CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

fight. We’re a continuation of diplomacy by other means.”

“Your War College shit makes a lot more sense when we’re on the deck,”

Bird Dog responded. “A lot of good philosophy does to me. I’d rather have

a solid radar contact. Speaking of which–anything in the area?”

“I think I probably would have mentioned it to you if there were,”

Gator responded tartly. “What, you think I’m back here as some sort of a

zampolit? I got news for you, Bird Dog. Some time at the War College is

just what you need to get some perspective on things.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll take

an extra year on the bombing range over War College any day.”

“Looks like you might have your chance.” Gator’s voice had gone hard

and cold. “Radar contact, bearing zero one zero, range forty miles, speed

four hundred knots.”

“You got IFF?” Bird Dog asked, inquiring about the status of the

international friend or foe transponder carried on most military aircraft

as he broke out of the turn and headed along the vector Gator had reported.

“Negative. No ESM, either. At four hundred knots, this could be our

friendly neighborhood Bear. Or-”

“Or one of his hotshot little buddies,” Bird Dog said. “A MiG.”

“Keep your finger off the weapon button until we know for sure,” Gator

warned. “I’m still in tracking mode. I’m not going to light him up until

he’s closer.”

“If it is a MiG, when are we within weapons range?”

“Another twenty miles. Less than that, if he doesn’t have the latest

ESM warning modifications on him.”

“Well, let’s just go see, shall we?” Bird Dog said softly. He shoved

the throttle forward, increasing airspeed to just over five hundred knots.

“I’m staying at altitude for now–might need the gas later. You let Mother

know what’s going on, and I’ll get us over there.”

Bird Dog heard Gator switch over to tactical and begin briefing the

watch team in CDC on board Jefferson. Although the TAO there would already

have their contact information, since it was transmitted automatically via

LINK I I to the ship’s central target processing unit, Gator was making

sure that no one else was holding any contacts in the area. The other

Tomcats were holding nothing but blue sky, Jefferson reported, a note of

excitement already creeping into the TAO’s voice. He heard the TAO say,

“Roger, Tomcat Two-oh-one, come right to course zero-one-zero and

investigate–oh.” The voice trailed off as the TAO evidently noticed from

the speed leader on his large screen display that Bird Dog was already

doing exactly that.

Aflu

“The pilot reports he will be overhead in twenty minutes,” the senior

Spetsnaz reported. He glanced over at Rogov, whose face was an impassive,

unreadable mask.

“Very well.” Rogov ignored the man. Whether or not he believed the

story that it was merely a surveillance aircraft checking up on the

detachment made little difference now. Twenty minutes from now–nineteen,

he thought, glancing at his watch–forty Special Forces paratroopers would

be spilling out the back end of the transport aircraft and parachuting down

to the island. Unlike the Spetsnaz team with him now, these men were

carefully selected. Each one of them was a Cossack, born and bred in the

harsh outer reaches of the former Soviet Union, owing allegiance primarily

to their tribe rather than any political subdivision. Rogov smiled. As

skilled and deadly as the Spetsnaz on the initial team, each one of the

paratroopers had sworn undying loyalty to his hetman, holder of the

traditional Cossack mace. If the Spetsnaz could have seen him during their

last ceremony, clad in his ancient Cossack regalia, they would not have

doubted his prowess at the beginning of this mission and they would have

known what he knew now: The Cossacks were coming.

CHAPTER 8

Thursday, 29 December

1700 Local

South of Aflu

The fast craft skimmed over the top of the waves, acting almost like a

hovercraft as it shot over the surface of the water. Sea state 2 consisted

of mild swells without white tops, and Carter had the throttle slammed full

forward. But even small swells act like a roller coaster at eighty knots.

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