tanks in-flight, siphoning off fuel from the Megafortress. Between the takeoff and the tanking procedures, Jeff felt drained; fortunately they had a lull before he was due to drop the Flighthawks.
“It’ll be easier next time,” said Gleason as he pulled off his heavy helmet. She was sitting next to him in the converted weapons station.
“You think so, don’t you?” Zen joked.
“I hope so.” Briggs had tried to keep Jennifer from flying the mission because she was a civilian, but her protests and Cheshire’s insistence had kept her aboard. Zen was glad she’d come.
“We are twenty minutes from Alpha,” said Cheshire. “You want to break open your snacks, go for it.”
“I thought I’d grab a brewski,” said Zen.
“Make mine a Sam Adams.”
“I’m in for a Chardonnay,” said Cheshire.
Zen reached for his mission folder, laying out the latest overhead photos and the grid map that showed the area they would be surveying. Their search pattern looked like an upside-down W with a backward Z on the last leg; they would start about ten miles northwest of Malakal, heading for the Libyan border. The Flighthawks would fly ahead roughly five miles, about seven miles apart. While the Flighthawks would vary their attitudes between six and twelve thousand feet depending on conditions, Raven herself would stay above 25,000 in a warm and dry layer of air unlikely to produce contrails. The altitude would give the plane a considerable buffer against triple-A and shoulder-fired SAMs likely to be in the area. Anything large would have to be jammed once detected; until then, they would fly without the powerful radars activated, hoping to get in and out unnoticed.
“Zero-five to Alpha,” announced Cheshire.
Zen looked up in shock – had he just dozed off? He glanced at his controls; they were indeed five minutes from the drop point.
“Initiate C? self-test sequence on Hawk One,” he told the computer as he pulled on his helmet.
“Test sequence begun. Test sequence complete,” announced the computer.
“Initiate C? self-test sequence on Hawk Two.”
The computer came back quickly, showing all systems in the green. Cheshire had already pushed the nose of the Megafortress upward; they would launch in a shallow dive, the pilot initiating a zero-alpha maneuver at release. The wind shear across the Megafortress wing surface would help accentuate the separation. They’d then repeat the process again for the second plane. Although technically it was possible to launch both at the same time, Stockard had never done so.
Zen selected Hawk One’s infrared view for his main visor screen, ghosting the flight instruments and data in it as if it were a HUD. The world looked dark and cold from the U/MF’s nose.
“Alpha,” said Cheshire.
“Computer, launch sequence on Hawk One. Count-down from five.”
The computer took up the chant, counting down in its mechanical voice as the engines ignited. Prodded by the Megafortress’s 480 knots of airspeed, the turbine spun hot and ready. Zen let the computer proceed as it automatically released Hawk One.
“Maintain programmed course,” he said after a quick review of the instrumentation indicated all systems were good. “Main viewer optical from Hawk One. Begin Hawk Two launch sequence. Countdown form five.”
Hawk Two’s turbine stuttered. Zen nearly pulled the trigger button o his left joystick, which in launch mode automatically stopped the takeoff. But the graphics hit green and he let the Hawk go, this time maintaining personal control over the plane.
Good launches, quick and smooth. Better by far than either of his drops at Dreamland.
It was like flying, and it wasn’t. it was like riding in the back of a roller coaster, imaging you had control.
In the dark, the total dark.
Plus with your left hand.
“Infrared view, Hawk Two,” he said, staying in Hawk Two’s cockpit. The screen snapped into a yellowish red haze. Hawk One’s tailpipe glowed at the top of the left end of the screen. Zen prodded Hawk Two gently to the right, gliding and quickly building momentum. He check the instruments, then gave control to the computer, skipping over to U/MF. It was easier there, maybe because he was right-handed. Like playing baseball and batting from the right side, even though you’d learned to switch-hit.
“Computer, split top viewer, add optic feed from Hawk Two on left.”
The computer complied. He now had a panoramic view of the twilight. Both planes descended at near-Mach speed, running through clear, dry air.
“We’re green and growing,” he told Cheshire.
“Roger that.”
“Feeding infrared views to flight deck,” said Jennifer. The Flighthawk feeds came through the test system. She punched something on her console. “They’ll get the FLIR no matter what you select. I can feed them radar and optics too, if they ask.”
“Looking good back there,” Cheshire told them.
Baseball. This was ten times more difficult than switch-hitting – you were going at it from both sides of the plate at once, facing two different pitchers. Zen felt as if his mind were splitting in half; sweat began creeping down his neck.
A Sudanese city – or what passed for one – loomed in the view projected from Hawk One as Zen began leveling the planes off at ten thousand feet. A group of low-slung concrete buildings sat above a shantytown of trailers, discarded metal containers, and ancient vehicles. The computer, working with parameters programmed by Jennifer, studied the different shapes for the possibility of an aircraft. Meanwhile, Raven’s weapons officer scanned for transmission that might indicate their quarry’s presence.
“You have a shape on that northwest quadrant,” Jennifer said. “The computer’s not flagging it as hostile. Grid AA-4.”
“Yeah, I have the quadrant,” said Zen. Holding Hawk One steady toward the Sudanese city, he moved Two lower to check out the unexpected contact off its left wing. The sweat now began to pour in buckets as he rolled the plane into a tight dive, dropping it quickly to five thousand feet. The Hawk’s radar transmitted a detailed image back to the mother ship; Jeff left it to Jennifer to examine as he flew the plane low and fast across the edge of a Sudanese settlement that apparently had been obscured by clouds on the photos. He brought the Hawk lower, picking up speed; he straightened his wings now at five hundred feet, three hundred, sensors blazing.
RWR clear. No SAMs, no defenses.
A building and a shed, if you could call them that. Neither was as big as a cottage back home.
A bus lumbered ahead. Zen began to pull it off, then saw something flash to his left. Not sure what it was, he stayed on his course, accelerating.
Another vehicle, this one an ancient pickup. He nailed his throttle down, streaking past before rocketing back upward, hewing right. He pushed his left hand toward him, riding Hawk Two closer to the other half of his mind, which was just passing the Sudanese city.
“Whoo, that was fun,” said Jennifer. “Initial analysis clear. I’m playing the optical sensors back to recheck those buildings.”
Zen shut her out. It was difficult enough being in the Flighthawks.
It hadn’t seemed this hard when he flew them before the accident. And yet he’d been controlling three planes then – his own as well as the two U/MFs.
His head felt like it was going to break in half.
“Clean,” announced Jennifer. “No visible life-forms, Dr. Spock.”
When Zen didn’t respond, she added, “Our ten-year mission, to explore new worlds –”
“Yeah, I got the joke,” he snapped.
“Sorry.”
Zen saw a small truck off the side of the road, then another.
Hawk One screen, right? They were starting to blur together, despite the purple separator line.
The trucks weren’t significant, he decided. The Hawks crossed the Wadi al Mado, a trench that emptied into the Nile much further to the east. He couldn’t tell if there was water in it or not as he passed, holding both Flighthawks at eight thousand feet.
They were invisible, dark birds in the desert night, riding the wind. He selected both FLIRs in the top screen,
