“Beaver!” Batman called out. He scarcely noticed as his own heat-seeker
struck the MiG just as it began to break clean from its pursuit of the
stricken F-14. An orange fireball engulfed the rear third of the Fulcrum.
Pieces, many burning, showered from the cloud and began arcing toward the sea.
“Punch out, man! Punch out!”
Beaver’s and Hard Ball’s Tomcat continued to fall, twisting in midair
until it was upside down, pancaking toward the sea seventeen thousand feet
below. An engine fire or a broken fuel line flared suddenly. Fuel ignited,
and flame erupted like a bomb blast from the port engine.
“Beaver! Hard Ball! Eject! Eject!”
“Watch it, man!” Malibu called from the backseat. “We’ve got two comin’
hard on our six! Watch it! Watch it!”
“Shit!” Batman twisted the F-14 hard right, then cut in his own
afterburners, reaching for blue sky. He lost sight of Beaver’s stricken
aircraft as he went ballistic, boosting hard, hot, and vertical.
“Beaver and Hard Ball are hit,” Malibu called, as clouds rotated around
the canopy of the climbing F-14. “Beaver and Hard Ball are hit and going
down. Negative chutes.”
Three Russians down, and one American. And the odds were still three to
one. Relentlessly, grimly, Batman began jinking his Tomcat every way he knew.
He had to even the odds, or some of these Russians were going to leak through
and hit Viper One.
But even as he maneuvered, he saw six of the bandits breaking off from
the dogfight with the Viper Two F-14s.
The thin American line had been overwhelmed. The enemy was breaking
through.
0618 hours Zulu (0718 hours Zone)
Viking 700
Over the Norwegian Sea
Hunter checked his VDI. Twelve more miles to target … but that meant
they were in range or nearly so of the Russian point defenses, the
short-ranged missiles like the Gecko and SA-N-9. The air was going to be
thick with deadly flying objects any time now. His grip tightened on the
Viking’s stick.
“Fisher One, this is Bifrost. Fisher, Bifrost. You are clear to break
off and RTB.”
Hunter frowned. The Intruders would not be at the target yet. He needed
to give them more time. “Roger, Bifrost.” He switched frequencies. “Fisher,
this is Fisher Leader. The word is break off and RTB.” He continued to
maintain Viking 700’s flat, straight course toward the north.
“What’s the matter?” Spock asked, as cool as ever.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just figure the Intruders haven’t gotten close
enough yet. What say we extend the envelope a little, huh?”
White contrails laced the sky ahead, rising from the horizon like the
weave of some fantastic, animated spider’s web.
But the TACCO only nodded. “We’ll keep them guessing if three of our
aircraft break off but this one does not. It’s worth a try, anyway.” Several
miles to the east, a silent flash lit up sea and sky for an instant. Spock
peered at the radar display. “I believe they just took out Lieutenant
Commander Burroughs.”
“Damn.” Hunter’s jaw clenched, and he riveted his eyes on the northern
horizon. Rabbit Burroughs had been a friend of Hunter’s, the irony of their
running names a squadron joke. He’d been piloting Viking 704. “Damn. Okay.
Let’s just see how hard we can push it.”
He kept the Viking on a heading toward the north.
CHAPTER 22
Monday, 23 June
0619 hours Zulu (0719 hours Zone)
Soviet Task Group Soyuz
The Norwegian Sea
As the attacking aircraft drew closer, the Russian ships had to switch on
their radars, American HARM missiles or not. First the Head Lights systems
that directed the Goblet anti-air missiles. Then Head Net C and Top Sail,
both Soviet air-search radars on the Kresta-IIs, and Bass Tilt, which handled
fire control. Each radar had its own characteristic electromagnetic
signature, and each was registered by the EA-6B Prowlers that were still
bearing down on the heart of the Soviet task force.
A second AGM-88 HARM rocketed away from a Prowler’s belly, boosted for
two minutes, then descended.
On a Kresta-class cruiser, the Top Sail radar is the largest antenna
array, an enormous, diamond-shaped curve of wire mesh mounted at the highest
point on the ship’s superstructure.