End Game (31 page)

“We are a little ahead of schedule, Captain,” said the Parvaneh's captain. “The others may be well behind us.”

“Good. We will lead the charge.” Sattari got up and
turned to the rest of the commandos. “Be prepared to fire your weapons the moment we are out of the submarine.”

Aboard the
Shiva
,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0500

“T
HE RADAR PLATFORM AT
D
WĀRKA REPORTS THAT AN
American Megafortress is orbiting it to the west,” the radar officer told Admiral Skandar. “A flight of air force interceptors is being scrambled to meet it.”

Skandar nodded, and turned to Memon. “Do you still think the Americans are neutral?”

“No, Minister,” said Memon, though the question was clearly rhetorical.

“They are targeting the radar platform. You will see—it will be attacked at any moment.” Skandar turned to his executive officer. “Warn the platform to be on its guard. Have the men move to their battle stations. The showdown is about to begin.”

Aboard the
Wisconsin
,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0501

M
ACK
S
MITH ACCELERATED AS HE APPROACHED THE PLATFORM
, taking the Flighthawk down through fifty feet. He was too low and close to be seen by this radar system, but human eyes and ears were another matter. He had the throttle at max as he rocketed by the platform at close to 500 knots, banking around to the north and making another pass.

“If there's a sub pen or docking area under that platform somewhere, I can't see it,” he told Dog. “Cantor, where's that submarine? Let me do a flyover as he comes up.”

“He's just coming to the surface, about a mile north of the platform, in very shallow water.”

Mack slid the Flighthawk around, slowing down now to get better images. Nothing showed on the screen, though, as he passed.

“Two MiG-29s coming off Bhuj,” warned T-Bone, naming an airfield along the coast. “And we have another flight coming in from the south—they're going to their afterburners.”

“Want me to go cool their jets, Colonel?” asked Mack.

“No. Take another pass where that submarine is coming up. I want pictures.”

“Just call me Candid Camera.”

 

“T
HE
M
I
G
S OUT OF
B
HUJ ARE LOOKING FOR US
,”
SAID
J
AZZ
. “Carrying AMRAAMskis. They're about a hundred miles away, speed accelerating over five hundred knots. Think the radar station picked up the Flighthawk?”

“I doubt it,” Dog told him. “They probably just got tired of us orbiting so close to them.”

Dog checked his watch. Danny and Boston in the
Fisher
were still twenty minutes away.

“Let's do this,” he told Jazz. “Try and raise the Indian controller on his frequency. Tell him that there's a submarine surfacing near his platform in Indian territory.”

“How do I explain that we know that?”

“Don't,” said Dog.

“Southern flight of MiGs has also gone to afterburners,” said T-Bone at the radar station. “Now approximately seven minutes away.”

“Mack, do you have any visuals for me?”

“Negative, Colonel. Submarine hasn't broken the water yet.”

“All right. Come north with me. We're going to run up toward the end of our patrol track and turn around. On the way back south we'll launch
Hawk Two
.”

“You want me to take it?” interrupted Cantor.

“No. Stay with Piranha. Mack will have to handle both planes for a while.”

“No sweat,” said Mack.

“If the Indians don't back off, set up an intercept on the group coming out of the east, from Bhuj,” Dog told him.

“Got it, Colonel.”

“And Mack—don't fire at them unless I tell you to.”

“Your wish is my command, Colonel. But say the word, and they're going down.”

Aboard the
Levitow
,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0503

S
TEWART OPENED HER EYES AND SAW THAT
B
REANNA HAD
left the bay. She rolled out of the bunk and pulled on her boots, then went out into the Megafortress's galley area. The restroom—imagine
that
in a B-1B!—was occupied.

“I'd like to brush my teeth,” she joked.

“I'll be a while,” moaned the occupant.

It wasn't Breanna. Stewart looked toward the front and realized that she had taken over as pilot four hours ahead of schedule.

