Tombstone–were holding off the approaching naval infantry detachment.
“Okay, Tombstone,” she said. “I see the ridge. Talk to me.”
“We’ve got three, maybe four PT-76 tanks,” he told her. “They’re on the
east side of the ridge, moving toward the top in a line-abreast
formation, about two hundred meters from the crest. I can see them
pretty well from here. Doesn’t look like there’s too much ground cover,
so you ought to have a clear shot.”
“I think. ..” She stared ahead through her HUD, straining to see.
“Watch it, Tomboy,” Hacker called from the rear seat. “I’ve got a Gun
Dish paint!”
“Ah, Tombstone, this is Tomboy,” she called. “Your band of gypsies
happen to have a Zoo in the parade?”
“That’s a negative, Tomboy. No Zoos.”
“Okay. We’ve got one in the area. If you see it, give me a yell, will
you?”
“Will do.”
There they were. She could see the tanks now, four of them stretched out
in a line almost directly ahead. She only had an instant to react, and
she had to aim and fire by instinct. Her thumb closed on the trigger,
and she felt the vibration as her six-barreled Gatling gun screamed
white death at four thousand rounds per minute.
A white cloud appeared on the naked slope of the ridge just short of the
first amphibious tank. Holding the aircraft steady, she walked that
cloud along the slope, sending it smashing into the first tank, then
adjusting slightly to the left to hit the second.
At better than four hundred miles per hour, she roared overhead so fast
that the terrain was a gray-brown blur, though she had a brief instant’s
impression of men in camouflage uniforms on the ground, some running,
some falling, some simply standing and staring up at her with mouths
agape. One tank, at least, was burning, and she thought she’d hit
another one, but now she was out of sky and out of time. She pulled back
on the stick, climbing hard.
0913 hours (Zulu +3)
Near Arsincevo Tombstone and Pamela were peering over the shattered wall
of the building when the Tomcat rose from behind the crest of the ridge,
a huge, gray bird riding fire and thunder. An explosion fireballed on
the ground beyond the crest.
“You know, Matt,” Pamela said as the F-14 clawed for sky, turning back
over the Arsincevo Valley with sun flashing from its wings, “I’m
beginning to think she’s more your type. I think you must have a lot in
common with her.”
Tombstone looked at Pamela, defensive. .. and then he saw her tired
smile. He grinned, a bit ruefully. “Maybe you’re right. I do like her
style!” He still couldn’t deny the feelings he had for Pamela, but he
was able to accept the simple, cold fact that their relationship really
did have no future. He understood, he thought, what Pamela must have
been going through and why she wanted to end their relationship.
And maybe, after all, that would be best.
Tomboy was bringing her F-14 in for another strafing run.
He stood up behind the wall, exposing himself to fire from below so that
he could see. Dust and smoke erupted from a third PT-76; from further
down the valley, a squat, ugly-looking tracked vehicle with a low, open
turret slewed quad-mounted 23mm cannons and opened fire. “Tomboy!” he
yelled. “ZSU on the road-”
“I’m hit! I’m hit!” he heard her calling. White smoke was streaming aft
from her Tomcat as she hurtled past the east face of the ridge, angling
toward the sea eight miles away.
“Tomboy!”
“I’m. .. okay,” he heard her say. “We’re okay, but I don’t think we’re
going to make it back to the Jeff.”
“Get some altitude!”
“Already on it.”
He could see the F-14 coming up now. It was hard to see, but he thought
one of the engines was out. The smoke streaming off the aircraft’s tail
was thicker now.
“Okay,” Tomboy said. “We’ve got an engine fire. We’re definitely not
going to make it to the Jefferson. She’s still taking on fuel, and
they’re not going to let us come anywhere near her with a dinged Tomcat.