Wingman (15 page)

" I ' d gi v e a n yt h i ng t o s e e th e lo o k on t h e 'A k commander's face when he gets here and finds the place empty?' Jones told Hunter as they approached the flight line.

"Empty and useless," Hunter added as he watched the MPs detonate explosives on one of the base's perimeter radar towers. He looked out to sea where the

attackers' ship was still burning. Although it had only been a few hours ago that they had repulsed the amphibious assault, it seemed to him like years. So much had happened. Once again, his whole world was crashing down upon him. Time for change anyway, he kept telling himself.

Jones also turned his attention to the beach where the early morning

battle—and slaughter—had occurred.

"What a bunch of suckers," he said, spitting on the ru nway for emph asis . "T he

'Aks prob ably hir ed them—freelance infantry—to stage the raid. Just like in Miami. Probably promised them air support, too."

"Either it was a diversion," Hunter surmised, "Or, they figured that while we were chopping them up on the beach, they'd hit us from the rear with a million chopper troops."

"Whatever, leave it to the Mid-Aks to screw up an invasion," Jones said with a rare laugh. "As we know, timing is everything?'

"Yeah," Hunter agreed. "Someone's sundial was off."

They reached his F-16 just as a pair of A-7s were taking off. Overhead, the

first of the Crazy Eight helicopters was up and turning toward the west. More explosions were heard as the MPs continued dynamiting the base's defense system.

Hunte r fig ured the Mid-A k air born e f orce w as probably 15 minutes away.

He watched as the second to last paired planes—the surviving F-106 and one of the T-38s —pul led aw ay from th e flig ht li ne and headed for the runway. The plan called for these planes to escort the C-130 during the trip west. The attending monkeys quickly climbed aboard two jeeps and sped away toward the waiting
evac
plane. The local militia had arrived and were carrying the last civilians out in a fleet of ancient National Guard deuces. The base was shutting down like a plant in twilight, just as Jones had planned. Within 10 minutes. Hunter knew, there'd be no one left. Time for a change.

H u n t e r t o l d h i s m o n k e y s t o b e a t i t , a n d t h e y gratefully bid him goodbye, climbed on a jeep and headed for the C-130. Hunter loved his ground crew— they were the best on the base and had always felt it a privilege to work on the

Thunderbird-adorned plane. Now Hunter, like the other pilots flying the ZAP

fighters, would have to either find competent and trustworthy freelance monkeys across the country— or fix whatever ailed their fighters themselves.

He climbed into the F-16, inserted the program t a p e a n d b r o u g h t t h e e n g i n e u p t o t r i m . H e w a s loaded with four Sidewinders, the blockbuster bomb, and a full load of cannon ammunition. Fuel conservation prevented him from taking anything else. The only clothes he had were the ones on his back. He managed to jam his M-16 into the F-16's cockpit, along with some ammunition. The only other personal item he carried was the threadbare flag he'd taken from the body of Saul Wackerman.

Beside him, the general was strapping into the F-111, his mechanics having

already departed. Being a much larger plane, the F-111 could carry about three times the bomb load of Hunter's plane. The general had carefully hung straps of small bombs along the flexible wing, as well as the blockbuster scheduled for th e b a se runwa y. The plan e a lso had a n int erna l bombbay, but Hunter was sure the general left it empty—so much better for the F-1l1 to conserve fuel.

A jeep full of MPs rolled up to the two planes and gave them the thumbs-up

signal. Jones waved back and the jeep sped off. The C-130 was already moving slowly down the runway, the MPs being the last of the base personnel to jump on. Once they were on, the C-130 pilot gunned his engines and the flying workhorse rumbled down the runway and into the air. Immediately going into a steep climb, it was soon joined by its escort fighters and together, the three planes took off in a southwesterly direction.

Hunter and Jones taxied their jets to the end of the runway and began

cross-checking their instruments. As with all of the evacuating ZAP aircraft, radio silence would be strictly maintained, as would a reluctance to use their onboard radar unless absolutely necessary. A hot radar provides an easy homing target for many surface-to-air or air-to-air missiles. The Mid-Aks, although not operating any jet fighters of their own, probably had a few freelancers in their employ with standing orders to shoot down any Zone aircraft they encountered in return for a handsome bounty for confirmed kills. It was important to keep t h e m o v e m e n t s o f t h e Z A P a i r c r a f t a s s e c r e t a s possible for as long as possible.

