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Armiger said: “They’re still together. They can’t have scanned us.”

“So much the better,” Jason said. “Let’s wake them up.” Then moments later: “I have a Skyray lock on target.”

“Skyray lock on target G,” Armiger confirmed. “Better let him have it, then take H out. We’ve got
4.3 minutes to visual range and counting. If we let them get to visual, we’ve blown it.”

Jason squeezed the missile release. “Skyray launched. I have lock on the second target.”

“Target H locked,” Armiger confirmed again.

“Launching. Launched. Are we recording?”

“Every breath. No one’s going to be able to deny they’ve been taken.”

“He’s launched at them!” In the control room, Caroline Hamilton-Jones was tense with suppressed excitement. She watched avidly as the computer, having checked that the launch parameters had been achieved, sent electronic pulses racing towards the F-15 images.

Their pilots had evidently received the threat tones in their helmets, for they immediately went into a tight, turning break, hoping to ruin the shot. But they had left it too late. The pulses continued their inexorable journey, following the twisting images until each merged with its selected target. The F-15 images turned into glowing coffins.

Someone had selected the Eagles’ comm. channel and put it on the speakers.

“Goddammit!”
came an irate voice. “I’ve been nailed.”

“And me, brother,” came the other. “We’re out of the fight. Let’s go home.”

“Goddammit!”
came the first voice, sounding
furious. “Goddammit!” he added a third time for good measure.

Caroline turned to look at the Air Vice-Marshal.

Thurson had a satisfied smile upon his face.

“Good shots,” Armiger said. “Now for the F-16s.”

“What’s the news on Two-Four?” Jason took the ASV into a turning dive. The fight was far from over.

Armiger watched as one of the Eagle targets flared off the screen. “They’ve got one, but missed the second. Ah. Two-Four’s got a third launch going.” A pause. “Oh dear. Another miss.”

“What the hell are they up to?” Jason demanded sharply. “They should get their fingers out!”

“That Eagle driver’s a wily bird. He’s moving about pretty niftily and jamming like mad.”

The Eagle and the Tornado were performing their frantic skydance beyond visual range of each other, the battle being conducted on their radar screens. Having only one pair of eyes in his cockpit, the Eagle pilot was at a disadvantage; but he was using his formidable machine’s capabilities to the full. Tingey, frustrated by his two misses, was keeping his distance.

Armiger said: “Two-Four’s not letting him get close. But they’ll have to end it soon—the F-16s are coming up to have a look. We’re still out of their
range, but they’re well within ours. Do we help Two-Four first?”

“No. Let them sort their mess out. Good thing this is not a hot fight. Let’s go after the 16s.”

In Fighter Control, all eyes were glued to the screen, watching the epic battle between Two-Four and the lone, belligerent Eagle. The Eagle kept trying to get close, hoping to use its legendary turning capabilities with which to nail the Tornado. Tingey was using the Super Tornado’s phenomenal acceleration to run out of the fight, giving himself room before turning back for a head-to-head, but the Eagle was having none of it.

Each time Tingey came hurtling back, the Eagle would go vertical, forcing Tingey to break or risk being pounced on from on high. While the watchers in Control were enthralled by the patterns being traced on the screen, they all knew this particular fight was taking too long. In a real fight, the outcome would have been decided long since. He who sees first should win. It was beginning to look as if a draw would be the official outcome.

Thurson was still standing next to Caroline.

“The Eagle will have to leave soon,” he said quietly. “He must be close to bingo after all that hectic maneuvering.”

“Bingo” was the very last moment when a pilot would have sufficient fuel for a safe return to whichever airfield he’d taken off from, with enough of a
margin for a further diversion should an emergency arise. Staying in the fight beyond bingo was stretching the limits of the safety margin.

“November’s going after the F-16s,” she said.

“I have Skyray lock on target C,” Jason said. They were now down to 20,000 feet.

“Confirmed,” came from the back seat.

“Launching.” Jason squeezed the missile release. “Lock on D. Launching.” He squeezed again. “Two off the rails. Lock-on’s good.”

“He’s taken two F-16s,” Caroline reported excitedly.

