Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (41 page)

 
          
“Computer
has shut down number one and two,” Deverill said. “Fire extinguishers popped on
both of them, so they’re done for the day. Hydraulic system is in isolate.
Three generators are off-line—wait, we got two, so we got the emergency and
primary bus energized. Forward bomb bay doors are still partially open—it feels
like they’re dragging in the slipstream and might be leaking hydraulic fluid.
The navigation, weapons, and ECM systems are in reset. Heading system is
spinning up again. Navigation is by satellite only until our ring-laser gyros
come back up. We’re a mess, Heels, but we still got two good blowers.”

 
          
“Except
we’re going nowhere fast,” Annie said. “I’m going to pull a little power off
number four and see if we can straighten out.” She pulled a notch of power off
on number four, then made a tiny forward adjustment when the Vampire felt
sloppy and uneasy. But she was able to regain some directional control. Their
airspeed was down to one-fifty—just thirty knots above landing speed, right at
the edge of a stall in straight-and-levcl flight—but they were still flying.
“All right, all I need now is a heading out of no-man's-land and a runw'ay big
enough to set this mother down.”

 
          
“Annie,
the Ukrainian fighters are five minutes out, crossing the border and heading
right for you,” Nancy Cheshire radioed. “Hold present heading, squawk modes
one, two. and four. The cavalry's coming. Hold on.”

           
“Your heading is one-seven-zero,
Annie, direct Char’kov,” Duane said. “We lost about a thousand feet—let’s try
to gain a little altitude.”

           
Annie started a very slow climb.
Normally the FB- 1C Vampire could climb at over ten thousand feet per minute at
gross weight—now she was lucky to get five hundred feet per minute w ithout
feeling the sloshing, muddy, unsteady wobbliness of an impending stall. A stall
with two engines on one side out meant a spin, and the B-l bomber did not
tolerate spins well. Annie had done them only in the simulator, and she liked
at least twenty thousand feet above ground level before attempting spin
recovery.

 
          
“Looks
like I really screwed up, didn't I?” she asked.

           
“Don’t see how,” Duane said. “Our
mission was to make sure ISA got the spy out of Russia safely. You saved their
asses three times today. That's a pretty good night’s work.”

           
“I think I’m going to be screwed,
blued, and tattooed when I get home.”

           
“You’re a hero, Annie,” Deverill
said. “You should be proud of what you've done You should ...
Oh, shit
.”

 
          
Duane
stopped, and Annie glanced over to him to see what was the matter. She saw him
staring out his right cockpit window. She looked—and saw why. The second
Sukhoi-27 Flanker fighter was perched right beside them, less than a hundred
feet away. Without the threat detection gear, the Flanker had been able to
sneak right in and get a good look at them.

 
          
“Oh,
hell,” Annie murmured. “Busted.”

           
“You gotta admit, that's some pretty
good flying,” Deverill said.

 
          
“Pretty
good for a bastard who tried to blow two unarmed cargo planes out of the sky,”
Annie added. Now that the fighter pilot saw that the crew members of the bomber
had him in sight, he turned on all of his exterior lights. The brightest light
lit up his twin vertical stabilizers, which featured the red star of the
Russian Air Force. “A Russian air defense interceptor,” she breathed.
“Perfect.”

 
          
“I’ll
bet he’s not too pleased we blew away his leader.”

 
          
“How
far are we from the Ukrainian border?”

 
          
‘Thirty-nine
miles.”

 
          
“My
God,” Annie said. “Where the hell are those Ukrainian fighters? They should’ve
rendezvoused by now.”

 
          
“Sixty
seconds out ” Cheshire replied. “They’ve got you and the Flanker in radar
contact.”

 
          
“This
bastard’s right next to us, on our right side,” Annie said excitedly. “If
anyone farts, we’re going to trade paint. Get ’em down here and help us!”

 
          
At
that moment, the Su-27 moved in closer, less than fifty feet away, and a burst
of cannon fire erupted from the rightwing leading-edge muzzle. Annie screamed
into her oxygen mask. The Russian fighter pilot seemed to be sitting right next
to her mission commander They could both clearly see him making an up-and-down
motion with a flashlight—the international signal for “turn and follow me, you
have been intercepted.”

 
          
“Kiss
my ass, Boris,” Annie said. “I’m not turning.”

 
          
As
if the Russian heard her, he maneuvered in front of them, then stroked his
engines into zone one afterburner. The white- hot afterburner flame threatened
to blow out their windscreen. The Russian fighter then smoothly, expertly slid
back into impossibly tight formation, crowding them even more, and the Russian
again made a “follow me” light signal.

 
          
“Genesis,
this is Terminator,” Annie radioed, the fear plainly obvious in her voice.
“Where the hell are those Ukrainian fighters?”

 
          
“We
see him,” General Samson responded immediately.

           
“You’ve got three more inbound from
Kiev
, about one hundred miles southeast. ETA.
five minutes.”

           
“How about some help up here?”

           
“Stand by,” Samson replied.

           
“ ‘Stand by’?” Deverill shouted.
“Boss, we need some help right
now
or we’re going to get hosed.”

 
          
“We’re
having some .. . diplomatic problems,” Samson said.

 
          
“Say
again. Genesis?”

