Текст книги "Strike Zone"

Автор книги: Dale Brown

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

He took a step, then froze, belatedly thinking of booby traps.

Fortunately, there weren’t any.

Page 219

“My lucky fuckin’ day,” he said aloud.

The room itself was empty, except for a small couch. A Taiwanese flag hung on the wall. On the wall opposite it were some framed papers and scrolls. Most were in Chinese, but one was in Latin with a name written in Roman letters:

Ai Hira Bai

A diploma or certificate of some sort. He was in the professor’s lair.

A door on his right was ajar, revealing a bathroom.

To the left, a set of steps led downward. Stoner walked to them. Another light came on, but this time he was prepared.

The steps led to a small office dominated by a wooden desk with a glass top. Beneath the glass was a map of Mainland China. He reached for the top drawer, opening it gently. It was empty, except for an envelope with Chinese characters on it. Stoner’s ability to interpret ideographs was somewhat limited, but he thought the words meant “To the next generation.”

BOSTON WATCHED THEMarines set the charges amid the rubble. The passage was blocked by an extremely large and thick piece of the wall; to get it out of the way they had to use considerable explosives. There was simply no way of knowing what other damage it might do.

“How we looking down there, Boston?” asked Captain Freah.

“Uh, the charges are just about set,” the sergeant told him. “A good hunk of C-4.”

“Understood. Make sure you’re far enough away.”

“Yeah.”

“Something bothering you, Boston?”

“Uh—”

“Look, Sergeant, the thing about Whiplash is, you have an opinion, you share it. You got me? I didn’t pick you to join the squad because I thought you were stupid. I want to know what the hell it is you’re thinking. Talk to me.”

Boston had been in the Air Force for a while, but no officer had ever spoken to him exactly like that.

While there were definitely good officers around, the usual attitude toward NCOs and enlisted men in general edged more toward tolerance than partnership.

Was Freah different?

Maybe it was the fact that they were both black.

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Or maybe what he and Colonel Bastian and the others said was true—Dreamland was a team effort.

“I have a weird, weird idea,” offered Boston. “We could use that Osprey to pull some of these big suckers off. I saw this big crane helicopter do that once back home when this building—”

“Pull the charges out of there now,” said Freah, cutting him off. “Next time you get an idea, Sergeant, you share it right away, you got me?”

“Damn straight, sir,” said Boston. “Damn straight.”

Aboard Raven

0315

ZEN JUMPED INTO Hawk Four as the Chinese J-7 closed to within fifty miles of the Megafortress.

The J-7 was essentially a MiG-21, with all the pluses and minuses of the venerable Russian design. Zen could take it in a heartbeat; as a matter of fact, the computer itself could handle the plane if pressed—C3had shot down almost enough MiGs to rate as a bona fide ace.

The Chinese pilot repeated roughly the same challenge the others had, telling Raven they were in sovereign airspace and to get his Yankee butt home. Zen laughed; Chinese pilots seemed to think they could make up for the shortcomings of their aircraft by boasting. As a class, they had to rate among the most cocksure flyboys in the world—which was saying quite a lot.

Dog gave a bland reply and held to his course.

They had one more aircraft to check out, another 767 whose flight plan said it was heading for Beijing.

The ID had already checked out. Hawk Four was about forty miles behind it; overtaking it at the present speed would take nearly eighteen more minutes, by which time the plane would be nearing landfall just south of Shanghai.

“Controller’s telling that J-7 to hang with us,” said Wes. “He’s got fuel problems, though.”

“Any transmissions from the 767?” asked Zen.

“Negative.”

“Zen, be advised we have a ground radar trying to track us,” said the copilot. “You see that on your screen? Fan Song-style radar—getting some more action here.”

“Just flashed in,” said Zen as the icons indicating different ground intercept and guidance radars began to appear on his screens. The Fan Song radar was associated with Chinese V-75 SA-2 Guideline missiles, originally designed by Russia in the late 1950s but updated at regular intervals since. “Stealthy” did not mean “invisible”; the long-wave radar could detect the EB-52 at roughly ten miles. But unless the Megafortress had to fly directly over the site, it was unlikely to be successfully targeted. The Flighthawk was even more difficult to detect.

