“Sixty miles away,” said Delaney.

That meant no. It also meant that it was too far for the Flighthawks.

“ Raven, I have our target visually,” said Zen. “He’s in the weeds, maybe ten feet AGL. Ten miles and closing.”

No wonder they hadn’t found the UAV, Dog realized; it was so low to the ground the radar couldn’t sort it out through the ground clutter—odd reflections of the radio waves off the terrain.

But flying that low also cut down on the UAV’s speed.

“Intercept in four minutes, a bunch of seconds,” added Zen.

“Are we close enough for Jen’s takeover program?” Dog asked.

“Negative,” said Zen. “It’s thirty miles away total. I’ll be close enough to shoot it down before you’re in range.”

“Missiles!” warned Delaney. “Breaking.”

The copilot said something else, but Dog lost it. Both of the operators at the stations behind him were now spending their time jamming radars and communications systems in their path. Dog had two more antiair missiles left aboard; he wanted to reserve at least one for the UAV, in case the Flighthawks missed.

“Sukhois on our six at twenty miles and closing,” said Delaney.

“When they’re close enough, let them have it with the Stinger,” said Dog.

“Yeah.”

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“Colonel, I’m going to put Hawk Four on that flight of J-8s coming at us from the west,” said Zen.

Dog had to glance at the sitrep map to remind himself exactly which flight Zen was talking about. All of Raven’s high-tech gear and whiz-bang computers, ergonomic controls, and audiovisual doodads couldn’t completely erase the limits of situational awareness. There were just too many threats for Dog to process everything at once.

“Go,” he told Zen.

“I have to let the computer handle it. It’s four on one—we may lose it.”

“Our priority is the ghost clone,” said Dog.

“Understood.”

“FT-2000 in the air!” warned Delaney. “He’s homing in on our ECMs.”

“Can we break it?” asked Dog.

“Only if you want everything else they’re firing to hit us.”

THE FOURCHINESEJ-8 fighters came at Raven in a staggered line, each plane separated by about a mile and flying at different altitudes. The computer quickly recognized the pattern and calculated the best attack posture, prioritizing the targets in the order of the greatest threat to Raven. The strategy—a slashing attack that would take Hawk Four across the course of the flight and allow it to fire on at least two of the aircraft before maneuvering to catch a third from behind—was solid, and took into account the abilities of the enemy planes as well as the Flighthawk. It also gave the computer time to recover and change its strategy if the bandits drastically altered course and speed. The only problem with it was that by the time Hawk Four turned to catch the third plane, it would be out of communications range from Raven. Zen nonetheless approved the strategy as the best course, telling C3to stay in dogfight mode even if the connection snapped—otherwise Hawk Four would have defaulted back to escort and tried to find Raven.

“Go for it,” he told the computer, using exactly the same tone he would have used for Kick or Starship.

The computer’s verbal translation system had been “trained” to recognize much of Zen’s slang, and took Hawk Four on the intercept.

Zen turned his full attention back to Hawk Three. The Taiwanese UAV was now just five miles ahead.

A warning flashed on his screen:

Connection loss in three seconds

TWO MORE MISSILESexploded to the east of Raven. Dog saw a pair of Su-27s heading in from the northeast, coming on at about ten degrees off his nose. They were at twenty miles, firing radar missiles.

“They’re on us,” said Delaney.

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Dog hit his chaff, then jerked hard to beam the Doppler radar guiding the missiles. The maneuver would put the Megafortress at a right angle to the radar, temporarily confusing it.

“FT-2000 is changing course,” reported Delaney. “It’s going for one of the missiles that was just launched.”

That’s our one lucky break, thought Dog.

“ Raven—I need you closer. I’m going to lose Hawk Three.”

Dog jerked back toward the Flighthawk.

“ Raven—you have to get closer.”

“I’m working on it, Zen,” said Dog. The throttle slide was at the last stop; he could hit the control with a sledge-hammer and the plane wouldn’t go any faster. “Wes, see if you can reach any of these units. Tell them we’re pursuing a cruise missile that’s going to attack Beijing.”

“But—”

“Do it, Wes,” said Dog. “Deci, try the control program Ms. Gleason uploaded earlier. I know we’re not in range yet but try it anyway.”

Lieutenant Deci Gordon was the other electronics operator. While he could dupe Wes’s controls, he was tasked at the moment to ID and fuzz radars.

“I have to clear the ECM board to load the program and use it. I won’t be able to bounce the radars,”

explained the lieutenant.

“Do it.”

“On it, sir.”

ZEN CUT HISspeed, just barely keeping the connection to Hawk Three. The Flighthawk was undoubtedly a good deal faster and more capable than the plane he was chasing, but it was Raven’s speed that counted, and the big airplane was already huffing and puffing. All he could do was sit and wait, hoping Raven would catch up—and that the flak dealer Delaney was now warning about wouldn’t hit him in the meantime.

Maybe it would get the Taiwan plane at least.

Raven rocked up and down but stayed on its course. Zen cursed to himself, pushing forward against his restraint.

Come on, damn it. Come on!

He tried selecting Hawk Four, which had been out of contact since firing on the second fighter in the attack group. The feed from Raven showed where it was—about five miles out of range, launching an Page 239

attack on one of the Chinese fighters.

It had already splashed two of the Sukhois. Not bad for a bunch of electrons.

Raven shuddered beneath him. Something had just hit the plane.

Stinking Chinese. They didn’t deserve to be saved.

Come on, baby. Come on.

Something rumbled on Zen’s right—shrapnel from a missile had taken a nick out of the EB-52. Zen felt himself sliding left, even though the Flighthawk remained level.

The targeting screen blinked yellow.

Ten more seconds and he’d be in range. He could see the fat belly of the Taiwanese bomb strapped to the fuselage of the UAV.

Raven stuttered in the air, her speed and altitude plummeting.

Nine seconds. Eight …

Connection loss in three seconds

“Dog! I need six seconds!”

ENGINE FOUR WASgone, and the oil pressure in three was dropping. The computer helped Dog compensate as Delaney struggled with the defenses.

“I’m losing Hawk Three!” shouted Zen over the interphone.

The computer—prudently—wanted to shut down engine three. But Dog stayed with it, squeezing the last ounce of momentum forward, trying to keep close enough so Zen could complete the shootdown.

Just wasn’t going to happen. Even the Megafortress could not defy all the laws of physics at the same time. The EB-52 shuddered violently.

He was going to lose it.

They had to get closer to the Flighthawk, or the whole mission would have been a waste.

Dog pushed the nose of the big plane downward, picking up speed. They had a good deal of altitude to work with—but every foot made them more vulnerable to the air defenses.

“Missiles!” said Delaney. His overstressed rasp sounded like an old man’s last gasp for air.

“Zen, I’m going to try and dive as close to Hawk Three as possible,” said Dog. “After that, we may be bailing.”