post-flight paperwork. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I took care of your
uniforms and your quarters assignment as soon as I heard you were coming
aboard. Everything’s set.”
Magruder looked relieved. “Great. They stuffed us into those planes so
fast they didn’t even give us time to pack. You’re a real buddy, Willie.”
Coyote glanced at him. The words were sincere enough, but Grant couldn’t
help thinking how much they’d grown apart these last two years. It was like
he was meeting Matt Magruder for the first time, and there were barriers there
that old friendship just couldn’t get around.
CHAPTER 5
Tuesday, 10 June, 1997
0552 hours Zulu (0552 hours Zone)
Soviet Fulcrum 101, Strike Mission Letushiy
Over the Sognefjorden, Sogn Og Fjordane, Norway
“Letushiy Leader, Letushiy Leader, this is Khrahneetyehly. Aircraft
activity detected over target. Proceed with caution.”
Captain Second Rank Sergei Sergeivich Terekhov checked his radar but saw
no trace of the enemy aircraft reported by the An-74 Airborne Early Warning
plane circling far to the north of the Norwegian coastline. The lack of radar
traces didn’t surprise him. The eight MiG-29D ground-attack aircraft in his
squadron were less than fifty meters above the quiet gray waters of the fjord.
The undulating coastline and rugged mountains masked the MiG’s Pulse-Doppler
radar system, just as they shielded his planes from detection by the
Norwegians.
“Understood, Khrahneetyehly,” Terekhov replied on the radio channel to
the AEW plane. “Request instructions, over.”
That was an essential part of every Soviet pilot’s training, to work in
close conjunction with controllers in the rear. Aboard
Khrahneetyehly–Guardian–the controllers would be coordinating their
information with the other Soviet naval and air units in the area. Their
orders would take every aspect of the situation into account.
Terekhov had heard that most Western pilots, especially the Americans,
would be expected to make their own decisions at a time like this. He
wondered how their commanders expected to maintain control over a battle with
so much initiative left in the hands of junior officers who saw only their own
tiny portion of the conflict.
“Letushiy Leader, engage enemy aircraft at bearing zero-three-five your
position with four of your aircraft. Remainder to continue mission as
profiled.”
“Orders understood.” Terekhov switched frequencies and gave the
necessary orders. He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as four of the
MiGs climbed sharply away from the rest of the squadron. They would be on the
Norwegian air-defense radar screens almost immediately, and distract the
patrols the An-74 had detected.
That would leave the way open for Strike Mission Volatile to carry out
its attack on the Norwegian defenses.
The high cliffs were narrowing on either side of them now as they raced
eastward. Soon they would see the target.
Three targets suddenly appeared on his radar, and mere seconds later he
spotted the fast-moving F-16 interceptors flashing overhead. They were gone
almost before he could react, and over his radio Terekhov could hear the first
warning shouts as the four decoys sighted the Norwegians and engaged. He was
tempted to take advantage of the situation and loop back to take them from
behind as they fought the rest of the squadron, but he resisted the impulse.
For the moment that fight was none of his concern. The mission came first.
Somewhere below a probing radar beam swept over the MiG, and Terekhov
felt a rush of adrenaline as the radar-warning receiver on his control panel
sounded an urgent alarm. It was always like this for Terekhov when a
potential enemy first appeared. Years of training, first with Frontal
Aviation and then as part of the expanded Aviatsiya Voenna-Morskovo Flota, had
focused on the moment of combat, but so far he had never fired a shot in
anger. Nonetheless, each time the probing fingers of an unknown radar brushed
his aircraft, he thought about the prospects of combat. Death or glory in the
service of Soviet Naval Aviation and the Rodina, the Motherland. That was the
goal of every fighter pilot.
Today there was no doubt. The moment for action had arrived at last.
Terekhov drew a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. He was one
of the elite, one of the small number of Soviet pilots who had actually passed