Dressed, with helmet bag in hand, he paused before closing his locker. He examined its contents, as he had done on every mission before. Morbidly, he knew that if he were shot down or killed, Sammy Lundeen would have the job of clearing out these little pieces of his life. Well, he had logged the same number of landings as takeoffs, so far. He felt for the ring, assured himself the pocket was completely zipped, then slammed the locker door and spun the combination lock.
They launched at twilight. Jake took the Intruder to 20,000 feet and cruised leisurely up the Gulf. Spectacular reds and oranges and yellows, afterglow of the setting sun, filtered through the clouds that lay over the mountains in Laos. Deep blues and purples began to vanquish the lingering gold. He had witnessed many sunsets and sunrises from the sky, but the pageant never failed to move him. Someday he would share a sunset aloft with Callie.
“The system looks real good,” Tiger announced. Jake engaged the autopilot. The steady beep of a search radar was clearly audible now. “Commie sonsuvbitches have found us,” Tiger muttered.
A falling star caught Jake’s eye. What could he wish for? To survive? To get back to Callie safely? He also wished for more stars, and as the minutes passed his wish was granted.
“I’ve got an update on the lighthouse.” The lighthouse on the Do Son peninsula, which jutted out into the mouth of Haiphong harbor, had not been illuminated for years. “We have six minutes to kill. How about a Six-minute turn to the right?”
Jake nudged the stick over, then released it. The autopilot held the warplane at the selected angle-of bank. “You’re pretty talkative tonight,” he told the bombardier.
“Checklist,” Tiger prompted. Together they set the switches on the armament panel, double-checked the ecm panels, and watched the compass and clock hands rotate. As they completed their turn, Tiger checked their position again. The steering on the vdi in front of the Pilot swung to the coast-in point. Jake caught Tiger’s eye for a second, then turned the autopilot off When they had descended a thousand feet, Jake turned off the exterior lights, IFF, and TACAN. “Devil Five Oh Oh, strangling parrot.”
“Black Eagle copies, Five Double-nuts.”
The plane descended toward the sea. The beeps of the enemy radar sounded closer together now. The Operator was in a sector search, painting them repeatedly, measuring their course and speed. Jake leveled off at 500 feet and allowed the speed to bleed off to 300 knots. “Three miles to coast-in,” Tiger informed him. The enemy radar was back on area sweep. perhaps their plane had faded in radar return from the sea.
Jake wiped the perspiration from his eyes an looked ahead for the silver ribbon of sand that divide the land and sea. A mile out, he saw it and the thin, wavering lines of breakers washing ashore. He thought of Callie on the beach.
“Black Eagle, Devil Five Oh Oh is feet dry.”
“Roger Five Oh Oh. Feet dry at 1919.” Fourteen minutes to the target.
The starlight reflected off the paddies and wide creeks flowing to meet the sea. No flak came up at them yet. The search radar still beeped, about once every twelve seconds, but at 400 feet over the table-flat delta they were invisible in the ground return.
From the left the first flak of the night shot out in their direction.
Jake concentrated on maintaining altitude and heading.
Tiger called the I P ; Jake flipped on the master arm switch and advanced the throttles to the stops as he laid the plane into the turn.
Halfway through the heading change a row of guns erupted ahead. The pilot saw the streams of tracer rise and reacted instinctively, rolling the plane almost ninety degrees to squeeze it through an empty space between the tracers. They were almost on the outskirts of Hanoi.
As he entered the gap another gun opened up.
Horrified, Jake momentarily froze as the molten finger of death reached for him. The Intruder shuddered from the blows; then, suddenly, it was through the flak into the dark void beyond. It was all over in less than a heartbeat.
As Jake rolled the wings level, the brilliant red of the left engine fire-warning light filled the cockpit. A look in the rear-view mirror showed no visible fire yet. But the exhaust gas temperature on the sick engine had risen to more than 700 degrees centigrade, and the RPM had dropped by more than ten percent. Jake felt the warplane shimmy through his seat, the floor, the throttles, and the stick. The bird was badly hurt. Quickly he shut off the flow of fuel to the left engine.
The bombardier leaned away from the scope hood and peered at the engine instruments in front of Jake’s left knee. “How bad is it?” The fire-warning light reflected off his helmet visor.
“Left engine’s gone. Do you have the target?”
Tiger put his face back to the scope hood. “Come left ten degrees.”
Jake centered the steering. He glanced at the miles readout between his knees. Eight more miles to The attack light lit up on the vdi, and Jake squeeze the commit trigger. As the plane slowed to only 300 knots the left generator dropped off the line. With oni could have the radar and computer on one generator they would but not the ecm. Jake’s earphones were silent, and it wasn’t because the gomers had shut down for the night. All the console lights on the bombardier’s panels were now dark.
Those lucky fuckers! Smacked us with a cheap shot. The hydraulic gauges captured Jake’s eyes. One of the two hydraulic systems showed zero pressure. An only one of the pumps in the other system was still working. Damn. From four pumps to one, just like that.
He looked at the computer steering symbol. Almost centered. The fire-warning light was so brilliant that he reached to cover it with his hand, but then it went out. The cockpit was dark again.
“Three more miles,” Tiger called.
More flak ripped the night. Jake tried to ignore it, and concentrate on flying a perfect run. Something ahead caught his eye.
A blazing streak of pure white fire hurtled toward them. Quicker than thought jake pulled back the stick and the enemy missile tore by. God, too close! Jake tweaked the nose of the Intruder, pointing it straight at the offending missile launcher.
“I’ve got the radar van,” Cole advised.
Jake watched the release marker descend the vdi. He savagely mashed the pickle to back up the computer- derived release signal.
The bombs did not release.
Jake pressed the pickle button again and again. No release.
He cycled the master armament switch, selected a manual release, and punched the pickle button. Nothing.
Heavy flak ahead. “Can you find it again?” he demanded of Cole.
“Yeah.
Jake lowered the left wing and turned south. This time he planned on jettisoning the bomb racks with the emergency release. The RockEyes would not spread out but would remain in their cases, attached to the racks. There’d be hell to pay when they exploded all together. “We’re not whipped yet,” he said to Cole. “Better tell em we’re in trouble.”
The bombardier got on the radio as they turned.
More fire from heavy weapons rippled through the air, but not too close.
Jake nursed the plane through the turn, frequently checking the pressure gauge for the lone hydraulic pump. Because the plane’s controls were actuated by hydraulic pressure, a violent jerk on the stick could overload the pump and leave the pilot dependent on the electrically driven backup pump, which had a very limited output. The backup pump was working-the BACKUP hydraulic light was lit on the annunciator paneut it would only give him enough pressure to operate the stabilator and rudder at reduced effectiveness. The tightrope was fraying.
“What type weapon do you want selected?” Dropping the racks was Jake’s only choice. Of the more than fifty preprogrammed options available to tell the computer about the ballistic trajectory of the weapons, none of the options fit the dropping of the entire bomb rack. So Cole had asked the crucial question.
“What do you think?” asked Jake.
“The racks will go down about like a retarded Snake, maybe a little flatter,” said Cole. “We’ll use that, and I’ll type in a correction.”
The pilot checked the airspeed indicator. Steady at 325 knots. Very slow, but they would pick up thirty knots
