“Broadcast another warning to the Indians,” Breanna told her copilot. “Tell them that if they take any more aggressive action, we will shoot them down.”
“Working on it.”
Breanna glanced at the sitrep. “Mack, you have to catch up to me.”
“I’m at max power.”
“Bogey Four is forty miles and gaining,” said Stewart.
“That’s the one with the AMRAAMskis.”
“ECMs.”
“Countermeasures,” said Stewart, confirming that she had begun filling the air with fuzz and fake signals. Though state of the art, the electronic countermeasures employed by the Megafortress did not make it invulnerable to radar-guided missiles, which had a number of techniques of their own to see through the haze. Breanna’s basic strategy at the moment was to make it more difficult for the Indian aircraft to lock onto her and fire, essentially playing for time. In the best-case scenario, her pursuer would give up or receive orders from the aircraft carrier to return.
It didn’t look like that was going to happen.
Bogey Four was closing the gap at roughly five miles a minute; Breanna decided her best defense was an aggressive offense.
“Mack, I’m going to swing south and try for a nose-to-nose attack.”
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“You’re going to take on the fighter?”
“I’m going to get into a position to fire the Scorpions.
You cut east as I make the turn and catch those two bozos coming down from the north.”
Mack didn’t answer right away. Breanna guessed that he was having trouble translating what she wanted to do into a plan; the Flighthawk’s twenty-mile tether complicated everything.
“Yeah, roger. I got it,” he said finally.
“Hawk Three will come under your control about the time I’m going to fire the AMRAAMs. Stay with Hawk Four—the computer will bring her close to me and we’ll be all right.”
“Yeah, yeah, OK.”
“No, Mack—do as I’m telling you.”
“Jeez, relax, will you? I got it.”
“Stewart, you got that?” said Breanna, turning to her copilot.
“It’s ‘In Your Face,’ ” said the copilot, using the slang for a simulation exercise that followed the same attack pattern on a long-range pursuer.
“Yeah, that’s it exactly. Two missiles. Wait for a lock.”
“Roger that.”
“Everybody, hang on,” said Breanna, powering the Megafortress into a turn.
MACK HAD NEVER TRULY APPRECIATED THE DIFFICULTY OF FLYing the Flighthawk in air-to-air combat before. It was like trying to hit a home run when the baseball was tied to an elastic band.
As for Breanna’s tactics—well, they were aggressive. But if he’d been the jock in the Su-33, he’d be salivating right now: The Megafortress made herself a huge target less than forty miles in front of him.
Apparently the Indian jock thought the same thing—he fired two radar missiles almost immediately.
Mack tried to zone out the blare of the crew’s conversation and the bucking of the Megafortress around him as the END GAME
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others responded. The Flanker continued toward the Megafortress. If its radar missiles somehow missed the big plane, he’d use his heat-seekers or cannon to down what he thought was a fat target.
Mack turned his attention to the two airplanes he’d encountered earlier. They were flying at warp speed toward him, closing to within twenty miles. He began a turn, easing up on his throttle as he made sure he was parallel to the path the Megafortress was going to take. He needed to anticipate Breanna’s next move as well as his targets’; when they saw her moving, they would slide farther west. He wanted to come at them over their wings, lacing them as he flew north and then with luck getting in behind them if they escaped and drove toward the Megafortress.
“Fire Fox One!” said Stewart, warning that the Megafortress had just fired a radar missile.
The Megafortress jerked hard to the left, taking evasive maneuvers to avoid the enemy missiles. Disoriented, Mack caught himself as he started to move the Flighthawk stick as if to correct.
The Sukhois didn’t realize where the Megafortress was going, and instead kept on their earlier course. Ironically, this took them closer to Mack quicker, and the targeting bar began blinking yellow.
Then the computer flashed a warning:
DISCONNECT IN THREE SECONDS.
“Son of a bitch!” yelled Mack. The screen went red and he fired, figuring it was too late to worry about where he was.
“FIRST AA-12 OFF THE SCREEN—INTO THE WATER. WE’RE
clear. Second is tracking,” said Stewart. She punched the button to eject more chaff. Everyone else in the airplane seemed to be yelling at her, telling her what to do. Her stomach leapt toward her mouth, and her heart felt like a thoroughbred racing up and down her chest.
“Closing, AA-12 is closing,” she warned. She felt like her head was about to explode.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
*
*
*
AN AMERICAN AMRAAM WOULD HAVE BEEN FATAL AT FORTY
miles head-on, but Breanna had escaped AMRAAMski shots at ten. Still, the one homing in on her now seemed particularly tenacious, doggedly sniffing her out despite her maneuvers and the countermeasures. Breanna wanted to stay close to the Flighthawk and yet not make herself an easy target for either the missile or the two Flankers closing from the north. That was at least one too many goals, and as the AA-12 continued to close, she had to concentrate on the missile. She jerked hard left, pushing the Megafortress down on its left wing and ejecting chaff as she went. It was roughly two miles away.
It’s either going to hit us or sail by in two seconds, she thought.
She was too busy holding the aircraft out of a spin to count.
MACK SAW HIS FIRST BULLETS HIT THE TARGET DEAD-ON.
Then the screen blanked. He’d lost the Flighthawk connection again.
AS THE AIR-TO-AIR MISSILE CLOSED IN, STEWART DID SOMEthing she had never done in all her days as a pilot in a cockpit: She closed her eyes and prayed.
When she opened them, she saw something red trailing through the sky about two miles away; it looked like a rib-bon flying in the wind.
“Get me a location on the two Flankers out of the north,”
Breanna said.
“Bogey Four—”
“We shot Bogey Four down,” said Breanna. “His missiles missed. The other planes are our priority now.”
MACK POUNDED THE SIDE OF HIS CONSOLE IN FRUSTRATION.
Then he remembered Hawk Three.
The Flighthawk’s on-board computer had brought the air-
END GAME
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craft back to the mother ship while he was tangling with the Sukhoi. Mack reconnected by voice command; the main screen blinked, and he was back in command. He had to stare at the sitrep for a moment before he could figure out exactly where everyone was. The Megafortress was eighteen miles southwest, flying west. The Indian Flanker he had just attacked had broken from its pursuit and was heading southeast. The other was several miles behind him. Hawk Four was to the north, turning back in the direction of the Megafortress.
“Levitow, this is Flighthawk leader. I have Hawk Three.
Bogey Two is three miles behind me. Come up north and I’ll slice and dice him as he turns.”
“Yeah, roger that, Mack.”
The Megafortress icon began pointing to the right. Mack slid his finger against the throttle, slowing to let his opponent catch up. The Indian aircraft couldn’t see him, thanks to the Flighthawk’s diminutive size and radar-evading shape; as long as Mack could correctly predict his course, he’d soon have the plane in the sweet spot of his targeting pipper.
The other aircraft lost some speed turning to intercept the Megafortress, but within a few seconds it was steaming over Mack’s left wing. Mack slammed his throttle as it came close, then pointed his nose down to get a shot. The red band told him he was dead-on; he squeezed the trigger.