Just like her.

Stewart grabbed her helmet and walked up past the radar stations to the first officer's seat.

“Sorry I overslept. Mom forgot to set the alarm clock,” she told the copilot, Dick “Bullet” Timmons. “Thanks for covering, Bullet.”

“I'm still on, Stewie. Lou's stomach just went ballistic on him.”

“Bree and me are partners,” she told him. She glanced at Breanna. “Don't want to break up the act.”

“Yeah, the teams ought to stay together,” Bree said.

Stewart felt her face flush. Finally, she thought, she'd been accepted.

“Your call, Captain,” said Bullet. “Time I stretch my legs anyway.”

“Just don't try the bathroom for the next hour,” added Stewart.

 

T
HE
L
EVITOW
'
S LONG
-
RANGE RADAR PLOT SHOWED THE TWO
MiGs on afterburners, heading north to intercept
Wisconsin
.

Breanna clicked into the Dreamland communications channel. “
Dreamland Levitow
to
Wisconsin
. I assume you see those MiGs coming at you from the south.”

“Roger that,
Levitow
,” said Dog. “We're moving north. What's your estimated time to station?”

“Still a good fifteen minutes away from the designated patrol area.”

“Be advised, Piranha's contact has stopped about a mile from the radar platform. We think they may be planning a raid. We're trying to alert the Indian authorities. Piranha is about a mile and a half from the stopped sub and is approaching another contact, apparently a similar submarine.”

“Do you still want us to take over Piranha when we get closer?”

“Let's play that by ear. It may depend on what these MiGs do. I'm going to launch
Hawk Two
right now.”

“Roger that.”

 

“T
URN
H
AWK
T
HREE
OVER TO THE COMPUTER AND THEN
swap stations with me,” Zen told Dork.

“You sure, Major?”

“Yeah, I'll take
Three.
You launch
Hawk Four
from this station. Then if we're in range and have to take over Piranha, you can do it while I fly both U/MFs. You can't control Piranha from the left station.”

“I've only flown—I mean, sailed—Piranha in simulations.”

“It'll be easy,” said Zen.

Far easier than flying two Flighthawks in combat, he thought, though he didn't say that.

Dork put
Hawk Three
into one of its preset flight patterns,
turned its controls over to the computer, then undid his restraints and got out of his seat. Zen levered himself close enough to the other station so he could swing into the unoccupied chair. He landed sideways, then dropped awkwardly into position.

Blood rushed from his head. Whether it was an aftermath of the treatments or sleep deprivation, he felt zapped.

“Here's your flight helmet,” said Dork.

“All right, thanks,” said Zen. “Let's do the handoff, then get ready to launch. I'll talk to Bree.”

Aboard the
Fisher,
over the Arabian Sea
0505

L
YING IN THE MANPOD WAS LIKE BEING IN AN ISOLATION CHAMBER
. A very
cold
isolation chamber. There were supposedly heating circuits in the damn things, but Danny had never used one yet without freezing his extremities off.

Not that he had all that much experience with the manpod. In fact, he'd only used it in training missions, and only once on a water jump.

The manpod could be ejected from either high or low altitude. In this case, the plan was to go out very low, so the EB-52 wasn't detected. The pod would be more projectile than package, its descent barely retarded by a special drogue parachute.

“Danny?”

Colonel Bastian's voice reverberated in his helmet.

“What do you need, Colonel?”

“I just want you to know that we have fighters approaching the area where the submarine is. I've told Lieutenant Chu that he's to stay out of the area unless I instruct him otherwise.”

“Aw, Colonel, it's cold in here. You have to let me jump or I'll freeze to death.”

“We'll play it by ear, Danny. Sorry,” added Dog, the word echoing in Danny's helmet.

 

L
IEUTENANT
C
HU CHECKED HIS ALTITUDE ON THE HEADS
-
UP
display, keeping the Megafortress at precisely thirty-eight feet above the waves. The aircraft's powerful surveillance radars were off, allowing it to slip undetected like a ghost in the night.