 
          
“Just
hold your heading and keep coming for the border,” Samson said. There was an
unusual sense of urgency in his voice. Terrill Samson never got grim-sounding
about
anything.
“Talk to us. General,” Annie said, almost pleading.

           
“The ... the Ukrainian government is
inquiring about the nature of your mission and the events leading up to this
intercept,” Samson said “The Ukrainians won’t engage Russian fighters unless
they cross the border. I doubt if they’d try to take on a Russian Flanker even
if they
did
cross the border. Ukrainian pilots are good, but they’re not
stupid.”

 
          
“You
mean, they won't help us?”

           
"You just hold tight. I’m going
to brief the Pentagon and the White House by teleconference any minute now.”

           
“Any suggestions?”

 
          
“Sure.
But you don’t want to hear them.”

 
          
“Oh,
shit,” Annie breathed. “I’m not letting them have this plane.”

           
“Try to make it to the border,”
Samson said. “Do whatever you need to do to keep those fighters off your back.
Make up a plausible story. Use your feminine wiles on them, sweet-talk them,
promise them a night they’ll never forget, anything you can think of. They
might be surprised enough to hear a woman on the radio that they’ll leave you
alone. They might be waiting for orders, too.”

 
          
“And
what if that doesn’t work?”

 
          
“Just
hope it does work. Stay calm. We’re right here with you.”

           
Annie ordered the computer to set
the number-two radio to 243.0, the universal UHF emergency channel, and keyed the
mike button; “Russian fighter off my right wingtip, this is Annie. How are you
tonight?”

           
“Unidentified American bomber
aircraft, this is Unit Two-Zero, Fifty-fourth Air Defense Fighter Regiment.
Voyska Protivovozdushnoy Oborony, Zhukovsky,” the Flanker pilot responded. “You
are in violation of the sovereign airspace of the Russian Federation. You are
ordered to follow me for landing at Zhukovsky. Do you copy? Over.”

 
          
“Am
I over Russia right now?” Annie asked, with all the feminine innocence she
could muster. “My navigation system must be
all
screwed up. I thought I
was over the Black Sea. Oh dear, this is pretty embarrassing. Why don't you
just point me toward the Black Sea and I’ll get out of your hair. Pretty
please, commander?”

 
          
“I
have observed your aircraft launch weapons at V-PVO aircraft, and I observe one
of your weapons bays is partially open,” the Flanker pilot replied angrily. “I
suspect you of attacking and destroying a Russian air defense aircraft, and
attacking Russian military forces. That is an act of war, and I am authorized
to divert you to a suitable airfield for detention and interrogation of you,
your aircraft, and your crew. You will be given all rights under the Warsaw
Convention regarding treatment of airspace violators. I am authorized to take
any actions I feel I must take to ensure your compliance. I order you to turn
to a heading of one-five-zero immediately or you will be shot down.”

 
          
“Hey,
honey, you’ve got it all wrong,” Annie said sweetly. “I didn’t attack anyone.
I’ve got two engines shut down and major damage to my aircraft. I don’t have
any weapons on board—this is an unarmed training flight. Do I look like a
fighter plane? I was on my way to land and have apparently gone off course. If
you can offer any assistance. I’m sure my company will reward you handsomely.
I’ll
personally
see to that. Just let me turn back toward the northwest,
and I’ll see to it that you’re compensated in full. You have my promise,
commander.”

 
          
There
was no response. The Sukhoi-27 Flanker merely pulled up and out of sight.

 
          
“Hey,
Nancy,” Annie said, “you see where this guy went?”

           
“He’s at your
four o’clock
, slightly high,” Nancy Cheshire replied.
“Moving to six o’clock, one mile.”

 
          
“We
got any weapons yet, Dev?”

 
          
“Weapons
just came on-line,” Deverill replied. To the weapons computer, he spoke, “Ready
Anacondas. Target aircraft at
six o’clock
, one mile. Attack.”

 
          
“
Warning, configuration error,the computer responded. “Warning, bay doors not
ready. Warning, airspeed too low for safe weapon release. Stop attack ”

           
“Override configuration error,”
Deverill ordered. “Override airspeed inhibits. Emergency open forward bay
doors. Launch two.”

 
          
“
Warning,
configuration error override
...
warning, weapon airspeed limit override
,
no safe separation
...
warning
,
bomb bay doors not latched.
” They received bomb door open indications as the computer merely unlatched the
forward bomb bay doors and allowed them to gravity-fall fully open. “
Warning,
launch command received
,
stop launch
...”

           
"Annie! Dev
/”
Cheshire
shouted over the satellite transceiver.
“Get
out! Get
... !”

 
          
It
felt as if they had crashed headlong into a brick wall. The Flanker pilot had
fired two R-60 heat-seeking missiles at the EB-1C Vampire, and both missiles
had hit the only operable engines on the right wing. The engines exploded,
igniting jet fuel in the right-wing and aft body tanks.

 
          
Both
Annie Dewey and Duane Deverill knew the time had come. When Nancy Cheshire
issued her warning, their hands were already reaching for the ejection handles,
and by the time the fireball engulfed the Vampire bomber, the ejection seats
had already cleared the plane and they were blasted free.