CARRIER 2: VIPER STRIKE By Keith Douglass

1406 hours, 14 January

Tomcat 101, near the That-Burmese border

The pair of That F-5s had split left and right when the MiGs streaked

past. The bandits had hauled around in a high-G turn, side by side in

the familiar “welded wing” formation, dropping onto a Freedom Fighter’s

six–on his tail and following–before loosing the missile. Bayerly had

seen the flash, had watched with disbelief as the white contrail

unraveled through the sky, tracking the That plane.

And Jefferson’s only response had been the order to “Wait one.” The

delay grated at him worse with each passing second. How long was it

going to take Jefferson’s command staff to debate the issue?

“Homeplate, this is Cowboy Leader!” he called. “We have two MiGs on two

RTAF F-5s. Request permission to intervene. Over.”

“Cowboy, Homeplate,” the reply came back a moment later, scratchy as it

was relayed by the far-circling Hawkeye. “Negative your last. Wait

one.”

The missile was turning now, following one of the F-5s. The Freedom

Fighter twisted hard to port, its pilot pulling eight Gs at least as he

tried to evade the oncoming air-to-air killer. The contrail swung onto

the F-5’s tail, still closing, and vanished into the engine exhaust.

There was a brilliant flash, followed an instant later by a fireball

that ate its way through the That plane, scattering fragments of burning

debris across the sky …

Bayerly watched a stubby wing and a portion of the fuselage tumble as

they trailed smoke into the jungle below.

“Homeplate! One That plane has been killed. Request weapons release!”

“Copy, Cowboy. Wait one.”

“Kid!” Bayerly snapped. “Arm Sidewinders! We’ll get a lock while

we’re waiting for those bastards.”

“Weapons armed.” The F-14 carried eight of the deadly air-to-air AIM-9L

missiles slung beneath its wings.

Bayerly pushed the stick over, putting the Tomcat into a dive. One of

the MiGs was cutting across his bow from right to left a mile ahead. He

concentrated on the computer-generated images on his heads-up display,

willing the targeting pipper to connect with the rapidly moving target

symbol.

“Watch the hard deck,” Stratton warned. “Watch your altitude, man!”

“Screw the hard deck!” He tightened up on the turn, feeling the Gs

press him down against his ejection seat until he dropped in on the

other plane’s tail, half a mile behind. The MiG was at nine thousand

feet and still descending, heading north.

Bayerly followed.

1408 hours, 14 January

Tomcat 201

“I have him!” Tombstone said. “One o’clock and low!”

“Tally-ho!” Batman replied, announcing that he too had the other plane

in sight.

“Homeplate, this is Sharpshooter Leader. We have visual on Cowboy

Leader and one bandit.” He checked his altitude and realized with a

jolt that Bayerly was well below the ten-thousand-foot hard deck.

“Cowboy is in hot pursuit.”

“Copy, Sharpshooter. Stand by.”

“Tombstone!” Dixie called from the backseat. “MiG, bearing

two-seven-five. He’s going for Made It’s six!”

Tombstone looked to the left, searching the sky. He saw the second MiG,

a thousand feet below and already lining up on Bayerly’s tail.

“Cowboy Leader, this is Sharpshooter,” Tombstone called. “Wake up, Made

It! Watch your six! Bandit coming in hard!” but he knew it was

already too late to stop the MiG from lining up the shot.

1408 hours, 14 January

Tomcat 101

Bayerly heard the warbling growl in his headphones that told him he had

a heat-seeker lock on the plane ahead. The target pipper on his HUD

turned from a square to a circle, with the letters ACQ flashing beside

it. “Target acquisition!”

“Cool it, man!” Stratton warned. “We don’t have release yet!”

The MiG ahead leveled out two thousand feet above the jungle. Bayerly

followed the target onto the deck. Green mountains flashed past on

either side as the fleeing aircraft wound its way up the Nam Mae Taeng

Valley. He’d heard Tombstone’s warning and knew the MiG’s wingman was

somewhere behind him, but decided to hang on for a few more seconds.

There was still time.

“Come on,” Bayerly muttered, willing the carrier to give him permission

to fire. “Come on, you bastards.”

The target circle jittered back and forth on his HUD, but Bayerly kept

the F-14 pressing in on the MiG’s tail. A brilliant pinpoint of light

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