[The Fear Saga 01] - Fear the Sky (2014) (73 page)

“Radio,” he barked in anger, “contact flight control, and find out what the hell is going on over there. Where are Major Duranda and that colonel?”

The operator at the radio console spoke briefly into his headset and then turned to the general.

“Sir,” he said nervously, “I have Major Duranda online, sir, and he is requesting to be put through to you.”

“Very well, put him on speaker.”

The operator patched the radio connection through the main speakers and the voice of the general’s aide de camp filled the room.

“General,” said the unnaturally amplified major, “I have a disturbing report from the air field, sir.”

The general paused a moment, waiting for the report, then realized his assistant was being diplomatic, hoping to give his report to the general in private, as was customary. But the general had no time for such niceties, “Well, Major, go on.” he said loudly, “We are in the midst of an active engagement; where is that god damned colonel?”

The major’s voice was clearly strained as he reluctantly gave his report, “Sir, the colonel is unconscious, sir. They found him a few minutes ago. He has received a serious blow to the head and is not responsive at this time.”

“What!” said the general, incredulous.

“Yes, sir, they found him near to the runway, sir. We are moving him to one of the field medical facilities being set up on base, sir, but there is no information at this time as to what happened to him, as he was not injured in the original insurgent attack.” The voice hesitated a moment, then went on, “But that’s not all, sir, they found another unconscious officer with the colonel.”

The general’s mind raced, he had personally toured the base perimeter twice since they had gotten it back under Pakistani army control. There were over seven thousand troops in and around the base at this moment, actively deployed; to think that an insurgent had managed to escape detection was beyond imagining. But the aide was not done.

“Sir, the other officer—” came the aide’s voice once more. There was a pause, the room silent in anticipation as the aide prepared to deliver the last of his report, “The other man they found, sir, is one of the F-16 pilots; one we thought was even now in command of Pelishar Four, sir. I have checked and rechecked the pilot’s lists extensively, sir. I am afraid we have no idea who is flying that plane.”

The general paused a moment and then spoke quickly, his mind resolving to action, “Major Duranda, get things under control there and make sure that news of this does not go any further than is absolutely necessary. Radio, get me a closed link to the squadron commander on Pelishar One. Mission command, I want another squadron in the air, stat and en route to their position. Under no circumstances is that plane to leave Pakistani airspace in one piece.”

The radio operator acknowledged and the general’s face creased in focused anger. Time to find out who the hell was flying that plane.

Shahim’s acute hearing registered the flick as the fixed link to the squadron leader was broken, and started to wonder why that had happened. They were fast approaching zero hour for the next detonation and his advanced eyes could see the blue streak of Jack and Martin’s latest missile in the distance, even as his radar picked up the supersonic missile as another green blip on his increasingly crowded screen.

At this point there was no reason for the squadron leader to drop off comms, not at such a critical juncture, unless he was talking on a closed loop with Command Central. He twitched as his radar started to show a slight shift in the formation. The squadron leader was starting to drop back from his position at the bottom of their 12,000-foot-high stack, and he was climbing as he did so.

Shit.

Shahim needed to see what was going on. The plane’s radar was more effective than his eyes over long distances, but at close range he trusted his robotic eyes more, despite the darkness. Without shifting his plane’s position in the formation, he gently teased the stick to the right and his plane rolled smoothly, the horizon spinning in front of him, and with his head bent backward, his eyes panned the air behind and below him to pick out the blue flare of the squadron leader’s jet as it fell out of formation. In the momentary blur as his plane spun, his powerful vision zoomed in on the other pilot, thousands of feet below, and saw the man looking up at him. Shahim could see the other man’s lips moving as he stared up at Shahim’s plane.

They know, he thought.

* * *

“I see him, Command Central, wait, he just rolled his plane. Wow, that was tight.” Squadron Leader Anish Nagaraja whistled silently as he watched the maneuver. To spin that tightly without breaking formation was difficult, and required extraordinary precision. “This is no amateur, Central, he knows what he’s doing.”

