“The Flighthawk is behind us,” shouted Dork, coming onto the flightdeck. “Pick us up in about ten minutes.”
“Something to shoot for,” said Breanna, starting her turn toward the coast.
Aboard the Wisconsin , passing over the coast of India
0705
THE MORNING SUN HAD PAINTED THE NORTHERN ARABIAN
Sea a brilliant azure blue. But black clouds dotted the horizon as Colonel Bastian flew his aircraft over the coastline at treetop level; the naval conflict had continued, unaffected by the electromagnetic pulses originating from the east.
Dog pushed the aircraft down closer to the waves. They’d seen four contrails as they approached the coast, but so far no other aircraft. If they’d been targeted by anyone, they had no way of knowing.
“Colonel Bastian?”
Dog recognized Major Catsman’s voice on the Dreamland communications channel.
“Bastian.”
“The Fisher has been shot down. They were attacked by at least six Chinese fighters when the Abner Read launched its attack on the Deng Xiaoping.”
END GAME
399
“They attacked the Deng?”
“Two fighters were headed in their direction. They may have been under attack and saw that as their only chance to strike,” said Catsman. “The Deng Xiaoping has been hit but is still afloat. They’re preparing the Tai-shan planes for launch.”
“Do you have a location on where the Fisher went down?”
“We have an approximate location, Colonel. The AbnerRead is too far south to conduct rescue operations at this time.”
“How far am I from them?”
“I can only give you an approximate location. You’re northeast about sixty miles.”
He had four Harpoon missiles in the bomb bay, but no way to fire them.
“I need to talk to Storm,” he told Catsman. “Stand by.”
Aboard the Levitow ,
nearing the coast of India
0706
A LAYER OF TURBULENT AIR RATTLED THE PLANE. BREANNA was forced to edge the Levitow still lower, her airspeed dipping precariously.
“The Su-27s are challenging us,” said Stewart. “What should I tell them?”
Breanna considered saying they were a civilian airliner, but that was unlikely to stop them from coming and having a look; civilian flights had been banned.
“Tell them who we are. Say we were on a reconnaissance flight and are returning home.”
“You think that’s going to make a difference?”
“I think they might have to ask their ground controller what to do. Maybe we’ll gain a few minutes.”
“We still have the Scorpions,” said Stewart.
“We’d have to turn and get in their faces to fire,” said Breanna. “We’ll hold off for now.”
400
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
There were three other reasons not to fire. First of all, opening the bay doors would deprive them of even more momentum, making it more difficult to fly the plane. Second, the fighters would detect the missiles and undoubtedly launch their own. And last—and most important for Breanna—using the missiles would lessen the possibility that she could intercept the Tai-shan planes.
Sixty seconds later one of the Indian pilots told them they were in Indian territory and would have to divert to the air base at Puna “or face the consequences.”
“What consequences would those be?” asked Breanna.
“Dire,” responded the pilot.
Breanna told Bullet to find out how long it would be before the Flighthawk caught up. Then she went back on the line with the Indian pilot.
“I don’t think I can make it to Puna,” she said. “My intention is to ditch in the sea. One of my engines tore loose from its mount and damaged the wing. We’re very low on fuel. I do not want to cause a national catastrophe.”
The pilot told her to stand by.
“Three minutes,” said Bullet, running upstairs.
“Five more to get to the coast from here,” said Stewart.
“Maybe if you make a feint for Puna, you can gain some more time.”
“I’m worried about their missile batteries,” Breanna told her. “SA-12s. Our best bet is to stay on course.”
ZEN SPENT THE TIME WAITING TRYING TO WORK OUT EXACTLY
how he would take down the two fighters. They were now east of them, not quite aligned with the Megafortress’s tail but headed in that direction. The Flighthawk was approaching from the east as well, though to the south of the Sukhois. Given the Megafortress’s condition, he wanted to engage them as far from the mother ship as possible, certainly before they were close enough to fire their infrared missiles. But he had no control over that—even when the Flighthawk got close enough to reestablish its connection, END GAME
401
he’d still be more than ten miles behind the enemy fighters. Worse, the loss of the interphone system made it almost impossible to coordinate strategy with Breanna.
Sending people back and forth between the decks took too much time.
“Dork, tell Breanna if these guys stay in their present formation, I’ll take Bandit One to the east.”
“OK,” said Dork. “Major, you ever play telephone?”
“Huh?”
“You know, where you whisper a message in someone’s ear and they pass it on? We could do that here.”
“Isn’t the purpose of that to show how mangled a message can be?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s better than nothing.”
“All right, it’s a good idea, Dork. Set it up. Hey—you just got yourself a new nickname: Telephone.”
“I think I like Dork better.”
“YOU WILL PROCEED AS DIRECTED. EMERGENCY VEHICLES ARE
standing by,” the Indian pilot told Breanna.
Ain’t that sweet, thought Breanna. Prison cells too, no doubt.
“Can you give me a course heading and a—um, a—uh …”
Breanna continued to stall. “Distance. I need a distance.”
The Indian pilot, clearly losing patience, told her to change her heading forty degrees— now.
“Zen has control of the Flighthawk!” said Bullet, the last link in the communications chain. “Needs another two minutes to get behind them.”
“Tell him I’m going to descend a bit,” said Breanna.
“The Indian fighters are right on our back now, Bree,”
said Stewart.
“Visual range?”
“Not yet, but very close. Just about within range for an A-10 heat-seeker.”
“Lou, be ready to turn the Stinger radar on as soon as I say.” Breanna pushed the nose of the Megafortress forward, 402
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
descending. Five minutes on this course—five minutes to the sea.
But so what? The Sukhois could easily follow them there.
“American aircraft—you are ordered to change course or face the consequences.”
“He’s activated his gun radar,” said Stewart. “I think he’ll close and try throwing some warning shots across the bow.”
Come on, Zen, Breanna thought. Hurry up with that Flighthawk.
ZEN COULD SEE THE TWO INDIAN FIGHTERS AHEAD, FLYING
parallel and very close to the Megafortress’s tail.
“Megafortress descending!” said Dork.
“Sixty seconds.” Zen flexed his hand around the joystick.
The Indian pilots, so focused on what they were doing, had not bothered to check six—or maybe they had looked behind their aircraft and missed the diminutive Flighthawk.
“Can you get both planes?” Dork asked.
Maybe. But he couldn’t guarantee it.
“No,” said Zen. “Tell Breanna to take the one to the west with the Stinger air mines. She has west. Confirm.”
The Flighthawk pushed on steadily. He was two miles away—the screen began blinking red.
“Confirmed. She has west.”
“Ready!” yelled Zen as the screen went solid red.
“Ready!” yelled Dork.
“Go!” Zen began firing.
BREANNA PUSHED THE MEGAFORTRESS TO HER LEFT AS HARD