Thurson said: “He’s certainly proving his point. The ASV’s a winner.” He looked at the portion of the screen where the second Tornado and the Eagle were still dancing round each other. “As for Two-Four, at least the Eagle has not been able to get him so far. If this were for real, the hostile aircraft would have been tied up, wasting fuel, until its pilot would probably have to eject in the end. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to get back. Who are the crew?”

“Flight Lieutenants Tingey and Morgan, sir.”

“Chris Jason shouldn’t be too hard on them. They got that Eagle’s partner, and they’ve effectively neutralised him. Ah! The Eagle’s leaving the field of battle. I knew it—he’s reached bingo. I’d call that an honorable draw. That was good flying on Tingey’s part. Now let’s see how he copes with the F-16.”

*   *   *

“Eagle’s going home,” Armiger said. “He’s thirsty, I’ll bet.”

“Two-Four should have had him,” Jason said.

“Oh, I don’t know. They didn’t do so badly. Brand-new aircraft they’re not yet at ease with … first time against something like the Eagle … not to be sniffed at. They got one, and tied his buddy up in knots. In the real thing, they’d be coming back home.”

Jason made a sound that could have been a grunt.

“Does that mean you agree?” Armiger queried.

“Don’t push it.”

Armiger grinned in his mask. “Just the two Falcons now, and it’s home for us. How do you want to handle it?”

“A fast pass using the Krait, and the helmet.”

“Target A’s our meat. I’m giving B to Two-Four.”

“They’d better get him.”

“Go easy on them, Chris. They’re a good crew.”

“I know,” Jason conceded.

He switched HUD symbology to the helmet, looking past it as he searched the sky about him. The Krait seekers had found nothing as yet to excite them. He rolled the Tornado onto its back and pulled the stick firmly towards him. The G readout whirled to 7. He made a straining noise to combat its onset as his G-suit squeezed at him, preventing the blood
from draining to his feet. G pressure relaxed as the change of direction was completed.

The aircraft flung itself earthwards. Jason slammed the throttles against the stops. The afterburners came on instantly, twin tongues of pulsed flame searing out of the trail. Wings at full sweep now, the ASV was like an arrowhead, the power of its engines canceling out its own weight and making it seem to flash across the sky.

In Two-Four, Tingey and Morgan had performed an almost identical maneuver. Like twin gray sharks, the Tornadoes fell upon the unfortunate F-16s.

Jason was looking to ten o’clock when the designator arrow appeared on the helmet symbology, pointing to the right. He turned his head. The arrow shortened as his line of vision acquired the designator box.

“I’ve got him,” he said.

They were still beyond kill range, but the Krait was making its weird modulated hissing sound, indicating that it knew the target was coming into range. The hisses pulsed ever more quickly, as if betraying eagerness for the kill.

In the back, Armiger had the outline of an F-16 on one of his screens. Superimposed upon it were temperature patterns, graded from violent red at the core of the engine, flaring out into orange to yellow to various levels of green and finally to blue around the “coolest” areas. The blue areas extended well be
yond the target, showing that even its passage through the air generated sufficient infrared signatures for the Krait to lock-on to. He tuned the seeker so that blue areas would act like a beacon to target.

“I have lock-on,” Jason said as the Krait’s hiss changed to a continuous drone. “Launching. One off the rail.”

Seconds later, the infrared image of the F-16 on Armiger’s screen winked out.

“I don’t think he knew what hit him,” Armiger commented drily. “Home, James, and don’t spare the horses. Ah! You’ll be pleased to know that Two-Four’s just scored.”

“I should bloody well hope so too,” Jason retorted.

In Fighter Control, Air Vice-Marshal Thurson gazed upon the computer-generated carnage with satisfaction.

If the squadron as a whole performed as well as this when they arrived, there’d be no problem with the minister’s defector. Last news was, he’d had to delay his break. He was a test pilot, apparently, and modifications were setting back his program. “Seven kills, one draw, no hits taken, plenty of missiles still on the rails, and more than enough fuel with which to get home. And all this, out on the edges of the UKAIR region. I think we can indeed say Jason’s made his point.” Thurson turned delightedly to Caroline. “It would be a good idea, I believe,
to invite a tew doubting Thomases here to see the action for themselves one of these days. Is that a look of uncertainty I see, Flight Lieutenant Hamilton-Jones?”

