minutes from now; by then the Sukhoi would be all over them. Any maneuvering she did would delay the Flighthawk even longer, unless she went back in the direction of the other Indian airplanes.

No brainer.

“Jan, we’re going to launch the second Flighthawk,” she told her copilot. “Emergency launch.”

“OK,” said Stewart. “Single aircraft taking off from the Indian carrier.”

MACK LET THE COMPUTER RUN THROUGH THE ABBREVIATED

takeoff checklist, watching the screens flash by. The Megafortress tilted and swung upward, the Flighthawk powering away.

A single Flanker was accelerating from the southeast, pedal to the metal. What Mack wanted to do was swing back and intercept him before he launched his missiles. If everyone else had been standing still this would be a difficult task, but with all three planes moving well over 500

knots, the calculus was tortuous. And Mack didn’t want to chance losing another aircraft.

The tactics section of C3 studied its library of similar situations and suggested a basic intercept scheme. With no time to argue, Mack tapped the screen, accepting the computer’s suggestion as a template for his plan.

“Flighthawk leader to Levitow—Bree, I’m going to shoot this sucker down.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Orders are still no. ”

“Bullshit. He’ll fire those heat-seekers as soon as he’s in range.”

“Mack—”

“I don’t feel like walking home.”

“We’ll take him with the Stinger air mines.”

“He can fire from five miles out, long before the Stinger can target him.”

Breanna hesitated.

“If he doesn’t break off in sixty seconds, take him,” she said abruptly. “As you attack, we’ll cut north.”

“Roger that.”

Aboard the Wisconsin , near Somalia

0436

THE WISCONSIN WAS MORE THAN A THOUSAND MILES AWAY

from the Levitow, so there was no possibility of seeing it, even with the powerful array of radars in the aircraft. But Dog sensed things weren’t going well—Breanna hadn’t checked back with him since their earlier communication.

“Dreamland Wisconsin to Dreamland Levitow, ” he said, using the Dreamland communications channel. “Breanna, what’s your situation?”

“We’re being pursued by a hostile Indian aircraft,” she said. Her helmeted face appeared on the com screen.

“We’re going to shoot him down if he doesn’t break off.”

“I thought you were ordered to get out of there.”

“We’re trying, Daddy. But at this point I don’t think we have any other options.”

The word Daddy caught him off guard; he felt a flash of emotion he couldn’t afford in a combat situation.

“Do what you think best,” Dog told her.

“I am.”

END GAME

133

Her image lingered on the screen. Dog stared at it for a moment, then hit one of the presets to contact Storm.

Aboard the Levitow,

over the northern Arabian Sea

0440

STEWART TRIED THE HAIL AGAIN, THIS TIME SIMULTANEOUSLY

broadcasting on all radio frequencies the Indians were known to use.

“Dreamland Levitow to Indian flight pursuing us. We will consider you hostile if you continue on your present course.

This is your last warning.”

She waited for thirty seconds. Something blipped on the right screen—a fresh radar contact.

“Nothing, Captain,” she told Breanna. “Another aircraft is taking off from the carrier.”

MACK DIPPED HIS WING AT THE EXACT MOMENT HE GOT THE

cue from the computer. The Flighthawk peeled down and away from the Megafortress, arcing back toward the approaching Sukhoi. The Indian was seven miles away, technically within range to fire the Russian-made air-to-air missiles; the closer he got, the better his odds of a hit. Mack activated the weapon screen; a gray bar across the center of his main view told him he had no shot.

“Flighthawk leader, this is Levitow, ” said Breanna.

“Don’t try and talk me out of this, Bree. You know I’m right.”

“Flighthawk leader, you are ordered to engage the plane pursuing us and take it down. It has refused to answer hails.

It poses an imminent threat to my plane and crew.”

About time you got religion, Mack thought.

“Flighthawk leader, please acknowledge for the record,”

she added.

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Trying to get me off the hook later on, huh?”

“Please acknowledge for the record.”

“We’re all in this together, hon. Now watch me write my name in this asshole’s front end.”

Mack pushed his stick forward. The targeting bar began blinking yellow, even though the enemy aircraft was not yet in sight. The triangular aim cue at the center of the bar began blinking red, and Mack pressed the trigger. As he did, the Sukhoi flew in from the right side of the screen. His first few shots missed, but the next dozen or so blew through the nose and then the cobraesque cowl that led to the forward edge of the wing.

In an instant Mack was beyond the Sukhoi. He turned back to the west, trying to find both the Megafortress and the aircraft he’d just shot at.

He saw the Sukhoi first, its outline synthesized at the left of his screen. It was moving away, but still moving—he hadn’t taken it down.

