The jagged road twisted and turned across what looked like a dry streambed. A dozen men were riding on the backs or tops of the four vehicles, which had their lights out.
“Starship, you with me?” asked Danny Freah.
“Yeah, here we go, Captain. This is a live feed.” He banked, and took another run up the road, this time from the rear of the column. “Four trucks, a dozen guys or so hanging on them. They’re moving pretty slow. About forty minutes away from you, maybe a little more.”
“Yeah, listen, take a run all the way up that road for me again, OK?”
“On it.”
Starship tucked the Flighthawk through a nearby canyon, then back up and over the low mountain before falling into the valley the road ran through. One of the passes was so narrow that the computer gave him a proximity warning as he shot through. Starship ignored it, tucking the Flighthawk to the right to stay with the trail.
He took a quick look at
“You see that ledge on my side of that tight pass?” Danny asked as Starship climbed over the recovery site.
“I think I know which one you mean.”
“Any chance you could get some rocks into it?”
“You mean start an avalanche?”
“That’s it.”
“Let me take another look.”
Starship brought the airplane around and swooped toward what looked like a sheer, solid cliff. He wasn’t sure the relatively small missiles the Flighthawk held would do much.
Now that he had the idea planted in his head, however, he started hunting for a place where it might work.
“There’s a spot about two miles south of you where a bunch of boulders are piled against the side of the road,” he told Danny. “There are some small trees holding them back, but I think if I put the missiles there we’d get something on the road. Downside is, if it doesn’t work, I won’t have any missiles to use against the trucks.”
“Give it a shot,” Danny told him.
“Roger that.”
“Indian fighters are passing the Flighthawk, still coming for us,” said Daly at the radar.
“Let’s move farther north,” said Englehardt. “Let’s see how far we can bring them.”
“Should we target these guys or what?” asked Sullivan. “They’re just about in range to fire at us.”
Englehardt started to say no, then reconsidered. If he let them fire first, could he avoid their missiles
He started to reach for the radio to ask for instructions, then stopped. His rules of engagement covered the situation — avoid firing except to protect the mission, and himself. He didn’t need authorization from anyone, or advice.
If he called Dreamland Control, he’d look weak, wouldn’t he? That’s what he was really worried about.
So what was he going to do? Was there a threat or not?
Colonel Bastian had been right to bump him the other day. He couldn’t make a decision.
Screw it.
Just make a decision. Either way. Do it.
He took a breath.
“Hold off on the Anacondas,” he said. “If they get hostile, we have a bunch of things we can do.”
“Roger that,” said Sullivan, not sounding particularly convinced.
The computer helping Starship fly the Flighthawk beeped at him when he boxed the rocks at the side of the cliff on the weapons screen, asking if he was sure he knew what he was doing.
“Confirm target,” said Starship.
The computer replied by turning the small aiming reticule red. Starship pressed the trigger button at the top of his stick and began dumping lead into the pile of rocks. They disappeared in a cloud of dust.
A fine mist of dirt still covered the area when he swung back, and even the Flighthawk’s radar couldn’t see whether the road had been blocked or not. Starship continued past, moving down the road toward the Indian column a few miles away. Apparently they’d heard the commotion; the trucks had stopped and the men were crouched around them and in the nearby rocks.
As Starship turned to come back north, the computer warned him that the MiGs were past
“
“We’re going to lead them away from the ground party,” replied Englehardt.
“Well, yeah, roger that, but they’re inside fifty miles.”
“I know where they are, Flighthawk leader.”
Starship changed course, angling in the direction the
He went back to
“You seeing this, Danny?” he asked Captain Freah.
“Roger that,” said Danny.
“Good enough?”
“It’ll have to do.”
Jennifer jerked back as the leds on the larger of the two circuit cards in front of her began to flash.
“Danny, I need the helmet right now!” she yelled, still staring at the lights.
Danny plopped the helmet down on her head, catching her ear in the process.
“Ray, I have blinking lights here,” she said, trying to make her voice sound calm. “What does this mean?”
“Move the helmet a bit so we can see,” said Rubeo.
“Jennifer, locate the green wire with the white striping at the left, and snip it.”
“Snip it? You told me five minutes ago we weren’t cutting anything.”
“The thinking has changed.”
“Why?”
“Ms. Gleason, there comes a time when you have to let the pilot fly the plane. Just cut the wire.”
Jennifer leaned over, took the narrow-headed wire cutters from the blanket where she had laid it out, and moved her hand carefully beneath the circuit board. Gingerly working her fingers against the strands, she separated the wire from the bunch. Her hand shook slightly; she steadied the cutters against their target with the forefinger of her other hand and snipped.
Then began promptly cursing, because she had caught her finger as well.
“Jennifer?” asked Rubeo.
“The lights are out,” she said, looking at the tiny balls of blood that seemed to percolate up from the red line on her finger where she’d caught it. “The LEDs are out.”
“Very good. One more step and the warhead can be moved.”
“How good an electrical conductor do you think blood is?” she said as the small spheres turned to a large drop and oozed off her finger.
