CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

impersonation on you again.”

“Concur.” Bird Dog descended back down to five hundred feet,

carefully staying three miles away from the submarine. “He’s going to have

to overfly, then come right or left to turn and come back over him.” Bird

Dog kicked into afterburner range, felt the Tomcat leap forward and shove

him back in the seat. “Suppose we just meet him down at the end of his

racetrack?”

The Tomcat overshot his prey, then pulled up into a tight starboard

orbit three miles in front of the Bear. Two minutes later, as the Bear

started its turn back toward its guardian submarine, Bird Dog toggled the

last Sidewinder off of the wing from an altitude of two hundred feet.

The missile had less than one mile to go to reach its target. Even if

the Bear had had some other tactic in mind, there was no time. Bird Dog

saw the Bear frantically ejecting flares and chaff, hoping to decoy the

Sidewinder, but the missile flew a perfect profile straight into the

engines beckoning so loudly in the infrared spectrum. Bird Dog yanked the

Tomcat up just as the Bear disintegrated into a flaming mass of metal and

machinery. “Scratch one Bear,” Gator said. “Good shot.”

“Do me a favor, Gator. Just one–I’ll never ask anything of you

again.”

“What?”

“Let’s just tell the boat that the missiles fell off the damned wings

or something. I’m never going to live it down if the skipper finds out I

shot a full load at that damned Bear.”

“Let’s go find us some gas. I’ll think about it.”

Bird Dog groaned.

CHAPTER 15

Friday, 30 December

1230 Local

TOmcat 201

Bird Dog plugged and sucked on the tanker uneventfully. The sight of

fuel gauges indicating a full load gave him a definite sense of comfort.

At loitering speed, that bought them at least four hours in which to decide

what to do. By that time, hopefully the carrier would have gotten the

terrorist situation under control. Absent any other good plan, Bird Dog

headed for the starboard marshall stack, entering it at the standard

altitude and commencing to orbit.

“That submarine would explain a good deal about the carrier’s

cooperation with those terrorists,” Gator said. “Having a cruise missile

sitting on your ass is no joke.”

“We were loaded up for anti-air,” Bird Dog swore. “A couple of

Rockeyes on the wings would have been a hell of a lot more help a little

while ago.”

“Well, why don’t we go back and get some?” Gator asked. “After all,

we don’t seem to have any weapons at all right now.”

“Trap on the carrier?”

“You have somewhere else in mind? There aren’t a whole hell of a lot

of choices out here, Bird Dog,” Gator said sarcastically. “Besides, you

have any better ideas?”

Bird Dog shook his head. He might not have a good idea, but he could

see a hell of a lot that could go wrong with this one. Who knew how much

control the carrier had over its own flight operations, with the terrorists

on board? Additionally, what were the odds that they could land, get

rearmed, and launch again without someone objecting?

“I guess it’s worth asking about,” he said finally. “Who do we have

comms with?”

“just the air boss. From what he says, he hasn’t heard from the

bridge, Combat, or TFCC in twenty minutes. I think that’s probably a good

indicator of their tactical status.”

“If they don’t have control of the bridge, how are they gonna get us

the right winds to land?”

“What, a little wind bothering you now? We can land in just about

anything except a tailwind, you know. Still, well, let’s give them a call

and see what they think of the idea. We’ll worry about the details later.”

Bird Dog picked up the radio to contact the air boss. As crazy as it

sounded, if the Tomcat could do something about the submarine on the

carrier’s tail, it might improve the situation.

1231 Local

USS Jefferson

The air boss shifted uneasily in his seat and glared down at the deck.

With the carrier heading west, the anemometer indicated a tailwind of

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