“I was merely thinking, sir, that the Wing Commander might not …”

Thurson smiled at her. “I’m quite certain I shall be able to persuade him. Don’t you?”

Despite the smile, Caroline knew the matter, when it arose, would not be open to discussion.

Wings swept, the Super Tornadoes came screaming low over the main runway to break hard, wings spreading as speed decayed. Each did a complete roll before setting up for the landing. They touched down in formation. It was a neat display.

Later, in one of the smaller debriefing rooms, the two crews watched the reply of the entire mission, on video. The Fighter Control’s computer recording was included. Tingey’s epic tussle with the F-15 was described in series on intricate trace patterns. Every turn, every run-out, every zoom and roll was there. Any part of the fight could be halted and studied, so that Tingey would see where he’d made mistakes.

At the end of the viewing session, Tingey said to Jason: “I’m really sorry about those two misses, boss.”

“Not to worry, Roger. There’s some good stuff in that recording. You were clearly dealing with a
hot shot. You anticipated, he anticipated. You both knew what you were on about. Next time, you must simply out-think the bastards you meet.” Jason gave a brief smile. “Who knows? I might not have taken him either.”

Tingey’s expression was one of relief. “Thanks, boss.”

Jason went to his office to find Thurson waiting. They settled themselves on either side of his desk.

“Did you see it all, sir?”

“Yes,” Thurson said. “I did. Good work. I know Tingey missed one, but I’d say he was lucky not to get tapped. That Eagle was ferocious. Tingey’s no slouch.”

“In a real fight, he might have been killed.”

“I say he would have lived to fight another day.”

Jason gave Thurson a sideways look. “Are you having an argument with me, sir?”

“No. But I have an idea.”

Jason eyed his superior warily.

“You look as if you think I’m going to ask you for a loan,” Thurson commented drily. “The fact is, I was impressed with what I saw today. I’m glad I decided to make this unannounced visit. It occurs to me that it would help our case, strengthen our arm quite considerably, if we could arrange a visit by some of our detractors.”

Thurson paused to let his words sink in.

Jason was not fooled.
We
meant the AVM
would arrange the visit and Wing Commander would agree to it.

Jason said: “MPs and the like?”

Thurson nodded. “And the odd local councillor who may have received low-flying complaints.”

“MPs …” Jason drummed his fingers on the desk. “It was an MP, a minister, who some time ago, mistakenly decreed that the advent of missiles made fighters obsolete. Decades later, we’re still paying for that piece of brilliance. If his line of thinking still carried any weight, we would not have had Tornado at all, never mind those ASVs out there.”

“Tornado nearly didn’t make it,” Thurson reminded him. “Don’t forget that. And the ‘anti’- lobby’s still very active. I feel it would greatly help if we did invite a few up here.”

“This is a sensitive unit, sir.”

“It also belongs to the taxpayer. You can’t keep him out, Christopher … at least, not out of everything. I think they should see the combat screen. The screen itself is no secret, only what makes it work.”

Jason knew he had lost. His playing of the sensitivity card had been a last desperate try. It was simply that he knew from experience that the antilobby did not wish to be convinced—it would remain stubborn no matter how good his case, and he had no wish to waste his time trying to sweeten them. There were more important things to do.

“When would you like this visit, sir?”

“When would
you?”

“Not before the first squadron’s operational. Two months. At least.”

Thurson nodded. “That’s quite acceptable.”

With this visit to hurry Jason along, he thought, they’d be well on schedule for the minister’s little project.

Jason was in the control tower. At one end of the main runway, a standard Tornado F.3 had received clearance for take-off. Thurson was in the front cockpit.

No one, Jason thought, could accuse his old instructor of being a desk warrior.

The Tornado dipped its nose slightly as Thurson opened the throttles on the brakes. Then the brakes were released and the aircraft roared forward. Thurson hit the burners halfway through his ground roll. Soon, the sleek nose was coming up.

Thurson lifted it off the deck steeply, burners echoing to the Grampians, wheels tucking in. He continued the climb until the aircraft disappeared from view, its roar fading reluctantly until a relative silence fell upon the airfield.

“Showing us he can still do it,” someone said.