robots, though for now she was equipped only with two. The
The aircraft’s ECM suite had been updated as well. While not as comprehensive as the ELINT, or electronic intelligence, versions of the Megafortress, which could listen to as well as jam a wide range of communications, the
Her pilot, Captain Brad Sparks, was in some ways also a new version of the breed. Sparks had been at Dreamland as a lieutenant three years before, working briefly on the Megafortress project, where, among other things, he had helped perform a feasibility study on using the aircraft as a tanker. He’d transferred out just before Dog arrived, promoted to a captain and assigned to a B-1B squadron.
When Dreamland began getting involved in operational missions, Sparks realized he’d made a mistake and started angling for a comeback. He’d arrived two weeks before, and already he could tell it was the best decision he’d ever made in his life.
“Colonel Bastian for you,” said his copilot, Lieutenant Nelson Wong.
“Colonel, how goes it?” said Sparks, snapping his boss’s image on his com screen. The EB-52’s “dashboard” was infinitely configurable, but like most Megafortress pilots, Sparks kept the communications screen at the lower left, just below a screen that fed data and images from the Flighthawks.
“We’ve located another warhead, very far north,” Dog told him. “It’s in a lake. Looks like the Chinese are interested in it as well.”
“Hot shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“What do you need us to do, Colonel?”
“These are the coordinates of the site. The
“Thirty minutes,” said Sparks, though he knew he was being optimistic — the
“Be advised that the Chinese used long-range radiation-seeking missiles against us. They look like AA-10 Alamos but have at least twice the range. We took them down with Anacondas. We have two Su-27s approaching, and we’re unsure how they’re armed.”
“We’re on it, Colonel.”
“Alert me when you’re within ten minutes.” The screen went blank.
The cavalry to the rescue, thought Sparks before telling the rest of the crew what was going on. Getting back to Dreamland was the best thing he’d ever done.
Dog’s goal was simple — keep the helicopters from landing at the site. They were well within range of his Anaconda antiair missiles, but he had only two left. If he used them against the helicopters, he’d have only the Flighthawks as his defense against the Su-27s.
A much better option was to engage the fighters first, get them out of the way, and then deal with the helicopters. After telling Starship what was up, Dog turned the Megafortress in the Sukhois’ direction.
Unlike the MiG-31s, the Sukhois hadn’t followed him through his course changes. There was no question in his mind that they were heading toward the warhead site and had to be considered hostile, but he wasn’t sure if they were carrying long-range weapons like the other planes. He decided he couldn’t take the chance. His only option was to take them out before they were close enough to use their weapons.
“Range on
“Just coming up to 180 miles.”
“Stand by the Anacondas,” Dog told Sullivan.
“Standing by.”
“Target them and fire.”
The missiles whisked away from the Megafortress. Dog held his course, watching the MiGs continue to approach, clearly unaware of their impending doom. Only at the last second did they realize their danger, jerking desperately to the east and west as the missiles bore in.
It was far too late. The Anacondas exploded only a few seconds apart, obliterating the Sukhois so completely that neither crew could eject.
“The helicopters are all yours,” Dog told Starship. Then he dialed into the fleet satellite communications channel to tell Woods what was going on.
The harbin Z-5 Hound was a Chinese version of the Russian Mil Mi-4, a 1950s-era transport that typically carried fourteen troops and three crew members. Though the Chinese versions were improved somewhat, the basic design remained the same, a thick, two-deck fuselage beneath a massive rotor and a long, slim tail. The aircraft were pulling 113 knots, close to their top speed, flying twenty feet over the landscape.
They were easy prey for the Flighthawks. Starship kept the two U/MFs in a trail and took control of the first aircraft, flying a head-on attack against the lead helicopter. On his first pass he raked the cockpit and the engine compartment immediately behind it with 20mm cannon fire, decapitating the aircraft. There was no need for a second pass.
The other chopper tried to get away by twisting to the west, through a mountain pass. But the pilot miscalculated in the dark. By the time Starship turned
“Choppers are down,” Starship told Colonel Bastian. “I need to refuel.”
“Roger that,” said Dog.
To Samson’s great disappointment, Ray Rubeo had left Dreamland Command to supervise some tests in another part of the complex.
Samson didn’t intend to fire him — not yet, anyway. Given the administration’s interest in the missile recovery operation, there was no sense doing anything that might possibly derail it.
Or give critics something to focus on if the mission failed.
But he did want to put Rubeo in his place. And he would, he promised himself, as soon as possible.
“I’m not here to interfere,” Samson told Major Catsman. “I want you all to proceed as you were. But let’s be clear on this — I am the commander of this base, and of this mission. The Whiplash order is issued in my name. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Samson detected a note of dissension in Catsman’s voice, but let it slide. A bit of resistance in a command could be a good thing, as long as it was controllable.
“Update me on the process, please. Where specifically are our people? How many missiles have yet to be recovered? All of the details. Then I want to speak with Colonel Bastian, and finally Admiral Woods.”
“There is a bit of a time difference between Dreamland and the area they’re operating in,” said Catsman.
“I’m sure Colonel Bastian won’t mind being woken to brief me.”
“It wasn’t him I was thinking of, sir. Colonel Bastian is already awake, and on a mission. Admiral Woods, on the other hand…”
Samson smiled. He had tangled with Woods several times while deputy commander of the Eighth Air Force,
