Noburu wondered what the current population was of the city of Orsk. No. Better not to know, he decided.
'Noguchi?' he asked in genuine curiosity, 'how do you
The colonel was taken aback by the question, which he frankly did not understand.
'Of course not,' Noburu said.
Lieutenant Colonel Reno knew that everything was going to be all right. He had monitored Taylor's message on the command net as Taylor turned over control of the regiment to Heifetz so that Taylor himself could fly off on a personal glory hunt. No matter what he himself did, Reno knew, there could be no serious threat from Taylor now. The old bastard wasn't so sly after all. He had compromised himself. Any subordinate with half a brain would have no difficulty portraying Taylor's action in an unfavorable light. By stretching it a little bit, you could even make the case that Taylor had deserted his post.
'Bronco, this is Saber six,' Reno told the microphone.
'Bronco, over.'
'Have you gotten that damned problem fixed, Bronco?' From his command M-100, Taylor had electronically imposed limits on the range of targets the regiment's systems were free to attack. Taylor claimed he wanted to preserve a combat-ready force, now that the last functional calibrator had been lost.
But Reno was no fool. The regiment had been so successful — unimaginably successful — in destroying the enemy's ability to wage technologically competent warfare in the zone of attack that Reno suspected there might not be another battle. At the very least, things would settle down into a stalemate, with both sides materially exhausted and incapable. The likeliest scenario, from Reno's point of view, was that the politicians would get involved and there would be a negotiated settlement. Which meant that today might be the only chance a man got to prove his abilities.
'This is Bronco. The problem's fixed. We're ready to resume contact. Over.'
'Good work. Now let's start running up those numbers again.'
It had required some effort to override the restriction Taylor's master computer had imposed on his M-l00s. But the weapons were free again now. In fact, they could attack a wider range of targets now than they had been permitted at the beginning of the day's hunt. Reno saw nothing wrong with spending a few extra rounds on the odd truck or range car. The important thing, at this point, was to run up Third Squadron's number of kills. And, given that the other two squadrons were under strict limits from here on out, Reno figured his score was likely to come out the highest, after all.
A good officer had to take the initiative.
'Are we going to make it?' Taylor asked.
The set of Flapper Krebs's face was unmistakably tense beneath the incomplete helmet.
'It's going to be close,' the warrant officer said. 'Damn close. The sonsofbitches have picked up speed. They must be scared as hell about something.'
Taylor glanced at the man with concern. Then he got on the intercom.
'Merry, do you have any indication whatsoever that those bandits have picked us up?'
'No, sir.'
'It looks like they're running scared. They're heading south fast.'
'Might just be nerves,' Meredith said. 'Scary sky out there. They picked up speed, but there's been absolutely no deviation in their course. They're coming down the slot straight as an arrow.'
'Roger. Parker,' he said, addressing the assistant S-3, 'how do we look on angle of intercept?'
'I know the chief wants to take them from behind,' the captain said, 'but the best we're going to do is about a nine-o'clock angle of attack. Maybe even a little more forward than that. If we try to get too fancy, we're going to lose them. They're just moving too fast.'
Taylor looked over at Krebs, whose hands remained perfectly steady on the controls, ready to override the computer if it became necessary.
'What do you think, Flapper?'
Krebs shrugged. 'Give it a shot.'
'Merry?' Taylor asked, working the intercom again, 'are the 'target parameters locked in?'
'Roger. Nine Mitsubishi 4000s. Alteration to program accepted.'
'Flapper?'
'I got it. Weapons systems green.'
'Okay,' Taylor said. 'Let's do a temporary delete on everything else. Keep all sensors focused on those bastards.'
'Roger.'
'Range?'
'Two hundred miles and closing.'
'Colonel?' Krebs said to Taylor, 'I can't promise you this is going to work. But I can guarantee you it's going to be quick. We're only going to get one chance.'
'Roger. Parker, do a double check on our escort birds. Make sure their computers are on exactly the same sheet of music.'
'Roger.'
'One chance,' the old warrant repeated.
Zeederberg was anxious to get back down on the ground. He had been out of contact with higher headquarters for hours, and the level of electronic interference in the atmosphere was utterly without precedent in his experience. Something was wrong. Even his on-board systems were starting to deteriorate, as though the electromagnetic siege was beginning to beat down the walls of his aircraft. He could no longer communicate even with the other birds flying in formation with his own, and the sophisticated navigational aids employed for evasive flying were behaving erratically. The formation had been reduced to flying higher off the ground than Zeederberg would have liked, and all they could do was to maintain visual contact with each other and head south at the top speed their fuel reserves would allow.
They had destroyed the target. Mission accomplished. The standoff bombs had proven accurate, as always, and what the bombs had not flattened, the fuel-air explosives burned or suffocated. Zeederberg hoped it had been worth it. The only confirmed enemy target he had been able to register had been that single American-built wing- inground transport. Perhaps there had been other equipment hidden in the maze of old plants and warehouses. Undoubtedly, the Japanese knew what they were doing. But during the mission brief, no one had warned them to expect a density of electronic interference so thick it seemed to physically buffet the aircraft. Something was terribly wrong.
Zeederberg felt unaccustomed streaks of sweat trailing down his back, chilling the inside of his flight suit. It was nerve-racking flying. This is what it must have been like in the old days, he thought. Before the computers took over.
'Sky watch report?' Zeederberg begged through the intercom. He half expected the intercom to go out too.
'All clear,' a tiny voice responded. 'Plenty of interference. But the sky looks as clean as can be.'
It was like a visit to the dentist, Zeederberg told himself.
You just had to remember that it was all going to be over before you knew it.
He promised himself that as soon as he got home to South Africa he was going to pack up Marieke and the kids, go off to the beach for a holiday, lie in the sun, and laugh about all this.
'Forty miles and closing,' Meredith's voice rang through the headphones.
'Roger.'
'They're coming too fast,' Krebs said. 'We're going to have to engage at max range and take our chances.'
