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?”