pilot would be solely concerned with allowing Thor to get a decent shot off.
The Flanker veered suddenly and raced back along its original course,
heading for the coast of Vietnam, still twisting and dodging. It must have
taken being illuminated by fire control radar seriously, and the pilot must be
thinking he was in immediate danger. Thor let the pilot open the distance
between then, wishing there was some way to convey that despite his air-to-air
armament, he had no intention of taking a shot at the other pilot.
He followed the Flanker, still conducting evasive maneuvers, to the edge
of the air protection envelope, and then broke off. Paranoid little bastard,
he thought, and felt a moment of sympathy for the other pilot. If Thor’s
experience was any guide at all, the Flanker driver was going to need a clean
pair of skivvies as soon as he got back to his base.
1245 local (Zulu -7)
Hunter 701
“Any activity?” the TACCO asked again.
“Nothing.” Rabies took his eyes off the window and turned in his seat so
he could see the TACCO. “You’re pretty antsy about this one. Quit
worrying–we’re far enough off that we can outrun anything a Flanker’s likely
to shoot at us.”
“This isn’t feeling right,” the TACCO answered over the ICS. “That
Flanker hauling ass out of here after passing targeting information down to
the sub–why?”
“You don’t know for sure it was talking to the sub. Maybe it was just
some sort of exercise. And she went buster because idiot Aegis lit her up.
How’d you feel if an unfriendly carrying long-range surface-to-air missiles
lit you up with fire control radar?”
“About like I do right now, Rabies.” The TACCO leaned forward, trying to
see out of the cockpit. The sub was out of sight, lost to view by being
head-on into the setting sun.
“Getting machinery noise, flow tones. Hull popping–she’s changing
depth!” the AW said suddenly. “Sir, where is she?”
The TACCO felt a cold chill. “Rabies, get us out of the damned sun,” he
said urgently.
“Ready one,” the copilot announced as the S-3B moved–now painfully
slowly, it seemed to the TACCO–out of line of sight with the sun.
“Sir!” the AW insisted.
The TACCO strained forward to see out the canopy.
Below them, he saw disturbed water, dark shadows moving below the warm
murk of the South China Sea. Was there movement? He couldn’t tell for sure.
Illogically, he wondered whether the submarine could see him through the
canopy, looking up at the aircraft through the periscope. Could it see his
pale white face peering forward between the two pilots’ seats? He rubbed his
hand over his chin, feeling the rough afternoon growth.
Suddenly, the water below them exploded into white froth and foam,
boiling up from below like an undersea geyser reaching higher and higher into
the sky. Twenty feet above the water, the sea peeled back like a banana skin,
revealing the slender white form inside it.
“SHIT!” Rabies screamed, throwing the S-3B into a hard right turn. The
copilot lurched in his seat as he completed the remaining sequences to drop
the torpedo, coldly reporting his actions to the carrier. The TACCO felt the
Viking buck, as 506 pounds of Mk-46 torpedo dropped away from the wing.
“It wasn’t a fucking Grail,” he shouted over the ICS. “That wasn’t aimed
at us!”
“What the hell was that?” the E-2C was screaming at the same time over
the tactical net. “Hunter, what the fuck?”
Rabies knew the rest of his crew had seen the missile, but they hadn’t
really seen it. They’d seen what they expected to see–another SAM launched
at their aircraft.
“It’s a cruise missile!” Rabies screamed over the net. It wouldn’t be
bothering with the Viking circling overhead. No, the ships in the battle
group provided a much more inviting target.
1246 local (Zulu -7)
Combat Direction Center
USS Vincennes
“Missile inbound, sir!” the EW yelled on the net, as his SLQ-32 ESM gear
detected the missile seeker head and started blaring warnings. Seconds later,
the air tracker jumped in, reporting the radar contact.
The TAO reacted instantly. The Aegis combat systems were fully capable