“You have the weapons,” Qazi said carefully. “Fly to Benghazi. The fighters are late. It’s suicidal to continue to remain out here over the ocean with the Americans soon to be swarming and the Israelis on the alert. Madness. Go to Benghazi and announce your triumph. The Arabs will come to you like iron to a magnet.”
“I am the Messenger, returned to lead my people from the godless ways, to purify them—”
A member of the flight crew stuck his head through the door. “Excellency, the fighters are joining us with their tanker. We have them in sight.”
“East.
“
El Hakim seized the Uzi of the bodyguard who stood on his right, but the weapon was on a strap over the man’s right shoulder. The ruler pulled at it, trying to rip it from the strap.
“Excellency,
The ruler struggled with the gun as the bodyguard tried to pull the strap from his shoulder so he could pass the weapon.
“No!” It was Noora. She leaned across El Hakim and grabbed for the gun. “No! We are pressurized. The
Qazi was so tired. He raised the pistol from his lap and pointed it at the window beside him and pulled the trigger. The report was loud. A hole appeared in the crazed glass, then cracks as the scream of the escaping air dropped in pitch. Then the glass exploded outward.
The sun was well above the horizon now, an hour and ten minutes after launch. High above was a thin cirrus layer, but it would not soften the strength of the sun for at least an hour. The air was clear, visibility perfect, and Jake and Toad sat in the middle of it under their bubble canopy. The wings were swept full aft, sixty-eight degrees. The two men rode on the tip of this flat arrowhead.
Toad was busy with the radar and computer. He gave Jake a running commentary. “Six targets, two large and four small…. We can shoot anytime.” They were well within range of the two Phoenix missiles slung under the belly, million-dollar super-missiles with a maximum head-on range of over a hundred miles. Yet Jake had to be sure; he would not shoot until fired upon. “I figure,” Toad said, “that we have no more than another minute in burner before we have to bug out for Sigonella on a max-range profile.” Jake eyed the fuel. Maybe not even that.
Forty miles out Jake pushed the throttles forward to the stops. His speed crept up to Mach 1.9. He lowered the nose and selected the two Phoenix missiles on his armament panel.
“The little guys are turning our way. Fighters, most likely. Nice rate of turn. They’re accelerating toward us.”
The ECM beeped. Jake eyed it. A J-band warning from straight ahead. MiG-23s? If so, they were armed with guns and short-range missiles.
He checked the TCS. Toad had it locked on a fighter; a small dot with lines for wings. A head-on picture.
“Twenty-six miles. They’re over Mach 1, forming a line abreast.” The Tomcat was in a slight descent, passing 32,000 feet, speed Mach 2.1. The planes were closing at over 2,000 knots, a mile every two seconds. They would come together in less than a minute.
“Where are the big planes?” Jake asked.
“Proceeding east, range fifty-four now.”
“Don’t lose them.”
The tone from the ECM gear rose in pitch. One or more of the enemy fighters had switched to a higher pulse repetition frequency, trying to track him. These guys are gonna shoot!
“Mother of God,” Toad breathed. “Fifteen miles. Phoenix is fire and forget.” It would go with an active radar, illuminating its own target and steering itself to it.
The display in front of Jake had the targets numbered in the order of priority, one through four. Even as he glanced at it, Toad shouted, “
Jake squeezed the trigger on the stick. The first Phoenix left in a blaze of fire. It would go after the target with the highest priority.
He punched the chaff button on the right throttle four times in quick succession with his left thumb and looked outside. A thin smoke trail on a downward vector slightly left marked the Phoenix’ path.
The defensive countermeasures system was on automatic repeat; it should defeat the incoming missiles. He squeezed off more chaff while looking outside, trying to catch a glimpse of the oncoming machines and missiles in this age of superspeed war in the sky.
“Incoming’s gonna miss us … Phoenix tracking …
The large planes were shown on the display as targets five and six, now separating. Jake turned fifteen degrees left to intercept.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a planform view of a sweptwing fighter turning hard, vapor pouring off the wingtips as the pilot pulled maximum G. Even as the sight registered on Jake’s brain, he was by and gone, through the formation and hurling onward, nose still down a couple of degrees, Mach 2.2 on the airspeed indicator.
When the MiGs completed their turn they would fire more missiles, since it would be impossible to overtake him in a tail chase.
“Quick, the second Phoenix on that guy ahead turning south.” There was no time to spare. The nuclear weapons had to be in one of those two airplanes, and a missile from the MiGs might come up their tailpipe any second.
“Locked on,” Toad reported. “You can shoot!”
Jake squeezed off the last Phoenix. It, too, departed in a blaze of fire and was gone in a few heartbeats, accelerating to Mach 4 and climbing as it sought its target forty miles away.
“We’re at bingo fuel,” Toad said.
When the window blew out, Qazi was blinded by the dirt and trash that filled the air. His seat belt and handcuffs saved him. Eyes shut, he fought the hurricane that tried to rip him from the seat and hurl him bodily through the window.
And then the hurricane subsided, although the noise level remained unbelievably high. He opened his eyes and looked around. El Hakim was gone, as was the guard. Noora was lying on the floor at his feet, her head at an odd angle and her skirt up around her waist.
He became aware of a painful ache in his ears. And the plane was descending, its left wing down steeply. The wind coming in the empty window socket was very cold.
His hands were numb and blood oozed around the handcuffs where they had cut his wrists. He fumbled with the seat belt and got the buckle unfastened and used the pistol on the chain of the cuffs that held him to the arm of the seat. When he stood he swayed uncertainly, the pain in his ears still severe. He stepped carefully over Noora’s naked legs.
Jarvis was still in his seat. Apparently he had had his seat belt fastened. He looked at Qazi terror-stricken as the aircraft continued its downward plunge. The pain in Qazi’s ears was lessening, but he was beginning to feel light-headed. How high had the plane been?
El Hakim’s second bodyguard, who had been in the rear cargo bay with the weapons, came staggering through the door. Qazi shot him. He stumbled before he reached the fallen man and had to crawl toward him. The man was still alive. Qazi shot him in the head this time and seized the Uzi.
He lay there by the body gasping. His vision was coming back. And the wing of the plane seemed to be rising. He could feel the Gs pressing him toward the floor as the pilots fought to pull out of their uncontrolled descent.
When the Gs subsided, he pulled himself erect and went forward toward the cockpit, steadying himself with
