Air Battle Force

Turkmen army uses lots of Russian antiaircraft systems, and a lot of that stuff is right in front of you.”

“I’m going to make one try at linking up with the StealthHawk, and then I’ll bug out,” Patrick responded.

Minutes later Patrick had locked the StealthHawk’s encrypted beacon up with his laser radar, and they began a tail chase with the StealthHawk drone, which had already crossed the border into Turkmenistan. Rebecca turned the bomber to the northeast, closing the distance rapidly on full military power. “We’re sucking gas like crazy,” she mused. “How much longer before you’re in direct datalink range?”

“About five minutes,” Patrick said, “if our range calculations are…” As soon as they did close to within ten miles, Patrick was able to reestablish the uplink to the StealthHawk. “Got it!” Patrick crowed. “It’s responding!”

At the same instant their threat-warning receiver came to life. “Caution, SA-4 surveillance radar, twelve o’clock, thirty-eight miles, well below detection threshold,” the threat-warning computer announced. The SA-4 was a high-performance mobile antiaircraft missile — even launched from so far away, it could reach them in less than two minutes.

“For Christ’s sake, General, we’re flying right for that SA-4…!”

“Keep going, Rebecca. We’ve almost got it.”

“Warning, SA-4 target-acquisition mode, twelve o’clock, twenty miles.” The system activated their countermeasures system, including the towed countermeasures array — they were an item of interest again. But there was nothing they could do until they got the StealthHawk turned around.

“Damn… the Turkmen might be picking up our datalink signals,” Patrick said. Although the signals between the bomber and the StealthHawk drone were encrypted, the transmissions themselves could be detected. Soon, the Turkmen could pinpoint their location, no matter how stealthy they were.

“Let’s get out of here, McLanahan!”

“Almost got it….” He quickly entered in instructions for the StealthHawk to turn around, and it responded. “StealthHawk responding!” Patrick said. Rebecca immediately started a hard left turn. “Wings level, pilot…”

“I can’t — we’re going to get shot right in the face by that SA-4!”

“Closer, Rebecca,” Patrick urged. “It’s turning away from that SA-4. We’ll be okay. Head back toward it and at least give me a chance of nudging it back.”

“No way.”

“Then descend,” Patrick said. “It’ll keep us clear of that SA-4. If we go below two thousand feet, it’ll lose us.”

“Two thousand feet! You expect me to descend below two thousand feet?”

“If we lose that StealthHawk, it’ll be the military and diplomatic embarrassment of the decade,” Patrick said. “A few more minutes, that’s all, Rebecca.”

Furness looked at Patrick with an expression of fear and anger — but she made the turn and pushed on the control stick. “Damn it, General, this better work — and fast.”

It did. As soon as they cruised back within the ten-mile arc of the StealthHawk, they were able to get it turned back toward them. They were fifteen miles inside the Turkmen border, but at least they were headed away from the long-range SA-4 missile site. The warning of the SA-4’s “Long Track” surveillance radar still blared in their ears — they were still being detected, possibly tracked. Patrick entered commands into the UCAV’s control computer, and the StealthHawk performed a rejoin on the EB-1C Vampire bomber.

Suddenly they heard a fast, high-pitched deedledeedledeedle! warning, followed by a computerized female voice that calmly said, “Warning, SA-4 missile launch, four o’clock, twenty-eight miles. Time to impact, fifty seconds…. Warning, second SA-4 missile launch, four o’clock, twenty-eight miles, time to impact, fifty-eight seconds.” The voice was so calm and pleasant that one almost expected it to sign off with “Have a nice day.”

“Damn you, General…!”

“We’ve got time,” Patrick said. “Once we get the StealthHawk turned around, we’ll be okay.”

“Puppeteer, what is going on up there?” David Luger radioed. “You just got fired on by an SA-4!”

“Thirty seconds and we’re out of here.”

“You don’t have thirty seconds!”

“We’ve got the ‘Hawk, Dave. Twenty-five seconds and we’ll be cleaned up.”

“You’re crazy, man,” Luger said seriously. “You won’t have enough time to accelerate out of there in time.”

“Countermeasures ready… trackbreakers active… towed array deployed,” Patrick said.

“Forty seconds to impact.”

“We’re going to get nailed if we don’t get out of here, General!”

“We’ll make it. Fifteen seconds.”

“Thirty seconds to impact.”

Suddenly Patrick said into the computer, “Let’s get out of here, Rebecca! I’m setting COLA. Go to zone five, now!”

“General…?”

“The SA-4s are speeding up — they’re diving on us,” Patrick said. “We ran out of time. Zone-five afterburners, now! Flight-control system to terrain-following, set clearance-plane COLA, ninety left!” Rebecca responded instantly — she shoved all the throttles forward to the stops as the EB-1C nosed over into a steep twenty-degree nose-low dive for the flat, moonlike desert floor below. Patrick’s order set their altitude for COLA — and with very little high terrain below them, they were heading to less than a wingspan’s distance above the earth. Patrick ordered the StealthHawk to activate all its radar sensors and open all its weapons bays — anything he could think of to increase the UCAV’s radar cross-section and make it look larger than the Vampire’s to the SA-4 missile-guidance radar tracking them….

Seconds later Patrick reported, “Lost contact with the StealthHawk! The SA-4 got it. Ninety left again, up and down jinks! Hurry!” Rebecca hauled the bomber into a steep bank, turning the EB-1C so they were directly nose-on to the SA-4’s radar, presenting the smallest possible radar cross-section, then furiously started yanking the control stick forward and back in sharp, fast cycles. They hoped the SA-4 would try to match their fast altitude changes and eventually crank itself off a smooth intercept track. “Trackbreakers on… chaff… chaff… Oh, shit, hang on!”

The SA-4 missile missed — but when it was only a few hundred feet away from the left side of the Vampire bomber’s nose, the missile’s three-hundred-pound warhead detonated. The cockpit was filled with a blinding yellow-red burst of light from the fireball. Patrick closed his eyes in time, but Rebecca was looking directly at it when the warhead went off. She screamed just as a giant invisible fist slammed into the bomber’s nose. It felt as if they were tumbling upside down out of control….

But when Patrick was able to get his bearings again, he discovered with surprise that they were still upright. One multifunction display on the pilot’s side was out, and two generators on the left side were offline, but everything else seemed all right.

All except Rebecca. “Shit!” she cried. “I can’t fucking see! You got the aircraft, MC!”

“I’ve got the aircraft,” Patrick responded. He issued voice commands to the autopilot and got the plane leveled off at five hundred feet above the ground, turned away from the SA-4 site, and heading for the Afghan border — in three minutes they were across. Between the city of Andkhvoy and the Turkmen border, Patrick started a climb, and in ten minutes they were at a safe cruising altitude, heading south across Afghanistan for a perilous Pakistani frontier crossing.

“Patrick, I’ve got the generators back online,” David Luger reported as he and several technicians studied the real-time reports datalinked from the stricken Vampire bomber. “Engines, hydraulics, pneumatics, and electrical are all in the green. We’ve got the aircraft. How’s Rebecca?”

“I’ll be all right,” she muttered. Patrick examined her eyes carefully and found no apparent damage. “I’m just flash-blinded, that’s all. It’s coming back. Give me a couple aspirins out of the medical kit and see if there’s any eyewash or salve in there.” She stared out her windscreen. “Hey, there’s something wrong here. I can’t see out my windscreen. Is it me or something else?”