Just as they started their takeoff roll, they could hear the radio chatter

of the approaching chopper force. Once airborne, they could
see
it. The hundreds of approaching helicopters had swung out over the ocean and now were coming

in from the east. The assault force looked for all the world like a swarm of angry bees out on the horizon. Hunter felt a temptation rise up inside of him—a

temptation to meet the approaching swarm, cannons blazing. But he knew it would serve no good purpose—not now anyway. He was convinced that he would meet up with the Mid-Aks again someday. Then he would have his revenge.

Jones expertly put his plane into a roll, pulled back on the throttle and

streaked over the now-abandoned b a s e . H e d e p o s i t e d h i s b l o c k b u s t e r b o m b s m a c k center in the main runway, causing a miniature mushroom cloud to blanket the landing strip. As he pulled t h e F - 1 1 1 u p , H u n t e r p u t h i s F - 1 6 i n t o a d i v e . Screaming low over the base, he pulled his weapons release lever just at the end of the runway.

The bomb hit perfectly, taking out the last quarter of the strip, thus preventing the 'Aks from landing anything big at the base any time soon. Turning in his cockpit, he had to smile as he saw another mini-mushroom cloud rise above the base.

He linked up with Jones who was loitering nearby and together they went full afterburner. Hunter took one last look back. The first Mid-Ak choppers were just appearing over the base, their pilots confused not so much by the smoke and explosions as by the lack of groundfire. It would take the 'Aks a little while to catch onto what was happening. Then, and only then, would they realize they'd been hoodwinked by the last official act of ZAP. Time for a change, Hunter thought as he turned to the west.

And California, here I come.

They had been airborne only about 20 minutes when he lost sight of the general.

As usual, he was riding on the general's right wing when they began to climb up to a safe altitude. At about 40,000, he followed Jones into a monstrous cumulous cloud. When he emerged, barely a half minute later, the general was nowhere to be seen.

At first, he was tempted to break radio silence, but he resisted. The day was otherwise very clear. He twisted in his seat looking out the bubble-top, searching the sky for the F-111. Nothing.

He climbed up to 45,000 feet-then 50,000. Still nothing. He dove down to 30,000, then 25,000 then 20,000. Still, there was no sign of Jones.

147twould they realize they'd been hoodwinked by the last official act of ZAP. Time for a change, Hunter thought as he turned to the west. And California, here I come.

They had been airborne only about 20 minutes when he lost sight of the general. As usual, he was riding on the general's right wing when they began to climb up to a safe altitude.

At about 40,000, he followed Jones into a monstrous cumulous cloud. When he emerged, barely a half minute later, the general was nowhere to be seen. At first, he was tempted to break radio silence, but he resisted. The day was otherwise very clear. He twisted in his seat looking out the bubble-top, searching the sky for the F-111. Nothing. He climbed up to 45,000 feet-then 50,000. Still nothing. He dove down to 30,000, then 25,000

then 20,000. Still, there was no sign of Jones.

He took a chance and switched on his radar. Just as it went hot, he saw the barest of blips at the edge of his street. The profile indicator read out that the blip was large enough to be an F-111, but the plane's direction was due south. He and Jones had been on a heading of due west.

He thought it out for an instant and decided to double back and follow the blip.

It was so unlike Jones to deviate from an agreed-upon plan that he was worried enough to take the risk. Something peculiar was going on. He could feel it in his bones.

He booted the F-16 in an effort to catch up with the blip. Traveling at close to 1300 mph, he knew that by the time he could make a visual sighting, he and the mystery planet would be close to crossing over into Mid-Ak airspace.

Still, he pressed on. He continued to track the blip and finally got a visual sighting a few minutes later. There was no doubt about it. It was Jones. He had dropped his plane down to barely 10,000 feet and was still dropping when Hunter caught up to within five miles of him. They passed into Mid-Ak territory seconds later.

