“Five more minutes and we’ll do a U-turn, Frenchy,” Boomer said, then muttered, “C’mon, you chickenshits, shoot already. We’re right dead in your sights and we’re not jamming — take the—”
At that instant the two “bat-wing” symbols on the threat warning display depicting the MiG’s search radars started to blink.
“Here we go, Frenchy — hold on to your bloomers,” Boomer said. He jammed the throttles to max afterburner, then spoke, “Leopards online.”
“Missiles…still…tracking,” Moulain grunted through the nearly seven Gs. “Still…closing…”
“I’m almost…done…with these bozos, Frenchy,” Boomer grunted back. He pulled the power back at Mach 4 and kept pulling on the control stick until they were inverted. He rolled upright, his nose now aimed down almost directly vertical, then glanced at the threat display. As he hoped, the two MiGs were still transmitting radar energy, searching for him — the AA-12 missile, a copy of the American AIM-120 Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile, was homing in using its own on-board radar.
“Wondering where I went, boys? You’ll find out in a sec.” Boomer aimed the Black Stallion at a point in space where he thought the MiGs would be in the next heartbeat or two — at his relative speed, the MiGs appeared to be hovering in space, although the threat display said they were flying at almost twice the speed of sound. Just as he caught a glimpse of the black dots below him, he rolled left until he was knifing right between the two Russian jets. He had no idea if he had judged the turn correctly, but it was too late to worry now…
The MiGs were nothing more than imperceptible blurs as he flew directly between them, missing the closest by just fifty yards. As soon as he passed them he pulled the throttles to idle, deactivated the LPDRS engines to conserve fuel, used the MAW system to assist the spaceplane to level off without breaking itself into pieces — at their current rate of speed they would hit the Black Sea in just eight seconds without the Mission Adaptive Wing technology — and started a tight left turn just in case the AA-12 missiles were still tracking…
…but he didn’t have to worry about the missiles, because moments later they caught a glimpse of a large flash of light above them, then another. He rolled upright, let the G-forces subside, and scanned the sky. All they could see were two black clouds above them. “Payback’s a bitch, huh, comrades?” Boomer said as he headed westbound once again.
They had to chase down the tanker again and refuel because they had reached emergency fuel status in just a couple minutes with the LPDRS engines activated. The tanker crew was jubilant, but Moulain was even more quiet and businesslike than usual — she said nothing else except required call-outs. “You guys okay, Four-One?” Boomer asked.
“We got our dentures loosened big-time,” the tanker pilot said, “but it’s better than the alternative. Thanks, Stud.”
“You can thank us by giving us a little more gas so we can make it to MK.”
“As long as we have enough to make it to the nearest runway, you can have the rest,” the tanker pilot said. “And don’t even think about buying any drinks for any other gas-passer anywhere on the planet — your money’s no good with us anymore. Thanks again, Stud Seven.”
Less than an hour later the two aircraft made their approach and landing at Constanta-Mikhail Kogalniceanu Airport in Romania. The airport was located fifteen miles from Constanta and nine miles from the city’s famed Mamaia Beach on the Black Sea, so it was rarely affected by the freezing fog that shrouded the coastal city in winter. The U.S. Air Force had built an aircraft parking ramp, hangars, and maintenance and security facilities on the northeast side of the airfield, as well as upgraded the airport’s control tower, radar and communications facilities, and civil airport terminal. Along with NATO and European Union membership, the investments made in Romania by the United States had quickly turned this area known before only for its busy seaport and historic sites into a major international business, technology, and tourist destination.
The two aircraft were escorted to the security area by a small convoy of armored Humvees and parked together in the largest hangar. There was a lot of hugging and handshakes between the crews as they deplaned. They debriefed their mission together and then separately, with promises to meet up for dinner and drinks later in Constanta.
Noble and Moulain’s mission debriefing took considerably longer than the tanker crew’s. It took nine grueling hours to debrief the maintenance and intelligence crews, Patrick McLanahan on Armstrong Space Station, Dave Luger at Dreamland, and get their usual post-flight physical exams. When they were finally released, they cleared Romanian customs at the civil airport, then took a shuttle bus to the Best Western Savoy Hotel in Constanta, where the U.S. military contracted for transient lodging.
The Black Sea coast was not busy at all in winter, so except for a few airline crews from Romania, Germany, and Austria and some surprised businessmen unaccustomed to seeing much partying in Constanta in winter, the Americans had the bar to themselves. The tanker crew had already been partying hard and was buying drinks for anyone who wore wings, especially the foreign female flight attendants. Boomer was ready as well, but to his surprise he saw Lisette heading for the elevator to her room. He extricated himself from the arms of two beautiful blond flight attendants, with promises he’d be right back, and hurried to follow her.
He barely squeezed himself past the closing elevator doors. “Hey, Frenchy, turning in so soon? The party’s just getting started, and we haven’t had dinner yet.”
“I’m beat. I’m done for the day.”
He looked at her with concern. “You haven’t said much since our little run-in with the Russkies,” he said. “I’m a little—”
Suddenly Moulain whirled toward him and smacked him across the jaw with a closed right fist. It wasn’t that hard a blow, but it was still a fist — he was smarting, but mostly from the surprise. “Hey, what’d you do that for?”
“You
Boomer rubbed his jaw, still looking at her with concern; then he nodded and said, “Yeah, I could have. But no one pushes around my tanker.” He smiled, then added, “Besides, you gotta admit, Frenchy, that it was one helluva ride.”
Moulain looked as if she was going to punch him again, and he was determined to let her do it if it made her feel better…but to his surprise, she rushed forward in the elevator, threw her arms around his neck, smothered him with a kiss, and pressed herself against him, pinning him against the wall.
“You’re damned right, Boomer, it
“Jeez, Moulain…”
“Frenchy. Call me Frenchy, dammit,” she ordered, then silenced him with another kiss. She didn’t let him up for air for a long time.
“You were so quiet on the way back and in debriefing, I was afraid you were going into some kind of shell- shocked fugue state, Frenchy,” Boomer said as Moulain started kissing his neck. “You sure have a funny way of showing your excitement.”
“I was so excited, so turned on, so friggin’
“Dang, Frenchy, this is one strange side of you that I never—”
“Shut up, Boomer, just shut up,” she said as the elevator slowed on their floor. She had him practically unzipped and unbuttoned by then. “Just take me to my room and fuck my brains out.”