“We’re out of their range,” noted Delaney. “Fresh flight of Mirages en route from Taiwan coming up behind us, uh, should be on the radar in ten, a little less. Look here, J-7’s turning around. Looks like the skies are friendly once more.”

“Roger that,” said Zen, jumping back into Hawk Three and pressing toward the 767.

Page 221

On the Ground in Kaohisiung

0320

WHILE THEOSPREYwas brought in to move the debris, Danny Freah went to the staging point down by the harbor to speak with one of the Taiwanese officers in charge of the forces there. By now the government had been informed by Washington that an operation was under way to apprehend terrorists pursuant to existing treaties, but details were still waiting Danny’s completion, and in any event the Taiwan president had not yet been contacted.

The Taiwanese were angry but Danny wasn’t ready to explain what was going on or turn over control.

While there were now more than a dozen Marines at the entrance to the site, the Americans would soon be outgunned, and in any event were under orders not to use lethal force against their allies. So Danny tried an old politician’s trick of diverting attention. He told the Taiwan officer in charge at the gate that the terrorists were probably Mainlanders and were suspected of having more forces in the harbor; they needed help checking the shorelines nearby. The officer retreated to consult his superiors; Danny also retreated, telling the Marines to appear as helpful as possible, but to stall before coming to find him.

Meanwhile, the Osprey hovered over the battery reclamation area. As powerful as the craft was, it hadn’t been designed as an excavator. It groaned and ducked, power plants moaning. Trotting back toward the site, Danny realized he’d have to call it off before it became damaged. Before he could hit his com control, the tilt-wing aircraft lurched backward, then suddenly shot upward—the stone had broken free.

“All right, Boston, set the explosives up,” he said, making his way back toward the area.

“No need to—we can get in. The Osprey pulled the block a couple of yards away.”

There was a shout in the background.

“What’s going on?” demanded Danny.

“Marines are okay. One with two broken legs swears he’ll beat the crap out of anyone who tries helping him walk.”

“Where’s Stoner?”

“Inside somewhere. We’re working on it.”

Aboard Raven

0320

H AWK T HREENOTCHEDforty thousand feet, slowly but surely gaining on the 767. But this was another wild-goose chase, Zen realized; not only had the ID checked out but the pilot had spoken to controllers at the Shanghai airport. It was a combi flight, with a dozen passengers and cargo, and it would be landing in about fifteen minutes.

Two fresh Mirage 2000s had been scrambled northward from Taiwan. Bumped by their afterburners into Mach + territory, they would have the Boeing in sight about sixty seconds or so after Zen did. Their fly-by-wire controls and a subtle but significant change in the design’s center of gravity made the planes much more maneuverable than the Mirage III they outwardly resembled. While Zen would Page 222

still—rightly—prefer an F-15 in a dust-up, the ROC interceptors could definitely hold their own.

The same might be said—albeit much more grudgingly—for the Shenyang F-8IIMs now being vectored in to check out the Mirages by a ground control unit south of Shanghai. The Shenyangs were as fast as the Mirages and might be as maneuverable, though from what Zen had already seen of Mainland pilots, he doubted their ability to outfly their island rivals.

C3’s tactical section plotted their intercept—everybody was going within visual range at roughly the same time.

The computer blinked at him, as if asking: Want to see what would happen in a three-way brouhaha?

And then there was yet another J-7, now within three miles of Hawk Four, flying toward Raven from the northwest. He was now within radar-missile range of the Megafortress.

“Raven, what do you want me to do with that J-7?” Zen asked.

“Stay on his wing,” said Dog. “He ought to be bingo soon.”

“You want me to make him see me or not?” asked Zen. The radar in the J-7 was not adept enough to pick up the stealthy U/MF.

“Negative. No sense losing the element of surprise. He hasn’t turned on his weapons. He’s not much of a problem.”

