CARRIER 6: COUNTDOWN By Keith Douglass

Over the Kola Inlet

The radar homer sliced past to the right, seduced by Tombstone’s chaff

and Tomboy’s vigorous ECM jamming. Now tracer rounds slashed past their

canopy, high and leading the Tomcat by a good hundred yards. Tombstone

hit the F-14’s air brakes and pulled the nose up sharply. Floating at

the ragged edge of a stall, the Tomcat slewed to the right just as the

Fulcrum, surprised by Tombstone’s maneuver, flashed past, so close that

Tombstone could read the regimental markings on the other plane’s

fuselage.

“Guns!” he snapped, and the HUD shifted to gun mode just as the MiG

started a hard, climbing turn to port. The maneuver spoiled Tombstone’s

shot.

He was now in what was called a lag pursuit, behind his opponent but

with his nose aiming to the rear of the other aircraft instead of

leading it. As the MiG continued his left-hand turn, Tombstone decided

to counter with a low yo-yo, going briefly to afterburners and diving to

the left, picking up speed as he cut beneath the Fulcrum’s track, then

pulling up hard, coming out of his dive just after the MiG passed

overhead. He kept his eyes on the other plane as it passed overhead; a

sharp opponent would ease his turn, then plunge on the other plane from

above–the preferred counter to a low yo-yo–but it looked like the

MiG’s pilot had lost sight of the Tomcat. Yes! He was holding his

turn, angling back toward the Intruders. Tombstone brought the Tomcat

up, using gravity to kill his speed, sliding neatly onto the MiG’s tail

at point-blank range, less than four hundred feet behind him.

Tombstone squeezed the trigger and the Tomcat’s M61 cannon thundered,

yellow tracers floating across the gap between MiG and F-14. For a

moment, the MiG absorbed those globes of light, holding course, lining

up with an Intruder just ahead and below … and then Tombstone saw

bits of metal flaking off and a shimmering haze spilling from the

Fulcrum.

Then they were past, the MiG sliding off to the left.

“He’s smoking,” Tomboy told him as he brought the F-14’s nose up. “He’s

going down. He’s ejected!”

“Tomcat Two-oh-oh, this is Shotgun One-one. Nice shooting, Stoney!”

“Coyote! It’s about time you got here!”

“Thought you would hog all the fun for yourself, did you?” Batman’s

voice chimed in.

“Just like these superCAG types,” a woman’s voice added. “Always

grabbing the glory for himself!”

“Roger that, Brewer. Heads up! Bandits at two o’clock high!”

“tombstone!” Coyote called. “Watch it! You’ve got two coming around on

your six!”

“Never mind us,” Tombstone replied. “Just help me keep those MiGs off

the Intruders!”

1323 hours

Intruder 504

Over the Kola Inlet

“There! Target acquired,” Sunshine said. “Come left two degrees.

Range one mile.”

Another seven seconds. Excitement pounded in his breast, and he could

hear the mingled rasps of both his and Sunshine’s breathing over the

ICS.

Damn, they were using the O. His own pucker factor was damned high,

fifty psi at least; he figured the lip-lock he had on his seat right now

would keep him anchored against a minus-five G outside loop. Sunshine

sounded as cool and as hard as the ice clinging to the hillsides

flashing past either side of the hurtling A-6. On his VDI, his

bomb-release marker slid rapidly down his course line.

Five hundred feet …

1324 hours

Tretyevo Peschera

Near Polyamyy, Russia

Leninskiy Nesokrushimyy Pravda was well clear of the submarine docking

area outside of the cavern, slipping easily through oily water into the

main Polyamyy channel.

“Helm,” Chelyag said. “Come left five degrees. Make revolutions for

ten knots.”

“Comrade Captain!” the radar officer called from his console. “Enemy

aircraft, approaching from the north!”

So much for Karelin’s promises. “Maintain course,” he said, keeping his

voice as calm as ice. “Weapons officer, stand by to fire missile number

one.”

“Missile one ready, Comrade Captain.”

“Fire number one!”

1324 hours

Intruder 504

Over the Kola Inlet

Willis could see the target now, a Typhoon ballistic-missile sub just

sliding clear of the moles sheltering a Russian submarine base. It had

turned its huge, blunt nose toward the north, toward him, giving him a

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