three. Acknowledge, please.”
Benton, the flamboyant Texan Hornet pilot, replied promptly, “Asgard, this is Thor, and we’re on our way! Just let us at ‘em!”
Magruder put the mike aside with a faint smile. All the pieces were in motion now. As long as the Hornets and Intruders of the strike group designated Loki could hold the Russians’ attention for another half hour, the attack just might work out as planned.
“Break off, Banshee. Break off!”
Bannon cursed and obeyed the order from Commander Ralph Quinn, turning away from the Soviet battle group but keeping the Intruder right down on the deck. Ever since they had entered Harpoon range, the aircraft of Loki Flight had been skirmishing with their Russian opponents. The Hornets, armed for air-to-air operations, had seen their fair share of the action. Each time another plane rose from the Soviet carrier’s deck, one of Henderson’s Fighting Hornets would swoop in to engage, spreading a trail of chaff and flares in their wakes and dodging SAM fire from the ships.
But the Intruders, so far, had spent all their time setting up attack runs that they weren’t allowed to press home. It was all part of the original plan, of course, to harass the Soviets by continually threatening to attack. If they ever actually released their Harpoon missiles, the Intruders would pose no further threat, and that could undo the whole plan to draw the enemy planes away from the critical target to the east.
Knowing it was part of the plan didn’t make it any easier to keep breaking off, though. Since most of the Sukhoiz on BARCAP had been sent after Viper Squadron, the Soviets were open to a quick stroke now. It was just possible that they might actually inflict damage on the Russian carrier, and turn the diversion into a genuine triumph.
His Bombardier/Navigator, seated beside him, was looking at Bannon with an unhappy expression. “C’mon, Banshee,” Lieutenant j.g. Scott Gordon protested. “Ease up a little. You don’t have to make it look so damned realistic!”
“You want to end up on the wrong end of one of their SAMs, Gordo?” he shot back. “You just sit and think nice thoughts. I’ll do the flying, thank you very much!”
Maybe if he’d taken that attitude with Jolly Greene right from the start the accident might not have happened. He should never have let the man in the B/N position rattle him, no matter how big a hero he was or how important his position aboard Jefferson had been. There was only room for one pilot in an attack plane.
“Okay, Death Dealers, circle back for another run,” Quinn ordered. “Let’s see if we can get close enough this time to smell the borscht!”
Smiling for the first time in days, Banshee Bannon swung his Intruder into formation and started plotting his next run.
“Talk to me, John-Boy,” Coyote said. “Find me a playmate.”
“Bearing zero-four-two,” the RIO replied laconically. “He’s closing fast.”
Coyote banked right and thumbed his selector switch to the Sparrow setting. The targeting reticule flashed almost immediately, and he opened fire. “Fox one! Fox one!”
The missile lanced toward the target, but veered off suddenly and dropped toward the ocean below. The AIM-7 Sparrow was probably the least reliable weapon in the naval aviator’s arsenal, which was one reason why they were generally unloaded earlier in a dogfight. Their weight was another factor, since a Tomcat without Sparrows slung under the wings performed slightly better in tight maneuvers. That didn’t count today, though. He still had a Phoenix, and those were a lot bulkier and heavier than a Sparrow.
“Coyote! Watch your six!” John-Boy warned.
He twisted to look over his shoulder and saw the Sukhoi dropping into place behind his tail. “Damn,” he swore, throwing the Tomcat into a sharp turn. His adversary clung to him, and Coyote swore again.
“Tyrone! Tyrone! Get this bastard off me!”
The threat alert screamed a warning as the enemy targeting radar locked on.
“On my way!” Powers said, wrenching his joystick forward and to the left with a violent motion. He had let himself get distracted by a pair of Sukhois weaving a complex pattern around Sheridan’s Tomcat, and he wasn’t in the best position to save his wingman.
“Whoa, there, Tyrone!” Ears Cavanaugh protested. “Pass the Dramamine, for God’s sake!”
Powers ignored him as the Tomcat dropped like a stone toward the dueling planes. He rammed the throttles full forward and rolled to the right. The acceleration pressed him back into his seat, blurring his vision.
The two planes flashed on either side of the cockpit as he plunged between them.
“Good God!” Coyote exclaimed. “What the hell was that, Tyrone?”
The other Tomcat had flashed past almost faster than Coyote could react, right through the gap between pursued and pursuer. The sudden appearance of Tyrone’s plane must have startled the Russian pilot even more. The Sukhoi rolled left, losing its radar lock as he tried to dodge the crazy American.
Coyote banked sharply, trying to turn and line up a quick shot on the enemy plane. But by the time he finished the maneuver the Sukhoi was already chasing new prey.
It was Powers.
The Tomcat juked and weaved like a mad thing, but the Soviet pilot matched Powers move for move. “I can’t shake him! I can’t shake him!” the young lieutenant was shouting.
Coyote switched to Sidewinders and accelerated. It seemed to take forever to get the tone in his earphones that announced a lock-on. Finally he heard it, and his finger tightened convulsively. “Fox two! Fox two!” he called. “Hang in there, kid. You can-“
At that moment a missile jumped from the Russian’s wing. Tomcat and Sukhoi exploded at almost the same instant.
“Khrahneetyehly, Khrahneetyehly, this is Osa. Guardian, this is Wasp. Do you copy?” Terekhov bit off a curse. What was happening? The An-74 wasn’t responding to his calls, and radio communications in general were suffering from heavy jamming.
“Osa, Gnyezdo.” Glushko was hard to make out against the interference. “Guardian is out of action. The Americans shot it down. What is your ETA?”
Terekhov didn’t respond. Pieces of a puzzle were falling into place. The Americans had launched their attack without taking even the most basic precautions against detection, flying with their Electronic Warfare aircraft hardly functioning and not even taking advantage of radar distortion at low altitudes. They had wanted their approach to be detected.
And now they no longer wanted the Soviets to track them. Otherwise why waste time pursuing the An-74 when there were many more valuable targets available? And their jamming was suddenly more efficient.
An observant American would have noted Glushko’s caution in covering Soyuz from attack. Would the enemy feint toward the carrier as a prelude to striking the amphibious force?
“Wasp, Wasp, this is Nest,” Glushko said urgently. Wasp, what is your ETA? The American bombers are not pressing their attack yet, and we can crush them if you can just get here and join the fighting.”
The American bombers were not pressing their attack …
