“Perhaps another pass will dissuade you from your plans,” Santana said
out loud. He gained altitude and prepared to repeat the maneuver.
0320 Local (+5 GMT) CDC, USS Jefferson Combat Direction Center “A nice
little game of chicken?” the TAO asked. “That’s our Cuban shadow
that’s been watching all day, isn’t it?”
“Or his relief” The CDC officer looked amused. “Do you know what would
happen to us if we tried to harass an inbound aircraft like that to
turn it back from the coast?
We’d all be facing a court-martial.”
The TAO frowned. “Not something I’d want to do even in relatively
clear weather like this,” he remarked. As an FA-18 pilot, the TAO was
well aware of the range inaccuracies that could creep into any radar
system. “He’s getting so close to that contact that we’re getting a
merging of the two blips on radar.”
“I’m not sure which would be worse to be in the Fulcrum trying to pull
it off, or to be in the small plane he’s harassing.”
The CDC officer shook his head. “Either way, it’s a hell of a way to
make a living.”
0328 Local (+5 GMT) FULCRUM 101
10,000 Feet Santana was not pleased. Despite two buffeting passes, the
light aircraft continued inbound on Cuba. At first he’d assumed it was
just a smuggler plying the regular route between Florida and Cuba, but
it hadn’t reacted like any drug dealer he’d seen yet. He glanced back
to his left at the battle group. Was there some other reason for its
foray into Cuban airspace or was it mere coincidence that the American
battle group was in the same vicinity? He toggled the comm circuit to
relay his observations to the Cuban controller.
For the last five months, the area around the western end of Cuba had
been closed airspace. It had only taken a couple of weeks before the
word had spread throughout the close-knit smuggling community, and it
had been months since there’d been an unauthorized intrusion into the
area.
The Fuentes Project he grimaced in frustration. Protecting it from
outsiders had been his highest priority as Western Air Defense Zone
commander, and it wouldn’t do for the first unauthorized intrusion to
occur during one of his personal surveillance missions.
“Continue maneuvers as briefed.” The ground control intercept officer,
or GCI, sounded bored even over the circuit’s static. Santana
smiled.
Perhaps he should have consulted with the GCI before the first warning
maneuver, but this permission, in effect, granted retroactive
absolution for the maneuver.
“Commencing second run,” he said as he toggled the circuit mike.
“Estimate contact is forty minutes from the coast.”
“Do you require assistance?” the GCI asked.
“I don’t think so,” Santana said. He rolled his eyes in disgust. As
if the Fulcrum were incapable of handling one small, turboprop
aircraft. Even the mighty F-14 Tomcats on the carrier’s deck were
little match for this fighter.
At ten thousand feet he tipped the nose of the Fulcrum down, heading
for the deck at five hundred knots. He watched the airspeed indicator
slowly creep to the right as the Fulcrum traded altitude for speed. A
little closer this time, perhaps, with full lights on blazing the
entire way.
“Fulcrum 101, GCI!” The controller’s voice was taut with tension.
“Contact’s course indicates it is on an intercept course with the
Fuentes Base. Imperative that no overflights are allowed. If the
contact cannot be turned back, take with missiles.”
Santana sucked in his breath. Weapons-free permission?
Now that was something new.
The briefing he’d received indicated that some form of military
research was taking place at the small naval base, but no details had
been forthcoming. Rumor had it that a new, powerful, land-based
intercept radar site was being installed, but he hadn’t found anyone to
confirm that yet. It irked him. As the officer responsible for
enforcing the no-fly zone, he should know exactly what was down there,
particularly if it could pose a problem for his own squadrons of
interceptors.
He watched the radar scope and considered his options.
When could he legitimately claim that he’d tried to turn back the
aircraft? By leaving the decision of when to fire up to him, the GCI