The Lucifer Crusade (11 page)

Hunter knew the recovery plan was solid. But he also knew all too well that the best-laid plans are usually screwed up by an uncalculated variable. Sir Neil read his mind.

"The Fist shouldn't be that much of a problem," he said. "But as far as the Faction soldiers on R and R, well, we have to expect the unexpected. We have to assume that they bring their equipment on liberty with them, and as they are a motorized division, this means tanks and personnel carriers. Plus they can just as easily pick up a radiophone and buy some freelance air cover or heavy warships.

"That's where you come in, Major Hunter. We'll have to rely on you to counter anything unexpected, either in the air, on the sea, or on the ground."

Hunter knew it was a tall order. But the cause was worthy.

"It's going to take some practice to set the Tornados down on the carrier,"

Sir Neil continued. "We won't be able to do it during this operation. So only you and your F-16 have the agility to do it with so little preparation. Plus it will probably be dark by the time we get the arresting cables working. So you'll be looking at a nighttime landing. But, for at least the time being, you'll have to be our only recoverable aircraft. Let's just hope the sea stays calm and it doesn't get too sticky."

Yaz turned to Hunter and with a wide grin said,

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"Welcome to the Navy, major."

Hunter shook his head. "This is what I get for betting against Army all those years."

The six Tornados swept in at wavetop level, rising up to 500 feet only when they were in sight of the coast of southern France. The crude radar system of the Iron Fist picked up the incoming blips about a mile out to sea.

Antiaircraft guns opened up almost immediately after the airplanes passed over the first row of beachfront casinos of Villefranche. The British pilots expertly maneuvered around the deadly bursts of smoke and proceeded to select targets of opportunity. It was an hour before dusk. The opening shots in the plan to free the USS Saratoga had been fired.

Three of the Tornados split off and were soon over the beach near where the USS Saratoga lay. The three remaining British jets repeatedly twisted and turned their way above the city, firing at the ack-ack guns and lining up the not-yet-warm SAM sites for laser-guided bombs.

A little more than 10,000 feet above, Hunter orbited in his F-16. He was able to watch the action around Villefranche via his terrain-radar video system. It was like having a TV camera hovering over the battle. Meanwhile, he could see the three Norwegian frigates as they dashed for Gold Beach, their cargo of 600

SAS troopers waiting on the decks to be loaded onto landing craft and put ashore. The remaining frigate, carrying Sir Neil and the command staff, circled the Saratoga. The immobile aircraft carrier, its stern pointing directly toward the beach 2000 feet away, was a huge, imposing sight, dark and ominous in the middle of the now-frenetic

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activity.

His radar picked up the blip of the approaching RAF helicopter. This would be ferrying the SAS troops to be dropped onto the carrier.

So far, so good, he thought.

Hunter moved the F-16 directly over the carrier just as the Sea King chopper was setting down on the deck. He knew twenty-four SAS men were leaping out, and by the chatter on his radio he also knew that the landing on the carrier was unopposed.

He could now see the first of the landing crafts being disgorged from the frigates. Soon the first of the SAS beach troops would be splashing ashore.

The trio of Tornados were methodically roaring up and down the beach at 1000

feet, carefully watching for any opposing troops. Less than a mile away, fires were beginning to erupt in the town of Villefranche as the bombing Tornados were finding targets.

That's when Hunter felt it. Enemy aircraft. Coming his way. Six of them.

Approaching from the northeast. Moving at just under Mach 1.

His hands were immediately a blur of movement. He started pushing buttons, flicking switches, punching in computer codes. A mental checklist went off in his head. Weapons systems on. Fuel reserves switched, external tanks dropped.

Flight computer set for intercept. Sidewinders armed. Test-firing of his nose cannons successful.

He was ready. Now, who the hell was the enemy?

He found out soon enough. "Christ," he murmured, looking at his radar screen.

The jets were still forty miles away, but he could tell by their radar signatures that they were Dassault-Breguet Super Etendards. The airplanes were originally French-built naval strike craft, but obviously they were operating from a land base somewhere in central

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Europe. The Red Army Faction had indeed made the call for some freelance air support.