How the hell could that be?

The Megafortress, which was supposed to have turned north after he made his attack so he could sweep in behind her, was still moving west. Before he could ask her about it, Stewart gave him a direction to cut to a western course. Breanna followed with an explanation.

“Hawk Four, the plane that took off from the aircraft carrier has activated radar indicating AA-12 AMRAAMskis.

We want to get as much air between us as we can. Catch up to me.”

“All right, yeah,” said Mack, pushing the throttle slide to max.

THE FLANKER THAT HAD TAKEN OFF FROM THE CARRIER HAD AT

least two Russian-made Vympell R-77 air-to-air missiles, better known in the West as the AA-12 Adder, or, more col-loquially, an “AMRAAMski.” The weapon was the best non-American-made air-to-air missile in the world at medium range. Very similar to the American AMRAAM

END GAME

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for which it had been nicknamed, it could strike another airplane at about forty nautical miles in a head-on confrontation; from the rear its effective range was roughly a third of that, depending on the speed and ability of the plane it was chasing.

Breanna had about forty nautical miles between her and the aircraft, but her advantage was quickly diminishing. And she had to worry not only about the Su-33 that Mack had just tangled with—the plane was moving southwest, its status unclear—but the two jets that had gone north earlier. They’d changed course again and were now headed in her direction.

“Broadcast another warning to the Indians,” Breanna told her copilot. “Tell them that if they take any more aggressive action, we will shoot them down.”

“Working on it.”

Breanna glanced at the sitrep. “Mack, you have to catch up to me.”

“I’m at max power.”

“Bogey Four is forty miles and gaining,” said Stewart.

“That’s the one with the AMRAAMskis.”

“ECMs.”

“Countermeasures,” said Stewart, confirming that she had begun filling the air with fuzz and fake signals. Though state of the art, the electronic countermeasures employed by the Megafortress did not make it invulnerable to radar-guided missiles, which had a number of techniques of their own to see through the haze. Breanna’s basic strategy at the moment was to make it more difficult for the Indian aircraft to lock onto her and fire, essentially playing for time. In the best-case scenario, her pursuer would give up or receive orders from the aircraft carrier to return.

It didn’t look like that was going to happen.

Bogey Four was closing the gap at roughly five miles a minute; Breanna decided her best defense was an aggressive offense.

“Mack, I’m going to swing south and try for a nose-to-nose attack.”

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“You’re going to take on the fighter?”

“I’m going to get into a position to fire the Scorpions.

You cut east as I make the turn and catch those two bozos coming down from the north.”

Mack didn’t answer right away. Breanna guessed that he was having trouble translating what she wanted to do into a plan; the Flighthawk’s twenty-mile tether complicated everything.

“Yeah, roger. I got it,” he said finally.

“Hawk Three will come under your control about the time I’m going to fire the AMRAAMs. Stay with Hawk Four—the computer will bring her close to me and we’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, OK.”

“No, Mack—do as I’m telling you.”

“Jeez, relax, will you? I got it.”

“Stewart, you got that?” said Breanna, turning to her copilot.

“It’s ‘In Your Face,’ ” said the copilot, using the slang for a simulation exercise that followed the same attack pattern on a long-range pursuer.

“Yeah, that’s it exactly. Two missiles. Wait for a lock.”

“Roger that.”

“Everybody, hang on,” said Breanna, powering the Megafortress into a turn.

MACK HAD NEVER TRULY APPRECIATED THE DIFFICULTY OF FLYing the Flighthawk in air-to-air combat before. It was like trying to hit a home run when the baseball was tied to an elastic band.

As for Breanna’s tactics—well, they were aggressive. But if he’d been the jock in the Su-33, he’d be salivating right now: The Megafortress made herself a huge target less than forty miles in front of him.

Apparently the Indian jock thought the same thing—he fired two radar missiles almost immediately.

Mack tried to zone out the blare of the crew’s conversation and the bucking of the Megafortress around him as the END GAME

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others responded. The Flanker continued toward the Megafortress. If its radar missiles somehow missed the big plane, he’d use his heat-seekers or cannon to down what he thought was a fat target.

Mack turned his attention to the two airplanes he’d encountered earlier. They were flying at warp speed toward him, closing to within twenty miles. He began a turn, easing up on his throttle as he made sure he was parallel to the path the Megafortress was going to take. He needed to anticipate Breanna’s next move as well as his targets’; when they saw her moving, they would slide farther west. He wanted to come at them over their wings, lacing them as he flew north and then with luck getting in behind them if they escaped and drove toward the Megafortress.