wasn’t right. What, he couldn’t say just yet, but every tactical instinct
in his body was screaming warnings.
Most variants of the long-range turboprop aircraft were reconnaissance
aircraft, configured for antisubmarine warfare (ASW) or electronic
surveillance, with their only offensive weaponry three pairs of 23mm NR-23
guns in remotely activated dorsal and ventral turrets. While the guns were
generally thought to be primarily for defense, even those weapons could
pose a deadly danger to the unarmed aircraft he was in. Additionally, and
far more worrisome, both the Bear-H and -G versions carried long-range
air-to-surface cruise missiles.
He unbuckled his seat belt, raised one hand at the flight engineer who
stood up to order him back to his seat, and went forward. He identified
himself through the closed door, and stepped into the small cockpit.
“What kind of Bear?” he asked immediately.
The pilot glanced at the copilot, who was staring back aft, searching
for the contact. “He’s not certain, but he thinks he caught a glimpse of a
large ventral pod. If he’s right, that makes it a Bear-J.”
The copilot looked away from his binoculars for a moment. “I’m pretty
sure I saw it, Admiral.”
“A Bear-J. Now what the hell would it be doing out here?” Tombstone
said, puzzled.
The Bear-J was the Russians’ version of the U.S. Navy’s EA-6A and
EC-130Q TACAMO aircraft. It possessed VLF–very low
frequency–communications gear that enabled it to stay in contact with
national command authorities and missile submarines from almost anywhere in
the world. The ventral pod housed the kilometers-long trailing wire
communications antenna. The aircraft was slightly over 162 feet long, with
a wingspan several feet larger than that. In addition to its guns, the
Bear-J could also carry the largest air-launched missiles in the CIS
inventory, and sported outsize, extremely fine resolution radars.
“Have you told anyone about this?” Tombstone asked.
“Your people already know. And Jefferson–she’s on station for the
Greenpeace monitoring mission.” The pilot couldn’t entirely keep an
offended note out of his voice. “Admiral, we’re five minutes out from
Adak.” The pilot motioned toward the extra fold-down seat in the cockpit.
“If you’d like to stay, we’d be pleased to have you in the cockpit for the
landing.”
As long as I park my butt before you have to order me to and I quit
second-guessing you, Tombstone thought, a sliver of wry humor cutting
through his concern over the Bear. The only thing worse would be if you
had to explain how I got smashed up when the landing got rough. He took
the hint and strapped in, turning sideways and craning his head around to
look forward. He might be three grades senior to the pilot, but as long as
they were in the air the pilot had command of the aircraft and was
responsible for the safety of the passengers. And that included keeping
senior officers from getting themselves hurt.
The copilot reported that the Bear was now maintaining position two
miles behind them. He then abandoned his binoculars and resumed the
prelanding checklist that the Bear had interrupted.
Flying this close together in marginal weather was a foolishness
Tombstone would have never permitted in his own air wing. Not unless the
tactical situation were critical.
Maybe this tour would be as interesting as his uncle had promised,
after all.
1625 Local
Tomcat 201
Ten minutes later, the fighter was orbiting above the radar contact’s
position, barely two thousand yards above the ocean. Bird Dog could see
the rough chop of the waves, the massive shape of a whale moving below
them, the clear sky–and nothing else.
“Where the hell did it go?” Bird Dog asked.
“Damned if I know. But it was there before.”
Bird Dog heard the frustration in Gator’s voice. “Well, maybe it was
a submarine,” he said skeptically. “I suppose it’s possible. But I’d bet
on the fellow down there.” He watched the whale surface, flip a tail at
the aircraft, then dive.
Gator snorted. “About time you started believing me on radar
contacts, Bird Dog. A biologic doesn’t give that solid of a return, if you
see it at all. After the Spratly Islands, I would think you’d be a little