“Wasp Flight, this is Wasp Leader,” Terekhov said crisply. “The attack on Soyuz is a fake. The real attack will be against the invasion fleet. We will return there.”
Banking sharply, Terekhov set his new course. The diversion had very nearly worked. But he still had time to get back and join the land-based planes in defending the transports.
Glushko would demand his head for this disobedience, but that didn’t matter any more. Terekhov knew right from wrong, knew what he had to do to save the campaign in the face of the American trickery.
“No doubt about it, Commander,” Owens said glumly, pointing to the plotting board. “Those Russkie bastards have turned around. They didn’t take the bait after all.”
Magruder stared at the flashing symbols, a sinking feeling taking hold of his guts. This had always been possible, of course. But the Russians had seemed to fall for the trap. This sudden change of course could only mean that some Russian squadron leader was showing an unaccustomed amount of individual initiative. He should have expected something like that after seeing the reports on the well-conceived operation that had nearly wiped out the Vipers. There was at least one Russian out there who was too smart to be taken in.
It was down to a simple matter of mathematics. Strike Group Thor, heading for the invasion fleet, was slow, too slow. The MiGs had double their effective speed, and a lot less distance to travel to get back into position over their transports. And the planes in Thor wouldn’t be able to make much of a showing against determined opposition. True, the Hornets carried some air-to-air weaponry. The plan had called for each to release a Harpoon before closing in to deal with the reduced escorting aircraft. But they would be hard-pressed to outfight two full squadrons, both dedicated entirely to air-to-air operations. And the other planes in Thor had never been designed with dogfighting in mind.
There were no options left. They had to call off the attack, or watch twenty American planes go down in defeat to no good purpose.
With one daring move, that unknown Russian pilot had just saved his fleet and condemned the Americans to stand by and watch helplessly as Bergen fell and freedom was extinguished in Norway.
CHAPTER 24
Magruder reached for the microphone, feeling dead inside. They had come so close …
“Asgard, Asgard, this is Odin,” Coyote’s voice boomed from the speaker. “The Sukhois are on the run! I think they’ve had enough. Request instructions, over.”
Tombstone swallowed and studied the plotting board again. There was still a chance to stop those Russians … but only if the Vipers could get to them in time. If only he had gone up with them. He knew that he and Batman could have done it, just like at Wonsan and in the last wild fight of the Indian Ocean intervention …
He shook his head. He didn’t have to be up there. Coyote and Batman were two of the best, and the rest of the Vipers were as good as he had been three years back. It was time he realized that the torch had been passed on.
Magruder’s fingers closed around the mike and he spoke with sudden animation and urgency. “Odin, this is Asgard. New orders. Proceed toward Target Thor, repeat Target Thor. Use any means available to support Thor Strike against enemy aircraft. Do you copy, Odin?”
“Odin copies,” Coyote came back, sounding cool and calm, more like his old self than he’d been for a long time now. “We’re on our way, Stoney!”
He bit his lip, deep in thought. It was an unplanned diversion of the Tomcats, and that could play havoc with the logistical side of the operation. The Vipers were as fast as the enemy MiGs, so they should be able to close the range before Thor Group arrived on the scene. But by the time they finished those F-14s would be flying on fumes. He would have to send a Texaco to rendezvous with them.
There was something else he could do too to turn up the pressure on the enemy. If they wouldn’t respond to a threat, perhaps they would react better to something stronger. He raised the microphone again, and now he was smiling.
“All Lokis, all Lokis, stand by for new orders.”
Bannon cocked his head as Magruder’s voice came from the radio. Was Jefferson ordering a recall already? It was early for that, according to the mission timetable … unless something had gone seriously wrong.
“Loki Flight, primary target is now designated active. Repeat, active. Commence attack runs.”
The words sent a thrill through Bannon. This was what he had been waiting for! He felt his grip on the yoke tightening. “You heard the man, Gordo. Time to send them a little something to remember us by!”
Quinn formed them up into two waves of four Intruders each, with the Hornets thrown out ahead in case any more interceptors tried to block the attack. Bannon was part of the second wave, holding back from the battle until the first four planes had taken their shot at the Soviet carrier.
“Tighten up your formation,” he heard Quinn order as the Intruders dipped low over the ocean and started their run. “Watch those SAMs …”
“They’ve got a lock on me!” another pilot shouted.
“Climb! Climb! Drop some chaff and climb!”
The radio crackled once. Then Quinn announced somberly, “They got Hoops.” That would be Lieutenant Commander Jack “Hoops” Wilson.
“Firing,” another voice announced calmly. Seconds passed. “Shit! Defensive fire’s too damned heavy!”
Then Quinn again, sounding disgusted. “Second wave, take your shots. We didn’t even scratch ‘em.”
Bannon pushed the throttles ahead and swooped down, ready to start his attack.
“Range?” Coyote demanded.
“One hundred fifty miles,” John-Boy replied. “Still closing … one-thirty now.”
Coyote flipped the selector switch to the Phoenix setting. “All right, Vipers, let’s get some value for the taxpayers’ dollars. Make every one count.”
“Don’t I always?” Batman interjected. Somebody else, probably Malibu, was chuckling.
“Minds on the job, boys,” Coyote admonished. “Batman, you’ll just have to pretend.”
“One hundred ten miles,” John-Boy announced. That was the maximum range of a Phoenix, but Coyote didn’t want any slipups.
There were just four of them left, Coyote and Batman, and Sheridan and Lieutenant Joe Travers, running name “Shorty.” The other Tomcat had gone down during the brief struggle with the Sukhois, about the same time as Powers. Seven Phoenixes — all the reduced squadron had left — wouldn’t account for all of the defenders by any means, but they would surely disrupt the Russians. And the Vipers still had a few Sidewinders and Sparrows ready for when they closed the range.
“Ninety-five miles, Coyote. I’ve got one in my sights.”
He held his fire a few seconds longer, then hit the stud. “Fox three! Fox three!” The Phoenix dropped from its hard-point and ignited, driving across the darkening twilit sky.
The others joined the cry in chorus. “Fox three!”
