CARRIER 6: COUNTDOWN By Keith Douglass

in radar. An instant later, the land exploded around them, replacing

the featureless blue-gray blur of the sea.

At his side, Sunshine keyed her radio mike with her left foot.

“Terminator 1.504, feet dry, feet dry.” They were over land now. Over

Russia.

“That’s Point Yellow-Delta, mark number two,” she said. “Come left to

zero-nine-three.”

He saw the radar profile of a promontory on his screen. “I got it.

Zero-nine-three it is.” He nudged the stick to the left. Each Intruder

had its own precisely calculated, zigzag path to its target, a path

through space and time designed to keep it clear of active enemy SAM and

gun batteries, as well as letting it avoid occupying the same airspace

at the same time as some other American aircraft.

“Terminator 2.500” sounded over his headset. “We’re feet dry, feet

dry.”

That was the voice of Commander John “Thumper” Hargraves, the Death

Dealers’ squadron leader, coming in a few miles behind 504, and a bit to

the east.

“This is 3.505. Feet dry.”

“Jammer 4.703.” That was the EA-6B Prowler accompanying the Terminator

flight, providing electronic countermeasures for the three Intruders as

they made their run. “Feet dry, feet dry.”

Antiaircraft fire appeared to his left, tracers rising from the ground,

like gently drifting specks of orange light. They were past so quickly

he didn’t even have a chance to see where the fire was coming from.

“We’re coming up on mark three,” Sunshine said over the ICS. Her

helmeted head was still pressed up against the rubber shield of her

radar scope. “Point Red-Sierra.”

“Okay, boys and girls,” Terminator 500 told them over the tactical

channel. “That’s Red-Sierra, on the money. Time to break. Terminator

Five-oh-four, you have the honors.”

Red-Sierra was the southern tip of a long island in the mouth of a

ragged-edged inlet. There was a fishing village there, Port Vladimir.

Willis and Sunshine’s flight plan called for a sharp dogleg to the south

now, as each aircraft maneuvered independently to come at their

objective from a different direction, breaking up the enemy’s defensive

fire and keeping him guessing about where the next strike was coming

from.

Willis brought his stick to the left, veering clear of Port Vladimir and

heading sharply south away from the coast. He started climbing too,

rising to his attack altitude of six hundred feet.

“Roger that,” Sunshine said over the tactical channel. “We’re climbing

to attack altitude. See you boys over the target.”

“Yeah,” Willis added. “You guys can eat our dust.”

“Launch! Launch!” sounded over his headset. “This is Terminator

Five-oh-five! I’ve got a SAM launch at zero-eight-five!”

“Copy, Five-oh-five,” Thumper called. “I see it.”

Willis saw it too, a pillar, like a telephone pole painted white,

balancing skyward on smoke and flame a mile to the east.

“Looks like they’re finally waking up down there,” Willis told Sunshine.

A threat warning lit up on his console. They were being tracked. “It’s

about damn time, huh? I was beginning to think they didn’t care.”

“Three miles to the last turn,” Sunshine said, ignoring his banter. Her

voice was cold, all business. The Intruder jolted once, turbulence from

a near-miss. “Weapons armed. Safe off. Pickle’s hot.”

The miles flashed by. “Okay,” Sunshine said. “Mark. Come right to

one-seven-two.”

“Rog.” The aircraft’s wing seemed to skim the blurred earth as the

Intruder swung to the right.

“We’re in the groove for our approach. Range twelve miles.” More

seconds dragged past. Willis’s hands were wet beneath his gloves.

“C’mon, c’mon. You see ’em yet?”

“Negative. Ten miles.”

“Christ, we’ll be on top of-”

“Got it! Lots of static from jamming, but I’ve got a solid lock. Come

right a bit. See it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Going to attack.” His VDI changed

to attack mode, the graphics now more complex, feeding him more data.

He scanned it all: time to target, drift angle, steering point. Where

was that missile headed? Damn, he’d lost it when they’d made that

second course change, and it was behind them somewhere. Okay. The

threat warning was off.

The Prowler piggy-backing on the Intruder flight must have jammed the

thing or seduced it out of the way.

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