“Hawk leader,” acknowledged Zen, somewhat disappointed that he couldn’t scare the bejesus out of the fighter pilot. He put Hawk Four into a bank, turning parallel as the other plane approached. He would accelerate and ride about two miles behind the J-7 as it came in.

Or not—the fighter abruptly rolled its wing and turned toward the Mainland.

“Getting boring,” Zen told Dog.

“Well, stay awake long enough to check out that 767,” said Dog. “Then we can go home.”

“Roger that. I think this has all been a wild-goose chase.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“WE’RE GETTING INTOour fuel reserve,” Delaney told Dog on the flightdeck. “If we have to duck those idiot commies on the way back, we may run into trouble.”

“How much time before Zen gets within viewing range?”

“Still a good eight minutes.”

“That’s not going to kill us.”

“Famous last words. Those F-8s are coming hard.”

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“They’ll probably turn around like everyone else.”

“Says you.”

“You sound like a pessimist, Mr. Delaney.”

The copilot laughed. “Guess I am.”

Dog checked in with Jed Barclay back in D.C. “We have one last flight to look at. IDs have come back good and it looks like it’s clean. More than likely they never had a bomb to begin with.”

“That’s a relief,” said Jed.

“Sure is,” said Dog.

On the Ground in Kaohisiung

0330

STONER PAID NOattention to the noise in the hall, figuring it was Danny coming for him. He continued to work at the documents; they were a kind of personal history, detailing Professor Ai’s mother’s flight from the Mainland.

Ai didn’t want to take back China so much as destroy it. His mother had been accused of being a whore or traitor—the words weren’t clear to him.

“Mr. Stoner,” said one of the Whiplash troopers from down the hall.

“Yo!” yelled Stoner.

Boston trotted into the room, two Marines in tow.

Stoner looked up from the desk. “I need to talk to Captain Freah.”

“Gotta come up to do it. We’re not in line of sight, and we’re too deep under the concrete for the sat transmission. That would be why your radio didn’t work,” the sergeant added.

Stoner smiled. He realized he hadn’t even tried it.

“Mr. Stoner?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Hang on a second. Let me finish this one section here. Then we gotta go find your boss.

Quickly.”

Aboard Raven

0330

WITH THEF-8IISon a northern intercept, Zen turned Hawk Four onto their noses and changed Hawk Three’s course so he could fly by the 767 and continue out toward them. He was at 35,000 feet, about 8,000 higher than his target but lower than the Chinese Communist planes. He pushed his nose down slightly, figuring he would ride just above the airliner, close enough to get a good view but still give himself Page 224

room to react to the Mainlanders.

The image of the 767 appeared in his screen, synthesized first by the long-range radar. He switched back to infrared, getting the now-familiar blur. The computer counted down the intercept in the lower left-hand side of the screen, time over miles. As he passed the five-mile mark, he saw the faint glow of the cabin lights.

“Looks like passengers aboard,” he told Dog.

DOG ACKNOWLEDGED ANDglanced at Delaney, who was already looking at him, probably ready with another warning about their dwindling fuel.

Before the copilot could do that, Danny Freah interrupted on the Dreamland Command frequency.

“Go ahead, Danny.”

“I have Stoner here. He has more information.”

There was a pause, some static on the line.

“Colonel, I found some sort of document here prepared by the man who did most of the work on the UAV and some weapons. They do have a nuke.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. It’s not an ordinary nuke—it’s a neutron bomb. A scientist named Ai Hira Bai developed it.

I’m looking at what I guess you’d call kind of his life story. I haven’t translated everything. It’s kind of rambling about his past and family and the Japanese. He was close to Chen Lee, but apparently Chen Lee died.”

“When?”

“Not clear. Recently, according to this. My guess is that if they have a bomb they’ll try to detonate it over the capital, kill the Chinese leadership. They’ll take out the leaders but spare the buildings. I’m pretty sure about that.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Dog.

“One other thing—they have two bombs, not one.”

“Two? You’re sure?”

