The Vietnamese pilots reacted immediately, turning together to the north, possibly convinced they were seeing UFOs or the fiery manifestation of a Buddhist god.

“Stay on your game plan,” coached Zen.

Starship realized he’d started to pull up a little too sharply. He easily compensated, but he felt apprehensive nonetheless; Kick was standing behind him, after all, taking mental notes.

Even an F-15C Eagle would have had trouble climbing back and turning as tightly as Starship’s Flighthawk as he whipped his plane onto the tail of the opposing flight, aiming to paint the enemy cockpit with his shadow.

Not enemy. Not enemy, he reminded himself. Relax.

“How long do you want me to sit here?” he asked Zen.

“Break off once they turn,” said Zen. “There you go,” he added as the first MiG changed direction.

“Come on back to Penn. They look homeward bound.”

“Roger that.”

Aboard the Dragon Prince, South China Sea

1506

PROFESSORAIHIRABai monitored the communist MiGs as they circled northward, away from the American Megafortress. The planes were more than one hundred miles from his own UAV, the Dragon, well out of range of its onboard sensors. To see them, he would ordinarily have had to rely on the limited data fed from the buoy network that helped guide the small robot plane, but the ASEAN maneuvers provided better opportunities.

The ships involved in the exercise were testing links that allowed data from one ship to be shared among the entire task force over a wide area. Since Professor Ai had been able to tap into an Australian frigate’s communications system, he too had a full data set that included wide-ranging radar coverage courtesy of two Japanese Aegis-equipped destroyers.

Ai watched the screen with fascination. He was interested in the performance of the Flighthawk, though this was difficult to ascertain from the radar data, even as the robot plane passed almost directly overhead of one of the ships. The craft was clearly faster and more maneuverable than his own plane. Its data flow with the mother ship, of course, was extremely rich—he’d known that since their long-range intercepts of the signals. He would have given much to be able to decode the information that passed between them.

On the other hand, his own invention was not without its advantages. The buoy and satellite system that relayed its control signals allowed him to fly the aircraft far beyond its remote station—although in some circumstances there was a noticeable lag as the commands were transmitted. And his plane was not only stealthier, but its signal carrier included what he called a “mocking device” that could spit back bits of intercepted code to confuse a nearby Elint gatherer.

“Should we engage?” asked Kuo, who was helping fly the UAV.

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“No,” said Professor Ai. “Not today. Let us simply observe and see what our friends do. We may have only one chance, and we must choose it wisely.”

Aboard Penn, South China Sea

1538

STARSHIP HAD JUSTtraded places with Kick when the pair of Chinese fighters appeared. These were Shenyang J-8IIs, more formidable than the ancient MiGs the Vietnamese had sent, but they too made a rather pedestrian and predictable approach, flying a routine intercept about fifty miles east of Guangdong.

“Same routine as Brother Starship,” Zen told Kick.

Starship tensed, even though he knew Zen meant it as a joke.

Kick started his move about six thousand feet above the interceptors, rolling into a banking turn that would take him across their course. But they broke before he went for his flares, apparently in response to the Megafortress pilot’s hail. Kick held on to his disposables and began to climb again, intending to circle back close to the Megafortress until it was clear what the Chinese were doing.

Conservative move, Starship thought. He would have tucked back toward them and hit the gas.

“They’re looking for you,” Zen told the two lieutenants. “They know the Megafortresses fly with U/MF

escorts. They want to draw you out.”

“What should I do?” Kick asked.

“Give me the controls,” said Starship without missing a beat.

“Fuck off.”

“Wait until they come out of that turn,” said Zen. “They aren’t particularly maneuverable, and it’ll be obvious where they intend to go. You’ve got good position.”

One of the J-8s—in some respects it was a supersized J-7, itself a kind of new and improved MiG-21—swung into a wide arc, trying to get nose on nose for the Megafortress, which the computer’s dotted line showed would happen at about sixty miles away. The other plane ducked down toward the waves heading in the opposite direction.

“Trying to get lost in the clutter,” suggested Starship. “Ain’t gonna happen.”

The powerful gear aboard Penn could track him right to the water, and probably a few fathoms below.

“So what should Kick do?” Zen asked.

“I’d go for the snake, get in his nose, show him there’s no hope,” said Kick.

“I wouldn’t,” offered Starship.

“Why not?” asked Zen.

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“Because first of all, dropping down like that, he’s going to have an impossible climb before he can deal with us,” said Starship. He pointed over at Zen’s screen. “Even if he goes to his afterburner when he’s in position, he’s going to be way gonzo in front there. You can splash number one, then come for number two.”

“We’re not splashing anyone today,” said Zen. “Just remember that.”

Starship felt his face redden.

“I think Starship’s right,” Kick told Zen.

“Well then make sure the Megafortress knows what you’re doing,” said Zen, implicitly agreeing.

ZEN WATCHEDKICKslash across the Chinese Pilot’s nose, timing his maneuver to match a jink east by Penn. It came off well, the Chinese interceptor turning to the right—an instinctive move that widened the gap between him and his ostensible target.

“Okay, so how’d we know he was going to go right?” Zen asked.

“We didn’t,” said Kick.

“Well, most pilots do,” said Starship.

“Western pilots, maybe,” said Zen, still playing teacher. “But you have something to go on beyond that.”

“He moved that way earlier,” said Starship. “Plus it takes him closer to his base.”

“Yeah,” said Kick, getting it.

Zen said nothing as the Flighthawk pilot brought his plane around to intercept the second J-8, which as predicted was climbing off the deck, throttle nailed to the afterburner slot. He’d turned into him a little too soon, probably nervous about retaining his connection to Pennsylvania, which of course was moving in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t exactly a huge mistake, but it was enough to convince Zen that he’d put Starship in the pilot’s seat tomorrow. Lieutenant Andrews was a somewhat better pilot and had better tactical instincts as well—possibly a function of his time in Eagles. The difference between the two men would probably disappear in a few weeks’ time, but for now it was enough to make Starship the clear choice.

As the second J-8 jock pulled off, Pennsylvania cut to the south, having reached the end of its practice search track. Zen watched as Kick rode the Flighthawk up through the clouds toward the mother ship.

“Not too quick. Hang back between the Megafortress and the J-8s,” Zen told Kick.

“I know,” snapped the pilot.

“Relax, Kick,” said Zen.

A warning tone bleeped in the headsets.

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“RWR,” said Kick. “Wow—they’re trying to spike us.”

Zen’s screen showed that the Chinese planes had activated their targeting radars. The planes carried PL-7A homers—semiactive radar missiles—but they had almost no hope of hitting the Flighthawk at what was now close to fifty miles. Nor were they in position to fire on the Megafortress.