continue the fight with whatever the air wing commander would leave him rather
than risk an unequivocal recall order. “Acknowledged, Cossack,” he said. As
he switched frequencies he allowed himself a grim smile. His own enthusiasm
for continuing the battle would fit in nicely with Glushko’s private agenda.
Leaving Terekhov with reduced numbers to finish the dogfight was the best way
to get rid of a troublesome subordinate.
He switched frequencies and passed the word to the other planes,
encouraging his MiG pilots to redouble their attack and cover the withdrawal.
Then Terekhov checked his instruments and scanned the horizon, seeking out a
foe of his own.
The American pilot with the charmed life was making an impossibly tight
turn off to the left, trying to launch another attack on Terekhov. That one,
at least, wasn’t shy about joining battle, even though he had no missiles
showing below his wings and must be running low on cannon rounds by now. It
was almost a shame to think of shooting the man down. He was a warrior, a
modern knight, like one of the Order of the Round Table that had followed King
Vladimir.
Terekhov pushed the thought from his mind. There was no room for mercy
today.
In a sudden decision Terekhov jerked his stick hard over and swung the
MiG around in pursuit of the American. His enemy weaved from side to side,
like a fish on the hook, but Terekhov clung to his prey with grim
determination.
Then the reticule centered on the Tomcat and flashed red. The tone
sounded in his ear as the heat-seeker locked on.
“Now I have you,” Terekhov said aloud, finger tightening on the trigger.
This time his prey would not escape him.
0944 hours Zulu (0944 hours Zone)
Tomcat 204
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
Batman knew something was wrong even before Malibu’s shout came over the
ICS. “Incoming! One missile … two! They’re coming right up the tail
pipe!”
“Hold tight, buddy!” Batman shouted, ramming the throttles forward and
pulling back on his stick. “Nap time!”
Acceleration pressed against his chest, and a red haze obscured the HUD
in front of him. Batman could hardly move against the powerful G-force, but
somehow his hand groped its way to the flare-dispenser panel.
With a grunt, he cut the throttles back and released three flares in
quick succession, rolling left at the same time. For an instant the Tomcat
hung inverted at the top of its climb, with the cold gray waters of the
Atlantic spread out far below.
The two missiles went off in rapid succession behind and below the F14,
decoyed by the hot-burning flares. “Not this time, you bastard,” Batman said,
letting gravity help the fighter complete its loop and advancing the throttles
back to the zone-five afterburner setting. The Tomcat’s engines growled at
the punishment, but responded.
“Ho, Malibu,” he said, still gasping from the effects of the hard climb.
“Let’s go, man! Reveille! The taxpayers ain’t paying for you to sleep
through the battle!”
Even though they were outnumbered, the Americans had to keep the
initiative, and that meant attacking whenever they could. That would break
the rhythm of the battle, throw the Russians off their stride. Once they
could control the tempo of the fighting, the battle would be over.
Wayne’s Tomcat stooped down into the aerial battlefield once more,
seeking out a new victim.
0944 hours Zulu (0944 hours Zone)
Tomcat 211
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
“Some of the Russkies are breaking off! Some of them are running, fer
Chrissakes!”
Terry Powers didn’t know who had called out the news, but he could see
the Russian planes breaking away on his radar screen. The sight of those
blips turning away helped steady his shattered nerves, and he slowly became
aware of Cavanaugh’s voice raging at him over the ICS. His hand was locked in
a painfully tight grip around the joystick, but as he forced himself to relax
it started to shake uncontrollably.
“Come on, you bastard! Get in the game! What the hell do you think
you’re doing? Snap out of it, kid, and get in there before any more of my
buddies buy it!”