“Squadron Leader, this is General Abashell,” came the response through the squadron leader’s dedicated radio connection, “I want you to position yourself astern of him, and then we’ll open a link and order him to return to base. Then you can escort him back here. Whatever happens, I am ordering you not to let that plane out of your sight. It must not leave Pakistan. Is that clear, Captain? You are under strict orders to bring Pelishar Four down if the pilot attempts to leave Pakistani airspace.”

The squadron leader acknowledged. He was furious. The rightful pilot of Pelishar Four had been seriously injured, and some imposter had infiltrated his command. All his pilots were a tight-knit group, and the now comatose Captain Mysore Kumara was also a friend. Captain Nagaraja would have no qualms about firing on this interloping bastard if the need arose.

* * *

Ahead of them, still unseen, the B-2 surged on. Jack scanned the horizon as Martin updated him on the squadron’s movements. The fighters were closing fast, and darkness would not hide the big bomber much longer. They were still 150 miles from the Afghan border. They had to stay hidden for just twelve more minutes.

But their ability to be subtle was becoming an ever more distant memory, he thought, as their fifth missile reached its target: 3, 2, 1 …

The sky lit up with another violent detonation ahead of them as the circle of thermobaric grenades cooked another of the alien virus pods at two thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Five minutes to the next missile launch. The B-2 would still be in Pakistani air when it fired again, and the fighters would be in visual range of them when that launch lit up the big bomber’s position.

Jack and Martin knew that no amount of stealth could hide a 172-foot-wide plane in a morning sky if you were close enough to actually see it.

* * *

“Pilot of Pelishar Four, this is Central Command. You are ordered to return to base immediately. Is that clear? You will be escorted back to Peshawar Base and taken into custody. If you do not comply with these orders, you will be shot down. Is that clear, Pelishar Four?”

Oh, it’s eminently clear, thought Shahim, while noting the fifth explosion far off in the distance. He had regretted the need to knock out the F16’s pilot, but the need to be in a position to help Jack and Martin was far more important. As he considered his position, he wondered if he should reply. But then his tactical systems alerted him to another option: he could turn the fact that he had been discovered to his advantage.

If he made a break east, away from the B-2’s course, then the squadron might follow him, giving Jack and Martin the precious time they needed to get over the border. After that, his colleagues would be in Allied airspace, and less likely to be blasted out of the sky. They would still be actively pursued, but even a stolen B-2 was still worth $22 billion, and Allied forces would be far more hesitant to destroy it than the Pakistanis would.

Choosing this over the array of tactical options his mind was giving him, Shahim decided not to respond to the repeated calls from his squadron leader, well, not in words, at least, and instead he jerked his plane hard right, accelerating as he did so. Let’s see what this thing can do, he smiled, as the jet powered away, the thick blue flame focusing to a needle point as his afterburners kicked in.

* * *

“Central, this is Pelishar One, he is breaking formation, banking hard right. I am pursuing. Shit, he has engaged his afterburners while still in the turn. This guy is crazy, Command.” Then, flicking his comms to include the rest of his squadron, he went on, “Pelishar Squadron this is Squadron Leader, break hard right, now, get on my tail. Pelishar Four is rogue, I repeat, Pelishar Four is rogue. Pursue Pelishar Four. Go weapons hot.” The sounds of the squadron leader straining in the hard turn came over the radio in the command bunker, and General Abashell cursed.

“Pelishar Squadron, this is Command Central, belay that order.” the general shouted into the radio. “Pelishar Three and Five: pursue Pelishar Four on Pelishar One’s point. Pelishar Two and Six, stay on track for intercept with the target. We are registering the fifth detonation. Relaying estimated coordinates for sixth now.” He nodded at the operator and Sergeant Gupta began diligently calculating the next point of detonation.

* * *

“Wait, what the hell?” said Martin in surprise as he stared at the radar screen, “Four of the fighters are breaking off!” he continued, incredulously, and Jack’s head jerked back to his console. He had been diligently watching the horizon for the first visual signs of the squadron and trying to figure out their chances of getting across the border alive. Staring at the radar screen, he saw the squadron separating. What are they doing, he thought?

