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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