His adrenaline had his heart on double-fast forward. It had been like this the whole deployment, almost a high.

Chu had been thinking of trading in his pilot's wings and going to law school before he got the Dreamland gig. He still hoped to be a lawyer someday, but this deployment had convinced him to push someday far into the future. Driving a Megafortress was the most fun you could have with your clothes on.

“Whiplash to
Dreamland Fisher
—yo, Tommy, what'd you tell the Colonel?” asked Captain Freah, who could communicate through a special channel in the Dreamland com system.

“Told him we were ready to kick butt and not to worry about the fighters.”

“Keep singing that song.”

“I will, Danny. Hang loose in there.”

“I am, but next flight, I want stewardesses and a better movie.”

Northern Arabian Sea
0508

T
HE SEA AIR PULLED
C
APTAIN
S
ATTARI OUT OF THE
P
ARVANEH
submarine, up to the deck behind the lead commando and the mate. He moved toward the rubber boat, AK-47 in one hand, grenade launcher in the other. His lungs filled with the sweet, wet breeze.

They were farther from the platform than he thought.

There were planes nearby, jets flying somewhere in the dark sky. He twisted his head back and forth but couldn't see anything.

“Bring the SA-7s!” he yelled, telling the others to take the antiaircraft missiles. “Quickly! Into the boat. We have to paddle at least three hundred meters to reach the rocks! Hurry, before we are seen!”

Aboard the
Wisconsin,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0508

“M
IDGET SUB IS ON THE SURFACE
,” D
ISH TOLD
D
OG
. “V
ERY
small. Similar to the vessel that sank itself.”

“Jazz, have the Indians responded to our warning?”

“Negative,” said the copilot.

Dog toggled into the Dreamland Command line. “
Wisconsin
to
Abner Read
. Eyes, I need to talk to Storm.”

“I'm here, Bastian. Go ahead.”

“The submarine we were tracking has surfaced about a mile north of the platform. Looks like an attack. I've tried contacting the Indians but gotten no response. I have two MiGs coming at me from the east. They may think we're attacking the radar.”

“We'll try notifying the Indians,” said Storm. “Don't put yourself in danger for them.”

Jeez, thought Dog, he sounds almost concerned.

“Colonel, the lead MiG's radar is trying to get a lock on us,” warned Jazz. “Threat analyzer says he has a pair of AA-12 Adder AMRAAMskis.”

“Storm, the Indian fighters are using their weapons radars to lock on us,” Dog said. “I'm not in their territory. I can't tell if it's a bluff or not, but if I have to defend myself, I will.”

“Understood.”

Dog killed the circuit.

“Jazz, try telling the Indian fighters their radar station is being attacked by commandos. Maybe they can talk to the station.”

“I'll give it a try, Colonel.”

“
Wisconsin
to
Hawk One
—be advised the MiGs are trying to lock their radar weapons on us,” Dog told Mack.

“On it, Colonel.”

Aboard the
Abner Read
,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0510

S
TORM GLANCED AT THE HOLOGRAPHIC DISPLAY
.
S
HARKBOAT
One
was still a good twenty miles to the east of the Indian radar station's atoll; it would take the small patrol boat another forty-five minutes to reach the platform, assuming he authorized it to enter Indian waters.

“Eyes, what's the status on Werewolf?” he asked.

“Should be just finishing refuel.”

“Good—get it up and over to the radar station. The submarines have surfaced. And Airforce—where the hell is he?”

“Sleeping, Captain.”

“Get him out of bed. I want him at the wheel of that helicopter.”

“But—”

“Pour a pot of coffee down his throat and get him up. I want him flying that bird. Got me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Belatedly, Storm realized that Eyes was concerned not about getting Starship up but about breaking the news to Petty Officer Varitok, the man who was flying Werewolf now.