Two of the F-16s were still tracking with the big bomber, climbing and turning slightly to converge with the next pod as the B-2 continued on its course toward the same spot, still unseen in the night. During training, Jack and his fellow B-2 pilots had been told again and again not to put all their faith in the stealth technology. In theory it made them virtually invisible to radar, but there were certain angles where the plane showed up like a beacon, and then there was always good old-fashioned eyesight. The sky was getting ever so slightly brighter behind them, and soon the fighters would be coming up alongside the big bomber. If they got within a thousand feet of Martin and Jack then the plane would be painfully visible as a big black silhouette against the first light of dawn, and then things could only get ugly fast.

* * *

“Come on.” said Shahim, to no one in particular, as he continued his supersonic turn. He was monitoring the radar to see how many of his cohorts came in pursuit. But as he watched, it was clear that two of the fighters were staying on track to intercept the B-2.

He considered his options. He couldn’t risk the bomber being discovered. And neither could he waste all his fuel in some Mach 2 pursuit. He needed to get this chase over with so he could return and fend off the two planes descending on his colleagues.

He sighed in an unusually human gesture. As he had feared must happen, he reluctantly engaged attack options in his mind once more. Forgive me, he thought as he scrolled through the tactical options in his head. Selecting the most fuel-efficient attack plan, he felt his body tense up in preparation for battle. An instant later, his machine mind engaged.

* * *

They saw the plane break upward before they registered the speed with which it was doing so. The squadron leader instinctively matched the maneuver, as did Pelishar Five on his tail. Pelishar Three was too slow responding, though, and instead started a long loop to intercept their target once he came back down.

The squadron leader could feel his weight increase as the G-force drove him into his seat. The planes rose together, the two pursuers in a tight phalanx about half a mile behind their quarry as their rogue cohort screamed upward. But the climb was too hard and too fast, and the leader felt himself starting to black out as his cockpit alarms flared. He was about to pull out when the front plane started to airbrake.

As the brakes engaged, Shahim throttled back and almost immediately his fighter started to stall, amidst a squall of alarms, as his engine struggled against the steep climb and sudden loss of thrust. Without the power it needed to counteract its steep angle, Shahim’s plane quickly lost momentum and started to fall, and he allowed the plane to turn downward as its weight took control. His two pursuers stared in disbelief as they raced up toward the stalling fighter above them, and the leader broke off immediately, angling right in an inverted curve to bring him back to the perpendicular. But Pelishar Five powered onward a moment longer, veering slightly as he sliced toward the other jet, the nose of Shahim’s plane falling lazily downward toward him.

In a flash, Pelishar Five thundered across Shahim’s view, the other plane’s jet spasming fire as it surged past. Shahim was ready for it. His plane’s 20mm Gatling gun lashed out like a claw, forty bullets slicing a line down the other plane’s belly in half a second, striking home at extreme close range. The big air intake under Pelishar Five’s cockpit erupted as the plane was ripped apart, the pilot screaming as a bullet tore up through his thigh, shattering his hip bone as it speared up his side. Within a fraction of a second, the large lead bolt had powered up through his torso, popping the poor man’s ribs in quick succession as it made its way up and out of his shoulder, flying out through the reinforced glass dome above him even as it splattered his blood across it.

As the last of the bullets broke into the ballistic plane’s combustion chamber, it released the superheated fuel from its confines and the plane consumed itself in fire. Within a second of opening fire, Shahim was already hundreds of meters below his first victim, angling downward and falling fast now as his engines sucked in new air and his plane regained its legs. His mind deftly assessed his remaining targets.

Shouts and screams were coming through the radio at him. Pelishar One and Three were cursing him, even as the booming voice of the general at Command Central tried to find out what was happening and reestablish some control over the situation. The squadron leader was still recovering from his own brush with Shahim, coming around in a long arc as he watched to see what the rogue jet would do next. But Pelishar Three had not followed Shahim on his crazy climb and had had plenty of time to bank left in a smooth circle. Now he was closing fast from the north and Shahim heard the telltale ping from his radar as Pelishar Three got missile lock on him. The other pilot didn’t hesitate, firing off two AMRAAM missiles in close succession at one mile out. Shahim didn’t bother checking his radar, he had seen the launch, and he gunned his afterburner, his plane accelerating straight downward in a powerful nosedive as the missiles closed on him.