always the possibility of a leak if the crew had to radio back for a go-ahead.'
'What I think I'm hearing, General, is that you want me to give the strike order now, even with negotiations going on?'
The President shook his head.
'Sir, right from the beginning the Soviets have failed to negotiate in anything like good faith. They've kept us at the bargaining table under false pretenses while they've carried out their own hidden agenda. The loss of the Midgetman and Ice Fortress both happened while so-called negotiations were going on. They've demonstrated that they've never intended to do anything but stall for time. Negotiations are in name only. 'There was a long silence as the President considered Curtis' words. 'There's truth in what you're saying. And I'm not unaware of history… FDR thought that Secretary of State Cordell Hull could work out an agreement with the Japanese just before they attacked Pearl Harbor. He underestimated their duplicity. It seems I've made the same mistake, and for the same reasons. We both wanted a result so much we lost sight of realities For a moment all that could be heard was the ticking of the brass clock on the President's desk and the muted sound of trees swaying in the wind outside.
'All right, General… you ask Elliott if he's up to this. If he is, there'll be no turning back McLanahan and Luger were dozing in the downstairs offensive crew compartment when Elliott came over the radio: 'Crew, listen up. We have received orders from the Joint Chiefs. It was why I had you accomplish a thorough equipment check a few minutes ago. Now, I want to make another check-a people check. You all remember earlier today when I told you about the planned B-1 sorties that launched early this morning. Well, it seems those B-1s were discovered and intercepted just north of Point Barrow about fifteen minutes ago.'
'Intercepted?' Ormack asked.
'Somehow the Russians knew where the B-1s would be coming from. They had a Mainstay early-warning and control radar plane waiting for them, dragging two MiG-31 Foxhound fighters with it. The B-1s didn't have a chance to evade.'
'Did… the B-1s get shot down?' Wendy asked.
'No, but the fighters are dogging them. They've been ordered to hold at a fail-safe orbit point over the Chukchi Sea just outside Soviet airspace. It's presumed the MiGs will follow.'
'But why are the B-1s continuing?' Luger asked. There was a long moment of silence.
'Don't you get it?' McLanahan asked. 'They want us to do it.
'How the hell are we supposed to make it if two B-1s couldn't?'
Elliott took over. 'It'll be risky trying to get past their earlywarning radar net, much less flying over the Soviet Union, I agree. I need your thoughts, people. We've got some left wing damage but our offensive and defensive weapons and systems are all operational. We don't have proper military charts but we have general aviation charts plus, fortunately, a terrain cartridge for the Kavaznya site. We'll also get refueling support going in and fighter coverage coming out.'
Elliott hoped it was sinking in, hoped his crew was buying it…
his crew?It hadn't been his crew until a few short hours ago when they were close to death in that hangar in the high Nevada desert.
'I won't go on unless I have everyone's support,' he said.
'I know none of you thought you'd be part of an actual mission, much less a raid against an installation in the Soviet Union. We've only flown together a few times-hell, I wasn't even a part of the crew.
John and I are the only ones who have ever flown in combat. If we aren't one hundred percent agreed, we land in Seattle and that's that.
But consider the situation.
The Russians have continued to use their laser at Kavaznya in spite of all our diplomatic protests. They have, literally, crippled our ability to detect ballistic-missile launches over the Pacific or the Pole. If they decide to launch an attack we have only a few minutes' warning before the warheads impact. I believe that if the B-1 mission has failed-and it has-the next step is either a cruise missile attack from long range, a naval strike force, or an intercontinental ballistic missile attack on Kavaznya. The laser site can probably protect itself against all those threats. And the sight of cruise missiles or an I.C.B.M heading toward Asia could well result in someone pushing an even bigger button and triggering a thermonuclear exchange… ' Was he laying it on too thick?No, dammit, he was laying out the awful option.
Speaking the unspeakable… 'I truly believe this crew and this plane is the one answer left. I believe we have a very good chance of getting past Russian radar, avoiding their air defense, neutralizing that laser facility, and getting back.'
It was the longest speech he had ever given. The throbbing in his right leg that had stopped over the past hour now was returning full force.
'If you like the odds, say so. If you don't say so. Without everyone pulling together, we for sure won't make it.'
Ten minutes later Elliott sat back in his seat, drained. He no longer had feeling in his right heel, and the throbbing pain had reached his knee. He thought again of what Curtis had told him. So far the Russians had been one step ahead. Curtis was obviously afraid that they might be tipped off to the Old Dog's mission too. Well, that wasn't going to happen, the odds were too damn long. Seattle seemed as good a place as any to stage his protective aerial sleight of hand.
in sight,' McLanahan reported, returning Seattle coastline his ten-inch radar display to the two hundred mile range. 'One o'clock, one hundred miles.'
These were the first words anyone in the crew had spoken since their decision. Elliott turned to Ormack.
'Get us clearance into Seattle Center airspace, John. Wendy, see if you can raise Boeing Field on HE Get us permission to land.
'Seattle Center, Dog Zero-One Fox is with you at two-five thousand.' Traffic Control Center controller The Seattle Air Route checked his radar display. He had already received a call from command Control radio operator McClellan Air Base s Global Co would be appearing in his sector. And — One x that Dog Zero there he was-right where McClellan said he would be.
'Dog Zero — One Fox, good evening, radar contact at two five thousand feet.
Earlier the Seattle controller had passed along a Mode 3
'Squawk' identification code to McClellan for the airplane to set in its I.F.F, its Identification Friend or Foe system. The I.F.F would transmit the four-digit code to the controller's computer, which would display a data block near the airplane's radar dot with the plane's call sign, altitude, groundspeed, and a computer ID number. The Seattle controller checked the area from which McClellan said the aircraft would be coming and, as advertised, the data block and beacon target symbols appeared at the extreme outer edge of his one hundred and fifty mile range scope. There was no primary target return-a smaller symbol superimposed on the larger beacon target symbol-but that wasn't unusual at extreme ranges.
'Dog Zero-One Fox, confirm your destination is Seattle Boeing Field.'
'That's affirmative, Seattle. We'll be requesting permission for a visual to an auxiliary field when within ten miles. Boeing has been notified.'
That was very strange, but the controller had heard of it before. To avoid attention some experimental or classified planes used one of Boeing's numerous auxiliary fields scattered around Seattle instead of the main corporate terminal. When they did, they didn't tell the controller which one until in the vicinity of all of them. The approach controller would have to clear the airspace and grant clearance to make an approach to a very wide area, which really complicated air traffic control in the already super-congested Seattle-Vancouver-Portland area, but at this time of day it wasn't too much of a hassle. The procedure wasn't limited to military flights, either-the private aircraft firms guarded their newest developments almost as zealously as the military.'
'I've been advised, Zero-One Fox, the controller replied.
'I'll pass it along to Seattle Approach in-' The controller saw something that made him blanch-a beacon code being changed to 7700, the emergency code. The plane's data block was instantly surrounded by a flashing border, and the letters 'EMRG' began to flash above the beacon target.
It was the newcomer-Dog Zero-One Fox.
'Mayday, mayday!Seattle Center, Dog Zero-One Fox!'
'Zero-One Fox, I copy your emergency code The controller buzzed his shift supervisor, who hurried over and
