The Vampire’s laser-radar arrays were tracking the AA-12s perfectly. They had just a few seconds to try to knock those missiles out of the sky — the MC-17 was sending jamming signals, but the AA-12s were still speeding dead on course, perhaps homing on the jamming. “Daren, get them!” Rebecca shouted.
“Attack AA-12s,” Daren ordered the attack computer. But even as he didso, he knew that it was going to be a very, very close call. The AA-12s had accelerated to Mach 3. The AIM-120s had similar range and speed, but it was going to be a head-to-head intercept — that was the lowest-percentage shot there was. If even one AA-12 missed by less than a few dozen yards, the MC-17 was going down.
Before the attack computer could acknowledge Daren’s order, he spoke, “Countermeasures to standby. Chaff, left and right. Chaff, left and right. Wings level, Rebecca. Electronic cloaking to standby.”
But then she looked again at the supercockpit display, and she understood perfectly. Just for good measure, she pulled the throttles on her EB-1C Vampire bomber to idle — to make it easier for the AA-12 missiles to acquire and track them. The tactic worked. Seconds later both Russian AA-12 missiles diverted off course, locked on to the unguarded Vampire bomber, and slammed into it.
Rebecca and Daren were ready — they could see the missiles coming on the supercockpit display, and as soon as they felt the impact, they ejected. They were well clear of the stricken bomber long before it exploded into a huge fiery mass of metal and fuel and plunged straight down into the icy Bering Sea.
10
Patrick, you copy?”
Patrick simply sat back in his seat, suddenly unable to move or speak. His aircraft commander, Summer O’Dea, looked at her mission commander with a mixture of sorrow and apprehension. She had never seen the Air Battle Force commander frozen in shock like this before. “General? Target inbound, sir — looks like a helicopter gunship or surveillance aircraft.” Still no response. “Sir, answer me.”
“Roger,” Patrick said somberly. He was airborne in the EB-52 Megafortress again, orbiting over Yakutsk and scanning for any threats or armed response. He had already launched one AGM-177 “Wolverine” autonomous-attack cruise missile, which had scattered over fifty bomblets in the path of a column of trucks and armored personnel carriers to keep them from approaching the base; the helicopter was the first aerial responder that morning. He touched the icon on the supercockpit display. “Attack target,” he ordered, his voice little more than a ghostly echo. Neither of them noticed the computer’s response, an AIM-120 missile firing from the left wing’s weapon fairing, or the computer’s report that the target had been struck. “Dave…?”
“We launched the Pave Dasher from Shemya — it should be on station in about forty minutes,” Luger said. “The MC-130P should be airborne in about thirty minutes to refuel the Dasher.” They had received an MC-130P “Combat Shadow” aerial-refueling tanker from the Alaska Air National Guard at Kulis Air National Guard Base at Anchorage to refuel the turboprop and helicopter aircraft. “We’ll find them, Muck.”
It was difficult — no, almost impossible — to get his mind back in the game, but he knew he had to do it before his sorrow and shock spread to the others under his command. “Status of the MC-17s, Dave?”
“Safe, over the Sea of Okhotsk with the other two Vampires tagging along. ETE ninety minutes. Rebecca and Daren were flying cover for the transports when they got hit — looks like they used their own plane as a shield.”
“We’re going to need to divide up Rebecca’s targets with the other planes.”
“In the works, Muck,” Luger said. “Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re receiving fresh updates on the SS-24s’ and -25s’ locations. They’re dispersing more of them out of their garrisons, but they still have at least half of the -25s in garages, and we can hit them anytime. The SS-24s are all on the move. I wish I knew if they were decoys or not.”
“We can’t afford to ignore them,” Patrick said. He knew they would not be — Dave Luger was on top of it. But they wouldn’t be ready to strike for several more hours, and a whole lot of things could easily change by then.
Nikolai Stepashin came into the conference room almost at a dead run, a message form in his hand. The president was looking over reports from all over the world, shaking his head — none of it was good. “How in hell did the press get the news about the attack on Shemya so fast, and in so much detail?” Gryzlov asked when he heard Stepashin enter the room. “The Americans must have reporters embedded right on board their airborne military command post.” He looked up and noticed the panicked expression on the chief of the general staff’s face. “McLanahan…?” Gryzlov asked, jumping to his feet.
“Unknown as yet, sir,” Stepashin said. “It appears our air base at Petropavlovsk came under antiradar-missile attack again.”
“What losses on our side?”
“Two MiG-29s from Petropavlovsk.” Gryzlov grimaced in surprise and disappointment. The MiG-29s were among the world’s best fighters, but they were taking heavy losses tonight. “The airfield itself is temporarily shut down — some bomblets were scattered on the runways and taxiways.”
“Have we done
“One fighter reported downing a large aircraft, type unknown, about sixty kilometers east of Petropavlovsk,” Stepashin responded. “No more attacks occurred after it was taken out, even though Petropavlovsk’s radar was down and there were no fighters on patrol for several minutes.”
“That’s good — that is very good,” Gryzlov said. “Whatever was hit must have been very costly to them. If McLanahan used unmanned attack aircraft to attack Petropavlovsk, perhaps the aircraft we downed was their control mothership; or, even better, perhaps it was a manned Megafortress or Vampire. Destroying one of those planes is akin to shooting down an entire flight of our best fighter-bombers. Americans have no stomach for protracted battle. If they can’t win in one night’s worth of bombing, or if they lose more than a few troops, they’ll go home.
“It hurt them, Nikolai, I know it did,” the Russian president remarked, wearing a rare smile. “McLanahan’s forces
He studied the wall chart of Siberia again. “He’s a little bit behind schedule,” Gryzlov said. “I would’ve expected attacks on Magadan or Vladivostok by now. I want ops-normal reports from every one of our Far East Military District bases every hour. Keep your men ready, General. In a very short time, McLanahan is going to attack. He knows now that he can be hurt. Let’s just see what he is made out of.”
Less than two hours after passing the Kamchatka Peninsula, sadly leaving their escort Vampire bomber behind, the two MC-17 cargo planes were safely inside hangars at Yakutsk, and the EB-52s and EB-1Cs were being loaded. The MC-17s brought in enough weaponry to completely load four EB-52s and two EB-1Cs, plus refuel the
