CARRIER 5: MAELSTROM By Keith Douglass

“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.

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