with three waves of Backfires and MiGs.”
“Okay, let’s assume he’s got something new on his wings. I think we
have to, seeing as how we’re the only CAP out here. Is he going to let me
get inside Sidewinder range?”
“Ten miles? Maybe. But remember, his exhaust isn’t going to be
screaming out at the infrared homer like a jet on afterburner. You might
want to get in closer. Besides, one hundred eighty-six pounds of
Sidewinder’s not going to slow you down like a Sparrow still on the wings.”
“This is crazy,” Bird Dog said suddenly. “We’re talking about ACM
with a Bear. Let’s get real.”
“Like you said, we’re the only friendlies out here. If that means we
got to be a little more cautious than usual, then we live with it.”
“How far now?”
“He’s at forty miles,” Gator replied. “Still in a starboard turn–no,
wait. He’s shedding some altitude. Now at fifteen thousand feet.”
“Okay with me. I’m going to get a broadside shot at him.”
“I don’t like it. What’s he doing at fifteen thousand? And still
descending.”
“Where’s the sub?” Bird Dog asked.
“Twenty miles to the north. The Bear’s pattern’s been taking him
almost directly overhead.”
“And that Oscar might have surface-to-air missiles on her, too. Just
dandy.”
“Something to watch out for,” Gator agreed. “Range now thirty miles.”
“I’m ready. We’ll go in to twenty.”
The seconds clicked by too slowly. Bird Dog bit his lower lip, tried
to will time to move faster. The selector switch was already toggled to
the Sparrow, and his finger was poised to twitch. That’s all it would
take–an almost infinitesimal movement of his finger, he’d take the easy
shot at the Bear, and then they could–could what? With the carrier under
the terrorists’ control, there was no assurance that they’d have anywhere
to land. Adak was too far, and ditching in the hostile sea below was
unthinkable.
“Now,” Gator snapped.
His finger moved of its own accord, toggling the weapon off the wing.
The Tomcat jolted abruptly to the left as its center of gravity shifted.
“He’s still heading for the deck, increasing his rate of descent,”
Gator reported. “Now passing through five thousand feet.”
“Sparrow’ll catch him,” Bird Dog said grimly, “Mach 4 ain’t peanuts.”
“Shit, he’s got almost zero speed over ground,” Gator muttered. “He
must be damned near vertical.”
“Wouldn’t you be? His only chances are getting lost in sea clutter or
having the Sparrow go tits up. I’ve still got a lock–let’s put the other
one on his tail.”
“Now.”
“Fox Two.” The Tomcat rolled to the right as the other Sparrow leaped
off the wing. “Now give me a vector up his ass. Next shot’s a Sidewinder
right up his exhaust pipe.
“Intercept two miles behind–come right to zero-two-zero. Three
minutes.”
Bird Dog twisted the Tomcat around in the air and put the aircraft
into a steep rate of descent. “Got a visual,” he reported, staring at the
tiny black spot against the sea. “On the missiles, too.”
“Tracking, tracking–aw, shit! Fucking sea clutter, shipmate. Lost
lock on both missiles. You’re going to have to get him with the
Sidewinder.”
“Sidewinder, my ass,” Bird Dog muttered. “I’ll ram this little
bastard if I have to. No damned turboprop’s wiggling away from me. How
the hell would I ever live it down in the Ready Room?”
“Altitude,” Gator warned. “Fly the aircraft first, shoot weapons
second.”
Bird Dog eased the Tomcat out of the steep dive, letting his airspeed
bleed off.
And still the Bear descended, finally arresting its dive just fifty
feet above the water. He heard Gator mutter, “Jesus, even Bird Dog’s not
that crazy.”
The massive command-and-control aircraft seemed to skim just above the
tops of the waves, looking more like a hovercraft than an airplane. Bird
Dog approached from the rear, still descending, hunting for the perfect
altitude to allow the Sidewinder to lock onto the Bear’s exhaust. Finally,
he heard the distinctive warble from the weapon, telling him it had
acquired a targeting heat source.
“Got lock,” he announced, then thumbed the weapon off of the rail.
The missile, carrying an annular blast warhead with perforated metal rods