Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 09 (38 page)

 
          
“Sir,
with the laser radar, we can close to within a quarter- mile easily—we’ve done
it before,” Deverill said. “At least let us give it a try. If we don’t have
contact within a half-mile, we’ll abort.”

 
          
“And
I should be able to help with my sensors,” Briggs said. The electronic suit of
armor he wore also included sophisticated infrared and radar sensors, good to
ranges as far as three miles.

 
          
There
was another lengthy pause, then: “Very well. Operation approved,” Samson said.
“If no contact within a half-mile, abort and return to patrol altitude.”

 
          
“Thanks,
boss,” Annie said. She turned to Duane and said, “Thanks for the support, Dev.
I’ll only do it if you’re with me.”

           
Duane looked at Annie with a touch
of concern—then that ever-present, cocky, Cheshire-cat smile crossed his face.
“I’m with you. Heels,” he said. “I will always be with you.” Annie felt her
face flush with embarrassment, and she thanked the stars he couldn't see her
pleased smile behind her oxygen mask. “Let’s go and show those Madcap Magician
pukes the way home.”

 
          
“I
heard that,” Briggs interjected.

 
          
“Then
let’s do it. Dev,” she said.

 
          
“I’m
right here with you, Heels,” Deverill said, with a smile, as he fastened his
oxygen mask in place and lowered his clear visor. “Show me some of your bad-ass
pilot moves.”

 
          
Annie
was happy to comply. She swept the wings full aft, rolled inverted, and dove
for the ground, losing fourteen thousand feet in the blink of an eye. When they
rolled wings-level, they were only five miles in trail from the MV-22 and
closing quickly. Meanwhile. Deverill had punched up the laser radar and had the
MV-22 Pave Hammer aircraft locked on with ease. All the Vampire crew had to do
was lower their electronic helmet visors, and they saw a virtual
three-dimensional image of the MV-22 and showed its location when they looked
in its direction. with tiny arrows showing which way to look for the target.
Annie flew the rejoin as if she could see the aircraft through the clouds and
darkness.

 
          
“Stand
by. Hammer,” Annie Dewey said. “We’re moving in.”

 
          
“Rog.”
Briggs replied. He had changed seats with Fratierie and was now in the
copilot’s seat, scanning the sky out the right-side cockpit windows with his
suit’s sensors. “Come on down.”

 
          
“Stand
by on towed arrays and countermeasures, Dev.” He swallowed hard, watching the
laser radar display intently. Inside three miles. Annie announced, “Okay, Dev,
let’s dirty her up.”

 
          
“Go
for it,” her mission commander said. ‘Towed decoy retracted, transmitters and
countermeasures in standby. Ready.” Their threat warning receivers still showed
antiaircraft artillery sites and search radars in the vicinity, but none aimed
in their direction. “I gotta tell you. Heels, I feel naked up here.”

 
          
“Me,
too,” Annie admitted.

           
“Nah. That’s only me undressing you
with my eyes.”

 
          
“Har
har,” Annie shot back—but he sounded truthful about that, and it made her smile
again.

 
          
Annie
slowed the plane to two hundred and fifty knots, swept the wings full forward,
lowered flaps and slats to the approach setting. One hundred and sixty knots.
It was still too fast, so Annie lowered the flaps to the next notch. The
Vampire automatically settled into its before-landing nose-high attitude, ft
was a little weird flying with the deck angled up so sharply, flying next to
another aircraft that was flying straight and level.

 
          
The
LADAR showed the MV-22 in startling detail—including the shut-down engine,
which showed blue-cold in their sensors, and the antiaircraft artillery damage
it sustained. “Holy crap,” she exclaimed. “They got blasted all to hell. They
got the right engine shut down, but the prop’s not feathered. The right side
got all shot up.”

 
          
“Visibility
looks like it’s less than a half-mile up here,” Deverill said. “If we got any
chance of doing this, we gotta get within visual range.” Just then, the threat
warning receiver emitted a slow
DEEDLE
...
DEEDLE
.. .
DEEDLE
tone. “Soviet-made triple-A, probably a ZSU-23A, ten o’clock, range about ten
miles. We’re flying right into its lethal range. You gotta get him turned
around in the next two minutes or we’ll both be Swiss cheese.”

 
          
“Oh,
hell,” Annie murmured. She dipped the nose and quickly scooted under the MV-22
to put herself between it and the triple-A site, and to put Deverill on the
same side as the MV-22 so he could try to communicate with them while she flew
the plane. She pulled off another notch of power and eased the big EB-1C flying
battleship closer to the stricken turboprop. She had to fly formation
cross-cockpit, looking through Dev’s windows, but with the orange and yellow
virtual 3-D image hovering in front of her eyes, it was as if she could look
right through Dev’s body and through the clouds and darkness and watch the big
MV-22 transport move closer and closer.

 
          
“Where’d
you guys go?” Briggs asked.

 
          
“I
moved over to your left side, Hammer,” Annie said. “We’ve got a triple-A site
ahead. John, you’re going to have to get a good visual on us real quick.”

           
“Copy. Heels,” Weston replied.
Unlike the others, he couldn't see a thing outside the windows except darkness,
interrupted occasionally by flashes of antiaircraft artillery fire.

 
          
Duane
fished through his pubs bag stuffed into the cubby beside his seat and produced
a three-cell flashlight. “My Kmart special,” he quipped. “I hope I remembered
to change the damn batteries.” They worked the first time, and he shone the
thin beam out the cockpit window.

