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.”
122
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
123
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
125
“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!”
126
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.