“The symbol for two happens to be one of the first things I ever learned,” he said. “Looks like two missiles in a box. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Aboard Island Flight A101

0331

PROFESSORAI FELTthe sweat starting to pour down the back of his neck. He was not worried about Page 225

death; he was concerned with failure. They must launch the dragon plane with its bomb now, or they would fail. The communists and the Americans were too close.

“It is time,” he told Chen Lo Fann through the aircraft’s radio. “We must act.”

“Yes. Launch the plane.”

Ai went through the procedure quickly, directing the pilot to begin his descent only a few seconds after he had ascertained all was ready.

The small UAV fell free of the wing. Ai’s hands shook as he watched the plane’s progress on his computer screen.

He tapped the command and severed the communications tie. The computer program aboard the UAV

would carry it on its way.

Now he could carry out his own plan.

“Change course,” he told the pilot, giving him new coordinates. Then he got up to go to the back of the aircraft.

“HE’S DIRECTING USto Shanghai,” the pilot told Chen Lo Fann.

“Why?”

“He did not say.”

Chen Lo Fann sat back a moment, trying to puzzle out what Ai was doing. The UAV had been programmed to fly to the capital on its own; it no longer needed guidance. But what was Ai up to?

And then Chen Lo Fann realized.

“There’s another bomb on the plane,” he told the pilot, unsnapping his restraints.

Aboard Raven

0332

THE WING OFthe plane seemed to catch fire as Zen approached. The 767 bucked downward and then up, and his first thought was that it had been hit by a missile he hadn’t seen.

Then he realized what was really going on.

“Hawk leader—we have a launch from the airliner,” said Delaney, his voice about an octave higher than normal.

“Roger that,” said Zen. He turned Hawk Three in the direction the 767 was flying. Mainland China lay in the distance, lights glittering in the dark night.

A small circle of red exhaust slid down through the left-hand quadrant of Zen’s screen.

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The clone?

Zen started to follow.

Aboard Island Flight A101

0334

CHEN FOUNDPROFESSORAi hunched over a large crate in the rear section of the aircraft behind the control deck for the UAV.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a second bomb?”

“Your grandfather forbade it.”

“That’s not true,” said Chen Lo Fann. “My grandfather would not have done that.”

“He didn’t tell you about the first weapon,” said Ai. “Or the UAV and this plane.”

“But my grandfather would not have wanted to blow up Shanghai,” said Chen Lo Fann. “Why do you?”

Ai Hira Bai didn’t answer.

“Get away from the box,” said Chen. “We will not attack Shanghai.”

“If there is only one attack, the communists may not respond,” said Ai. “This will guarantee war, and we will win.”

“You want to destroy Shanghai. It’s where your people come from, isn’t it?”

Anger flashed in Ai’s eyes, but he said nothing.

“Away from the box,” said Chen. He took his hand out from behind his back, revealing the pistol he kept there.

“The city deserves to be destroyed,” said Ai. “Everyone who collaborated with the communists deserves to be destroyed.”

“Away from the box, or I will shoot you,” said Chen.

Ai nodded his head, and started to get up. Too late, Chen realized he too had a pistol.

The bullet tore into Chen’s left shoulder an instant before he fired his own weapon. For the first second, there was no pain. Surprised, Chen glanced at his arm, thinking Ai had somehow missed.

Then the pain came.

He fired again, but Ai had already collapsed. Chen took a step toward the scientist. The bullet had blown off a good part of his skull.

Pain seared Chen’s body, and Chen felt what his grandfather had felt before he died of the heart attack.

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He slipped down to his knees, his good arm grabbing at the crate that held the nuclear weapon. There was a digital arming device at the front. It blinked at him. As Chen Lo Fann tried to focus on the digits and make out the control, the pain rushed across his body.

It’s armed, he thought. Then he saw darkness and felt himself fall to the floor of the cabin.

Aboard Raven

0335

“F-8S THINK IT’Sa missile,” said Delaney.

“Is it?” Dog asked.

“Not sure.”