 
          
Normally
the beam was bright enough to inspect the deepest. darkest, tallest wheel wells
of the EB- 1C bomber even during the darkest preflight, but now it barely
seemed to reach out to the Vampire’s wingtips. “Looks like we got some ice
forming on the wings,” Deverill said. “About a half-inch right now.” He looked
over to be sure the bleed air anti-ice system was activated. Normally they
wouldn’t fly in conditions like this for very long—the B-1 bomber was very
susceptible to ice accumulation and had terrible flight conditions with even a
small load.

 
          
“Any
sign of the MV-22?”

 
          
“Nope,”
Deverill said. He could “see” it through the electronic visor, but if he
couldn’t see it visually, the MV-22 crew couldn't see
them.
“I’ve got
you at half a mile, Heels.”

 
          
“I'm
not stopping, Dev.”

 
          
“You
don't hear me arguing, do you? Keep it coming.”

 
          
“Terminator,
this is Genesis,” Samson’s ethereal voice emerged from thin air. “Genesis to
Terminator. Status check.”

 
          
“We're
at one-half mile, General,” Deverill reported. “No contact.”

 
          
“We
have you and the MV-22 on JTIDS,” Samson re, minded them. JTIDS, or Joint
Tactical Information Distribution System, allowed many different users to share
information with each other. When the Vampire’s laser radar locked on to the
MV-22 transport, its position was instantly relayed via JTIDS to all authorized
users, including General Samson. He could clearly see that they had moved
closer than one-half mile. “If you don’t have a visual, cancel the rejoin and
move back up to patrol altitude.”

 
          
“General,
you saw the Zeus-23-4 site up ahead,” Deverill said. “The MV’s headed right for
it. We’ve got a chance to get him turned around—we’re going for it.’’

 
          
“All
the more reason to get the hell out of there/’ Samson said. “Climb out, nail
that Zeus site, and try a rejoin again when the visibility improves. Do it.”

 
          
“We’re
only going to get one shot at this, sir,” Annie said hesitantly.

 
          
“I
copy that, Annie, but l can't risk both of you,” Samson said. “Abort and climb
out. That’s an order.”

 
          
Annie
swore under her breath, then suddenly cobbed the throttles to full afterburner.
As soon as she reached two hundred knots, she started raising flaps and slats
and swept the wings to the climb setting. “Dev, nail that Zeus-23!” she
shouted.

 
          
“Crap,
we're losing our ticket home,” Weston swore. The roar of the EB-l’s
afterburners rattled the cockpit windows, and the long tongue of flame from the
four afterburners lit up the cockpit as if they overflew a searchlight. They
could see nothing else except the four bright shafts of fire; then, seconds
later, darkness again. They could smell the jet fuel and feel the heat of that
very close encounter. “We’re deaf, dumb, and blind up here,” Weston said,
hoping that stating the obvious could help them plan a way out. If they couldn’t
rejoin, Weston, his crew, his passenger, and his aircraft would probably never
make it home.

 
          
“I
got it. Heels,” Deverill said. With the plane no longer in automatic
takeoff-and-land mode, he was able to program the attack computer again. He
selected another Longhorn missile, slaved its autopilot to the coordinates of
the antiaircraft artillery site, and programmed a launch. Deverill watched as
the radar-enhanced infrared image of the tanklike mobile antiaircraft gun unit
got bigger and bigger on his large multifunction display. From only five miles
away, the kill came fast. The Longhorn’s millimeter-wave radar locked on to the
center of mass of the ZSU-23/4 and killed it in seconds.

           
But they weren't out of the woods
yet. “Another triple-A just popped up,” Duane said. “Eleven o’clock, ten miles.
Must be part of the same regiment. We should ... wait, another popup threat.
SA-6, twelve o’clock, twelve miles. They must’ve seen their buddy go up in
smoke, and now they’re hunting for us. We’re bracketed. I think we just
highlighted the MV-22. They can’t see us, but they can see
him."

 
          
“Great.
We just signed his death warrant,” Annie said. She cut the afterburners and
started an orbit around the MV-22. “The only chance we got is to get him to do
a one-eighty, and then tag all those antiaircraft sites.”

 
          
“I’m
on it,” Duane said. His fingers flew over the attack computer controls,
trackball, and touchscreens, designating targets and programming the missiles
for launch. As they completed their orbit, the attack computers opened the
middle bomb bay doors and spit a Longhorn missile into space. “Stand by for
multiple missile launches.”

 
          
But
their luck began to run out. The Longhorn missiles did have one major flaw:
their big rocket engines, which ignited seconds after release, highlighted the
launch aircraft like a bright neon sign. The other antiaircraft sites wised up
and started moving to another firing location. Every time they launched another
Longhorn missile, several ripples of 23-millimcter cannon fire streamed in
their direction, and Annie was forced to dodge and jink away.

 
          
It
was a valiant effort, but it didn’t work. The AGM-89 Longhorn missile was able
to lock onto a target once in flight, but without guidance corrections from the
bombardier, its hit percentage decreased markedly. Deverill simply could not
juggle six Longhorn missiles in the air at one time. After one orbit, there was
still a ZSU-23/4 unit operational. “All missiles expended.” Deverill said
breathlessly. “Triple-A still active, eleven o’clock, range indefinite. Sorry,
Annie.”

 
          
“I’m
not going to let that MV-22 get shot down,” Annie said.

 
          
‘Terminator,
this is Genesis,” Samson tried. “We show all air-to-ground weapons expended.
You’re done for the night. Return to the refueling anchor.”