"Of all the goddamn airplanes to show up," Hunter cursed. It wasn't the performance of the jets that bothered him. The French airplanes only had a top speed of 745 mph. His F-16 could do two and a half times that without breathing hard. Rather it was what the airplanes were armed with that was troubling. He knew Super Etendards could only be carrying one weapon: Exocets.

The Exocet was an antiship missile of the deadliest order. It could be fired from long-or short-range, depending on the ability and the motives of the pilot. It was programmed to deliver a 364-pound warhead of high explosive into a ship while traveling 600 mph. The missiles had made their murderous debut years ago in the Falkland Islands War. A few years later, an American frigate had been hit by one in the Persian Gulf. They flew again in the opening battles of World War III. Now Hunter knew at least six of them were heading his way.

Just as he was about to call in to Sir Neil on the Norwegian command ship, he heard one of the Gold Beach Tornados break in on the line.

"We've got trouble on Gold," the cockney-accented pilot reported. "Tanks moving on beach highway from Villefranche. Looks like a gang of them-T-62s.

Thirty at least. Also BMPs . . ."

Goddamn! The Faction brought their tanks with on holiday. Thirty Soviet-built tanks to boot, ter flipped his radio-send switch and was lately talking to Sir Neil. "We got six Super rds coming your way," he told the British

"They're probably loaded with Exocets." hrist, Hunter," the reply came back.

"Who are and what's their bloody position?"

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freelancers, coming in a two-seventy Tango," Hunter said, noting the aircraft were now just thirty miles away and staggering their flight pattern into three groups of two. The enemy planes were starting a long arc out over the sea.

"They are getting in their attack positions now. You'd better red-alert everyone on the ships. Once those Exocets are launched, they'll hit the first thing that configures to their computer 'ship-ID' profile. And that includes the carrier."

There was a burst of static, then Sir Neil's voice came through: "Hunter, can you hold them, man? We've got tanks moving toward the SAS guys on Gold. All six Tornados are being vectored there right now!"

"Roger," Hunter replied, turning toward the Super Etenards and kicking in his afterburner. "You take care of the tanks. I'll go after these guys . . ."

Almost immediately the red alert was flashed to the Norwegian frigates. Their crews started to take countermeasures. The Exocet was a radar-homing missile.

Hundreds of ship profiles were locked into its computer memory. Once a profile took hold via the missile's on-board radar, the rocket would set a course right for its center. To counteract this, the Norwegian sailors started firing chaff rockets-small projectiles containing millions of ultra-thin, metal-ized, fiberglass wires. The cloud of chaff was designed to confuse the Exocet's radar-homing by mimicking several attractive radar targets. It, a good idea, but in reality the chaff defense about half the time.

Hunter put the 16 into a screaming dive aij instantly in the airspace between the attackir planes and the ships. Already he knew the Super Etendard had released a missile. Tfre-inir

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on his radar screen confirmed it. He coolly set a path directly for the oncoming computerized projectile. The F-16 was traveling at 1100 mph and the Exocet was coming at him at nearly 650 mph.

"This won't take long," he thought.

Sure enough, five miles away he saw the telltale trail of smoke coming from the sea-skimming missile heading straight at him. He held the F-16 steady, barely flicking the aircraft's side-stick controller. Now the missile was just three miles away. He counted off 1-2-3, then squeezed his cannon trigger. The Vulcan Six Pack roared in response, sending up a wall of lead. The missile and the cannon shells met a split-second later head on. A huge yellow explosion lit up the late afternoon sky. When the smoke cleared, nothing was left but cinders.

Even before the Exocet exploded, Hunter had launched a Sidewinder at the lead Super Etendard. The missile raced toward the attacking aircraft. An explosion off on the horizon ten seconds later confirmed the lead airplane had been hit.

Hunter turned his attention the second lead enemy airplane. It too had launched a deadly missile. Then, like a true hired hand, the pilot had turned his airplane around and fled the area. Hunter instantly had a clear visual sighting on the missile it had launched. Trouble was, it was moving too fast for him to shoot it down.