“Can we get it with an AMRAAM-plus?”

“I can’t get a lock.”

“Get one.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dog leaned on the throttle slide, coaxing the power plants for more juice.

“Gonna screw up our fuel.”

“Mind what you’re doing,” said Dog. “Zen, we’re launching a Scorpion.”

“Roger that.”

“Bay,” said the copilot. The plane shuddered as the bomb bay door opened so the AMRAAM-plus could be fired.

“Locked—”

“Go!” said Dog.

Delaney launched. A second later, the Mainland planes turned sharply in front of them.

“They think we’re firing at them. They have ECMs active,” said Delaney. “That patrol plane over the mainland, fifty miles away—it’s some sort of airborne AWACS type, jamming.”

Dog ignored him. The techies liked to call the AMRAAM-plus guidance system “particularly robust,”

meaning it was hard to jam. But the distance was another matter. The target had been over forty miles away when the missile was launched. While the air-to-air missile could hit Mach 4, it was operating at the very edge of its effective range.

“Wes, hail the pilot,” Dog said. “Tell him to turn around.”

Delaney launched a second missile, then snugged the belly of the Megafortress. The 767 was now visible Page 228

in Raven’s own infrared screen, a blur growing in the lower right-hand quadrant.

“Missile batteries coming up,” said Delaney. “We’re just about over their territory.”

“Wes?”

“Not answering.”

“Stand by.”

Dog reached to the com panel to key in Jed Barclay. He wanted the President’s direct command before proceeding. As he did, one of the equipment specialists behind Dog said something—the Taiwanese fighters were asking their base for permission to shoot down the 767.

And received it.

“Jed, here’s our situation,” he told the NSC op. “We think there are two bombs. If one is aboard the UAV, that leaves one for the 767.”

“Understood, uh, the President is on the line.”

“Colonel, stop him any way you can,” said Martindale.

“Yes, sir. Zen?”

“Hawk leader.”

Aboard Island Flight A101

0335

“HAVE YOU DONE your duty?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Your lessons are complete?”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“Can you describe the Tao?”

The question shook Chen Lo Fann. He and his grandfather were in the midst of a large garden, with water burbling nearby. Chen was nine or ten.

“The Tao is the way,” said Chen. “The world—our fate—everything together.”

“The path we follow,” said Chen Lee.

“Yes,” said the boy.

“We will be reunited with our homeland someday,” said the old man. “But the path is not a straight one. Remember that life and death are mere steps on the path, as stones next to each Page 229

other in the garden.”

The dream ended abruptly. Chen Lo Fann found himself staring at the bomb in the crate, numbers sliding away on the trigger device.

His grandfather had not wanted to blow up Shanghai; that was Professor Ai’s doing.

The digits drained to 1:00, then 0:59.

It would blow up in less than a minute.

Should he let it? Ai’s argument made some sense—two bombs would be impossible to ignore; the communists would have to respond.

But many innocent people would die.

Was Shanghai any different from Beijing?

Chen stared at the numbers.

:30

Bombing Shanghai was not his grandfather’s will. Chen Lee had made no secret of where the bomb was to be exploded.

The plane veered sharply to the left, shuddering as it turned, losing altitude.

Chen reached for the control. One of the characters on the fifteen-button panel read “Abort.”

He thought of his dream, but it provided no answers.

:10

If his grandfather had wanted to destroy Shanghai, he would have said so clearly, as he had made clear Beijing was his desired target.

:03

Chen Lo Fann reached to the device, ignoring the pain roaring in his chest and shoulder as he pushed the button.

Aboard Raven

0338

ZEN HAD THEFlighthawk closing on the right wing of the 767, his targeting screen blinking yellow. He could see shadows through the windows of the plane, people moving around.

God, he thought, I’m going to kill dozens if not a hundred.

God.

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What if there isn’t a bomb in that plane?

Zen had killed a fair share of people in combat, but this felt very, very different. He had no proof that there was a bomb in the airplane; Stoner had told him he thought Chen had enough material for two weapons, but that didn’t mean one was aboard the plane in front of him, or even that they had been made.