Suddenly, Hunter saw two more blips appear on the screen. They were smaller, faster craft and both were heading directly at Jones. If the general had followed his own orders, Hunter thought, he'd have his radar off and would be unaware of the other two planes.

Hunter wasn't taking any chances. He immediately armed his Sidewinders and floored the plane to full military speed to intercept the two planes. They came within visual sighting in seconds. Two F-101 Voodoos, mean-looking supersonic fighters that were the favorite of freelancers and pirates alike. Both planes were painted in an evil-looking black and red trim color scheme, indicating a fighter-for-hire team.

All the while, the F-111 had been losing altitude, and Hunter strained to keep it in sight while streaking to intercept the Voodoos, Jones had slowed considerably and Hunter could see he had his flex wings spread out as far as possible, almost perpendicular to the plane's body. It was the configuration for a low-level bombing attack. By the time Hunter was within a mile of him, he had figured out what the general was up to.

Jones was leading a one-man bombing mission against the Mid-Aks. Hunter couldn't believe it, especially after Jones had convinced them all that he was pure mercenary.

But Hunter had no time to wonder about the senior officer's motives. He'd have the two Voodoos to deal with first.

He knew the two pilots didn't see him to the last second. Either they were flying without radars or didn't have them turned on. Either way, it was a fatal mistake for them. Just as the first one rolled out to pounce on Jones' plane far below, Hunter fired a Sidewinder. The Voodoo pilot never knew what hit him. The air-to-air missile went right where it should have gone: up the exhaust pipe of the F-101. The plane exploded in mid-air. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left.

The second Voodoo pilot had already started his attack dive when he realized his partner was gone. He started to take evasive action, but again, Hunter was quicker to the draw. A second Sidewinder flashed from under his wing. It met the Voodoo at about 15,000 feet, just as the pilot had managed to pull up out of his attack dive. The missile clipped the F-101's wing, shearing it completely off from the jet's fuselage. Spinning wildly, the Voodoo continued to plunge. It impacted into the side of a mountain, a ball of flame instantly erupting from it.

Hunter rolled out and started to dive of his own to catch up with Jones. He had no idea where he was. He had passed over a city that may have been old Philadelphia, but the only thing he was sure about was that, by this time, they were deep in Mid-Ak territory. Breaking through some clouds at 10,000 feet, he picked up the F-111 again.

It was streaking barely 150 feet off the ground, coming on under any radar that might be around and heading toward what looked like a major city. Hunter could see the outline of the coast and the bustling harbor. Only then did he realize that city was Baltimore.

Jones had decided to attack the very heart of the Mid-Aks' evil empire.

He watched as Jones made his approach. Even though Hunter knew they were both in "deep sierra," he had to admire the general's coolness. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop Jones from carrying out his bombing run. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to. He decided the best he could do was help now, and hope they were both around to discuss the matter later.

About five miles out from the city's limits, Jones started to pick up groundfire.

Hunter was right on his tail at the moment, and Jones wiggled his wings to acknowledge his wingman's presence. The F-111 sped on, dodging several small, shoulder-fired missiles launched by troops on the ground, the plane's outstanding terrain-hugging feature lifting it up and down as dictated by the contour of the ground below.

They started picking up some heavy flak about two miles out. Hunter could see hundreds of Mid-Ak troops scrambling below as the two jets passed over barely 100 feet above the deck. Hunter's target acquisition equipment picked up a couple of fortified gun posts ahead and he put several bursts from the M-61 into both of them. But there were more guns than he could shoot at, and he knew the F-111 wasn't equipped with a cannon or any kind of gun to shoot back with. Hunter knew he'd have to ride shotgun for Jones for the whole bombing run.

About a mile out, the air was filled with flak, missiles, and bullets from rifles of the troops below. It seemed like everyone on the ground was armed and shooting at them. Hunter saw the F-111 shudder from taking a few hits, but it never wavered from its course. He kept his F-16 continually rolling from side to side, its cannon flashing, stirring up columns of earth as the M-61 shells hit the ground or human targets.