Strike Zone

“They’re on us,” said Delaney.

Dog hit his chaff, then jerked hard to beam the Doppler radar guiding the missiles. The maneuver would put the Megafortress at a right angle to the radar, temporarily confusing it.

“FT-2000 is changing course,” reported Delaney. “It’s going for one of the missiles that was just launched.”

That’s our one lucky break, thought Dog.

“Raven—I need you closer. I’m going to lose Hawk Three.”

Dog jerked back toward the Flighthawk.

“Raven—you have to get closer.”

“I’m working on it, Zen,” said Dog. The throttle slide was at the last stop; he could hit the control with a sledge-hammer and the plane wouldn’t go any faster. “Wes, see if you can reach any of these units. Tell them we’re pursuing a cruise missile that’s going to attack Beijing.”

“But—”

“Do it, Wes,” said Dog. “Deci, try the control program Ms. Gleason uploaded earlier. I know we’re not in range yet but try it anyway.”

Lieutenant Deci Gordon was the other electronics operator. While he could dupe Wes’s controls, he was tasked at the moment to ID and fuzz radars.

“I have to clear the ECM board to load the program and use it. I won’t be able to bounce the radars,” explained the lieutenant.

“Do it.”

“On it, sir.”

* * *

Zen cut his speed, just barely keeping the connection to Hawk Three. The Flighthawk was undoubtedly a good deal faster and more capable than the plane he was chasing, but it was Raven’s speed that counted, and the big airplane was already huffing and puffing. All he could do was sit and wait, hoping Raven would catch up — and that the flak dealer Delaney was now warning about wouldn’t hit him in the meantime.

Maybe it would get the Taiwan plane at least.

Raven rocked up and down but stayed on its course. Zen cursed to himself, pushing forward against his restraint.

Come on, damn it. Come on!

He tried selecting Hawk Four, which had been out of contact since firing on the second fighter in the attack group. The feed from Raven showed where it was — about five miles out of range, launching an attack on one of the Chinese fighters.

It had already splashed two of the Sukhois. Not bad for a bunch of electrons.

Raven shuddered beneath him. Something had just hit the plane.

Stinking Chinese. They didn’t deserve to be saved.

Come on, baby. Come on.

Something rumbled on Zen’s right — shrapnel from a missile had taken a nick out of the EB-52. Zen felt himself sliding left, even though the Flighthawk remained level.

The targeting screen blinked yellow.

Ten more seconds and he’d be in range. He could see the fat belly of the Taiwanese bomb strapped to the fuselage of the UAV.

Raven stuttered in the air, her speed and altitude plummeting.

Nine seconds. Eight…

Connection loss in three seconds

“Dog! I need six seconds!”

* * *

Engine four was gone, and the oil pressure in three was dropping. The computer helped Dog compensate as Delaney struggled with the defenses.

“I’m losing Hawk Three!” shouted Zen over the interphone.

The computer — prudently — wanted to shut down engine three. But Dog stayed with it, squeezing the last ounce of momentum forward, trying to keep close enough so Zen could complete the shootdown.

Just wasn’t going to happen. Even the Megafortress could not defy all the laws of physics at the same time. The EB-52 shuddered violently.

He was going to lose it.

They had to get closer to the Flighthawk, or the whole mission would have been a waste.

Dog pushed the nose of the big plane downward, picking up speed. They had a good deal of altitude to work with — but every foot made them more vulnerable to the air defenses.

“Missiles!” said Delaney. His overstressed rasp sounded like an old man’s last gasp for air.

“Zen, I’m going to try and dive as close to Hawk Three as possible,” said Dog. “After that, we may be bailing.”

“Roger that,” said Zen. “We need more speed — I don’t have the Flighthawk.”

“Wes, can you try that program Jen gave us again?” he said. “Just broadcast it?”

“I’m doing it,” answered Deci Gordon.

The Flighthawk screen flickered.

“Control,” said Zen.

Red pipper.

Yellow — no shot.

Zen pressed the trigger anyway.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire you goddamn son of a bitch.

* * *

Dog could see a pair of flak guns starting to fire off his right wing. The Megafortress was still too high to be hit — but it wouldn’t be in about twenty seconds or so.

Come on, Zen, he thought. Come on.

* * *

Zen let off the trigger, seeing the bullets trail far short of his target.

Beijing lay about a hundred miles away. The Taiwan UAV was going to make it.

The computer buzzed with a fuel warning and put a script up on the screen: He had ten minutes of flying time left at present speed.

Figures, he thought.

The targeting screen went yellow. The Megafortress shuddered, then started to yaw hard to his left.

Connection loss in three seconds

We’re toast, he thought.

And then, either because its own programming called for it to pop up so it could detonate its bomb, or because of the program Jennifer had prepared, the UAV pulled its nose up. The maneuver made it lose speed. Zen’s targeting pipper went red.

He fired.

He missed.

The ghost clone climbed off to his right.

* * *

“Sukhoi on our back, five miles, four,” said Delaney.

“Stinger,” said Dog.

“We’re out of airmines.”

“Flares.”

“No more expendables.”