The windows seemed to grow, though this was an optical illusion. Zen pushed his nose down, the pipper just turning red.

He had his orders, lawful orders. They had come from the President himself.

What justification was that if he killed innocent men and women and children?

The pipper blinked. Zen pressed the trigger.

Three seconds later, his stream of bullets ignited one of the wing tanks of the 767.

“BOTH SCORPION AMRAAMSmissed,” said Delaney. “I’m having trouble picking him up—the Chinese are jamming us, or trying to.”

“Hang with it,” said Dog. He checked the sitrep; they were about thirty seconds from crossing into Chinese airspace; in fact, Hawk Four already had.

“Now that they know we’re here, they’re going to use our radar to home in on us,” said Delaney. “If we turn it off, they’ll have a much harder time finding us.”

“Can we follow the UAV without the radar?” asked Dog.

“No. There’s no signal coming from the ghost clone for us to follow,” said Delaney.

“Then we’re going to have to leave the radar on.”

“Fan Song radar dead ahead,” said Deci Gordon. “We’re going to fly right over it. They’ll see us.”

“Jam it when it does,” said Dog.

“Flight identified as Island Flight A101 is on fire and descending toward the ocean,” reported Zen. His voice was as cold as the computer’s synthesized tones.

“Can you get Hawk Four on the UAV?” asked Dog.

“Those F-8s are coming for us,” warned Delaney.

“Zen, you’re going to have to shoot down the UAV,” repeated Dog.

“Roger that.”

Dreamland

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1240

JENNIFER STARED ATthe large screen at the front of the room. The Megafortress and its two Flighthawks were crossing into Chinese Mainland territory.

They were already being targeted by ground radars, surface-to-air missiles, interceptors—even a Megafortress couldn’t survive the onslaught.

God, she thought, let him live. Let him live.

She did love him. Even if he had failed her, she did love him.

“Jen, this is Dog,” he said to her.

“I love you,” she said, thinking it was a dream.

“The programming you uploaded earlier. Can we use it?”

It wasn’t a dream—he was talking to her. Jennifer felt her face flush deep red.

But there was no time to be embarrassed.

“You have to be within twenty miles. No, wait.” Her mind wasn’t clear. She shook her head, reached to pull her hair back behind her ear.

Nothing.

“The mother ship, you destroyed it. The UAV will be on its own. It’ll default—we may not be able to take it over.”

“How close do we have to be?”

“Twenty miles,” said Jennifer. “But listen, if it’s on default—it probably won’t deviate from its course once it’s set. But you can try it.”

“Understood. Thanks,” said Dog. “And I love you too.”

Aboard Raven

0342

ZEN HAD TWOtasks—protect the Megafortress from the F-8s, and overtake the ghost clone.

Fortunately, he had two planes.

He let the computer take Hawk Four in pursuit of the UAV, using the information piped down to the computer from Raven’s sensors. In the meantime, he put Hawk Three on the noses of the two communist interceptors. They were swinging east to set up a rear-quarter attack, obviously planning on using their superior speed to close the gap behind the big American plane. Zen had to hang back and wait for them to get closer, his need to stay tethered to the Megafortress limiting his options. The Chinese defenses were handicapped by Raven’s near-stealth profile, but its need to use the powerful search radar to find the UAV, and the fact that it had to fly a more or less straight line, nearly canceled that Page 232

advantage completely. Once they were in the general area of the Megafortress, the F-8s could use Raven’s radar as a beacon to show them where the plane was.

“Missiles!” said Delaney as the Chinese planes began to close in. A pair of radar homers had been kicked off from the lead F-8 at about thirty miles—probably too far to hit them, but they couldn’t take a chance.

The Megafortress’s ECM blared, not only killing the guidance systems in the missiles but giving the Shenyang pilots fits as well. Zen started an intercept that would allow him to slap the lead bandit with a cannon burst, then dip his wing and take on the wingmate.