He knew the Exocet's radar-homing computer had :cted the circling Norwegian command frigate as rget. It was much too late for him to radio the o take evasive action. There was only one way Id prevent the missile from hitting its target. T booted the F-16 until he was flying on an Meeting collision course with the missile. He ed the 16's engines once more and flashed right 105

in front of the rocket, at the same time boosting up the power in his three cockpit radar sets.

The missile took the bait. Its on-board computer instantly "went dumb,"

forgetting about the frigate and instead homing in on all the activity in the F-16's cockpit. Hunter smiled, yanked back on the side-stick controller, and put the jet fighter into a merciless, straight-up climb.

The missile followed as advertised, but the speed of its target and the strain of the hellish climb were too much for its on-board circuitry. Wires began to melt, fuel began to heat up. Its electronic brain went crazy, instructing the missile's steering systems to begin rotating. This caused the warhead to be jolted against its protective casing. A spark resulted and this ignited the warhead. The missile exploded an instant later.

"Two missiles down . . ." Hunter whispered. "Only four to go . . ."

He flipped the jet onto its back and found himself directly above two more incoming Super Etendards. Instinctively his fingers pushed the Sidewinder launch trigger and two missiles shot out from under his wings. They flew unerringly toward the slower attacking airplanes. One was sucked up into the trailing Super Etendard's rear exhaust pipe. The airplane was instantly obliterated. The second Sidewinder caught the other jet right in the cockpit, exploding the chamber and ejecting the lifeless for of the pilot out through the smashed canopy The aircraft went into a crazy spin and slamme the sea with a steamy crash.

He found the last two remaining Super Eter roaring over the top of the small fleet of three tr? carrying frigates, their Exocets still under the He knew the pilots were trying to spin about

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attack from the east, thereby giving them the option of attacking some of the SAS landing crafts in the process. But the gunners on the frigates interrupted those plans. The Norwegians sent up a wall of lead that impressed even Hunter.

The SAS troopers on the beach were also firing at the enemy jets. One of the Super Etendards was caught square in a crossfire, its fuel tank taking hundreds of hits before it finally split and erupted into a ball of flame, taking the aircraft and its pilot with it.

The remaining jet, its pilot inordinately plucky, roared out into a wide turn and started back toward the small fleet.

"Send up chaff! Quick!" Hunter yelled into his microphone.

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he could see a wall of chaff come flying up from the frigates. But the attacking jet was too far away from the close-to-shore frigates. The pilot launched his missile and immediately fled the area. Hunter instinctively wanted to chase the retreating airplane, but there was a much more immediate threat.

The Exocet was heading right for the Saratoga ...

Without an instant's hesitation, Hunter launched a Sidewinder, although he was not in a line-of-sight position. It was the only chance he had, and a risky one at that.

He was hoping the Sidewinder would get to the

;ocet before the Exocet got to the carrier. It would issile against missile.

The Sidewinder was infrared, the Exocet was radar-targeted. The Exocet was an anti-shipper, the Sidewinder an air-to-air. The Exocet was bigger, faster, much more powerful -its warhead could damage the carrier beyond repair.

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The Sidewinder was more nimble, but it was carrying only enough explosive to shoot down an aircraft. Plus it would have to make one hell of a maneuver to get to the Exocet. But Hunter knew the Sidewinder had at least one advantage: it could take out a target head on. He crossed his fingers and watched the drama unfold.

The Sidewinder twisted down toward the Exocet, homing in on its infrared target. Urging it on with body English, Hunter watched as his missile executed the necessary 120-degree turn. The Exocet was now less than 500 feet off the bow of the Saratoga. Gunners on all four frigates were throwing up a wall of bullets in the enemy missile's general direction hoping a lucky shot would hit the missile. Even the SAS men on the deck of the carrier were firing at the oncoming missile with their rifles as it came right for them. "Christ," Hunter whispered. "This is going to be real close . . ."

The Sidewinder won the race . . .

Just 100 feet off the side of the carrier, the smaller American-made weapon caught the front fin of the Exocet, clipping it and causing its warhead to explode before it hit the carrier. Pieces of near-supersonic debris still carried on into the side of the Saratoga, but with much less force and resulting damage than if the missile had impacted intact. A small fire broke out on the carrier, but Hunter, streaking by the big ship, knew it was manageable.