The tight steepness of the turn tugged his harness. But they were almost out of it. And the enemy were still in midturn. There wouldn't be much time. But there would be a window of opportunity.
As nearly as he could remember, the Japanese gunships did not have a manual weapons override.
The sin of pride.
'Fire at will,' Taylor said.
He guided the ship around as though he were reining a spirited horse. Soon he could visually track the black specks of the enemy formation describing a long arc across the sky. They looked clean. Very disciplined fliers.
Every one of his crews would be flying for themselves now. The American formation hardly existed as such. Instead, five M-l00s speckled the sky, each seeking the best possible angle of attack.
Taylor applied full throttle, trying to get into his enemy's flank before the Japanese gunships could bring their weapons to bear.
'I don't know,' Krebs said, hanging on the weapons control stick.
'Fuck you don't know,' Taylor said. '
Krebs fired.
Nothing.
'Just getting a feel for the deflection,' he excused himself. He sounded calmer now that he was committed to action.
Taylor flew straight for the center of the enemy formation. He watched the increasingly clear gunships coming into the last segment of their turns.
'Come on, baby,' Krebs said. He fired again.
Instantaneously, a black gunship erupted in flames and left the enemy formation, its component parts hurtling through the sky in multiple directions.
Taylor howled with delight, eternally the wild young captain who had sailed dreamily into Africa.
'Well, fuck me,' Krebs said in wonder. He fired again, pulsing out rounds.
Another Japanese gunship broke apart in the sky.
In quick succession, two more Japanese gunships blazed and broke up. The other American ships were hitting.
There was very little time. The enemy systems defined themselves with greater clarity with each passing second. Taylor was afraid they would be able to come around at their own angle and sweep the sky with lasers in a crossfire effect.
Taylor stared hard at the enemy formation, trying to read the pattern.
'Flapper,' he yelled suddenly. 'Get the number three ship. That's the flight leader.'
'Roger.' Krebs had put his gruff old soldier voice back on. But, bubbling under the gray tones was the same unmistakable exhilaration that Taylor felt. The indescribable joy of destruction.
The old warrant officer followed the turn of the aircraft with his optics. He let go one round, then another.
The enemy's flight leader disappeared in a hot white flash. When the dazzle faded there were only black chunks of waste dropping into the sea.
Another of the enemy's aircraft exploded.
The remaining gunships began to abort their turns. Instead of trying to close with their tormentors, they were trying to escape.
Wrong decision, Taylor thought coldly.
Two of the enemy's surviving gunships exploded in tandem, as though they had been taken out by a doublebarreled shotgun.
Only two enemy ships remained. Taylor knew what they were feeling. The terror. The recognition that it was all over battling with the human tendency to hope against hope. And the frantic uncertainty that interfered with those functions it did not completely paralyze. But the knowledge did not move him.
They were on the enemy's rear hemisphere now. The attempt to flee was hopeless, since the American aircraft were faster. But the enemy pilots would not know that. At this point, the only thing they would know with any certainty was that they were still alive.
Taylor felt Krebs tense mercilessly beside him. The warrant sent off another succession of rounds.
A gunship spun around like a weathervane in a storm, breaking up even before the fire from its fuel tanks could engulf it. Then the familiar cloud of flames swelled outward, spitting odd aircraft parts.
A lone enemy survivor strained off to the southeast. Taylor could feel the pilot pushing for each last ounce of thrust, aching to go faster than physical laws allowed.
The lone black ship flared and fell away in a sputtering rain of components.
For a long moment no one spoke. The M-l00s automatically slipped back into formation, conditioned by drill. But no drill had given them the language to express what they felt.
The sky was eerily clean.
'All stations,' Taylor said finally. 'Return to automatic flight controls. Next stop: Objective Blackjack.'
Baku.
He took a deep breath.
'Flapper,' he said, 'I'm going back to have a little talk with our Russian friend.'
'I
Taylor looked at him grimly. He wanted to open a hatch and push the Russian out into the sky. He did not know whether or not there were sharks in the Caspian Sea, but he hoped nature had not missed the opportunity to put some there.
Taylor felt another rush of fury, and he raised his fist.
Taylor looked at the S-2 in surprise, fist suspended in midair.
'Look at him,' Meredith went on, with as little regard as if Kozlov could not hear a word that passed between them. 'He's scared shitless. He's been that way since the refueling site. He didn't have a clue.' Meredith made a spitting gesture with his lips. 'The poor bastard's just a staff officer with a toothache, not some kind of suicide volunteer. Ivanov set him up too.'
Taylor lowered his fist. But he did not unclench it. He glowered. 'Goddamnit,' he said to Kozlov, 'I just want to know one thing. Give me one straight goddamned answer, if you fucking Russians are biologically capable of it. All that shit about the layout of the headquarters in Baku — were you telling the truth? Was that sketch accurate? Or were you just making it all up?'
Kozlov opened his mouth to speak. Two of the bad front teeth had disappeared. The mouth wavered and shut, blood streaming out onto the Russian's chin, streaking down into his uniform. He spit into his sleeve, then tried a second time to squeeze out the words. 'Everything… everything is true. You see? I am here with you. I, too, believed.'
Taylor shook his head, turning away in disgust.
'I trust him too,' Ryder said. It was the first time Ryder had spoken in Taylor's presence since the flight began. Taylor almost snapped at him. But Hank Parker spoke first:
'He's straight, sir. I'd bet my bars.'
Taylor suddenly felt like a big cat in a small cage. 'Goddamnit,' he said, turning back to Kozlov, 'your country gets at least as much out of this operation as mine does.'
'I understand,' Kozlov said cautiously, sick gums still bleeding.
'Then
'I don't know.'
'Why sell out your only friends? Christ, nobody in the world has any sympathy for you except us. Who else tried to save your asses?'
Kozlov looked down at the deck in shame. 'I do not understand.' He wiped his chin on his sleeve again.