The lead F-8 came on faster than he expected, its Liyang turbojet obviously feeling its oats. Zen got a shot, but just barely. The computer helped him put the bullets out in front of the Mainlander—in effect, the Chinese pilot ran into them. He got a hit, but it wasn’t enough to stop the plane.

It was too late to worry about it. He tucked his wing, the targeting screen going yellow as the second F-8 flew into range.

“LEADF-8 CLOSING. He’s setting for heat-seekers,” warned Delaney.

“Stinger,” said Dog calmly, referring to the airmine unit in the Megafortress’s tail. A replacement for the tail cannon that had graced the original B-52, the Stinger spit out cylinders of tungsten-wrapped explosive. When the fuse in the airmines sensed a proximate object, they ignited their charges, sending a spray of hot metal into the air. The metal would shred a jet turbine as easily as a screwdriver puncturing a Dixie cup.

“Coming at us. Missile.”

Dog hit his flares and jinked left, then right. Meanwhile, Delaney worked the Stinger. The combination of the F-8’s speed and Raven’s evasive maneuvers kept the Mainlander from serious harm; on the other hand, his missile missed and his evasive actions took him temporarily out of the game.

“We have two AMRAAMs,” said Delaney.

“Save ’em in case we need them to get the clone.”

“Shit,” said the copilot. “We’ve lost the UAV from the radar.”

ZEN’S TARGETING CUEframed the cockpit of the F-8. He saw the outline of his opponent and thought of the people in the civilian jet he had just been ordered to shoot down.

He pressed his trigger, but he’d already blown the shot.

Zen kicked himself mentally, then checked the sitrep to line up for another shot.

He didn’t have to—the Taiwanese Mirages were now in range of the F-8s. There was a whole lot of chatter in the air—two missiles were launched, then a third and a fourth. The Mainlanders decided the Page 233

prudent thing to do was select afterburner and live for another day. They rode north, pursued by the ROC missiles.

AGROUND MISSILEbattery—a Chinese HQ-9, roughly the equivalent of the long-range Russian SA-10 on which it was based—came on-line as Raven crossed over Chinese territory south of Shanghai.

“We’re spiked,” said Delaney, meaning that the ground radar had found and locked on the aircraft. It could launch a missile at any time.

“Break it,” said Dog.

“Broke it,” said Delaney. The copilot’s voice had become hoarse.

“Good,” said Dog. “You have the UAV?”

“Not on the scope. Negative.”

“Wes?”

“No transmissions,” said the specialist, who was monitoring the airwaves. “Chinese know we’re here, though. About a million people gunning for us. Battery of FT-2000s antirad missiles trying to find us. Uh, some command problems there.”

The FT-2000 homed in on ECMs and other electromagnetic radiation; it was a real threat to Raven since the best and possibly only way to defeat it would be to turn off the countermeasures and other gear.

They had no decoys aboard.

“Is it up?” Dog asked.

“Doesn’t appear to be.”

“UAV?”

“They don’t seem to see it. They think we’re the threat.”

“Do we have it?”

“Negative,” said Wes.

“If it’s going to Beijing, it’s got a good distance to travel,” said Delaney.

Dog remembered what Jennifer had said about the UAV—more than likely it would fly straight to its target, no fancy stuff in between. He plotted a line to Beijing on his multiuse display.

“If that’s the way we’re going, we’ll never make it,” said Delaney looking at the course he’d laid in.

“We better,” said Dog.

Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

Page 234

1545

JEDBARCLAY LOOKEDat the table as the debate continued on whether to alert the Chinese government to what exactly was going on. Raven had just crossed over land, so the incursion itself was evident, but the President’s advisors weren’t sure precisely what if anything to tell the Chinese.

The secretary of state argued that admitting the bomb existed would scuttle the summit before it started.

The President asked if the UAV could be shot down without Chinese help.

Probably, thought Jed—but sooner or later the communists would take out Raven. If that happened first, and the UAV got away, they’d be blamed.

And that would undoubtedly lead to a full-scale nuclear exchange.