jerked her up sharply by the hair, causing her to wince.
“Is that clear?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” Tomboy spat.
“Good.” Rogov shoved her back in her chair. “In my tribe, a woman is not permitted to wed until she has killed. A pity you have no such customs here.” He turned back to Tombstone. “And that you have so little control over your face and emotions, Admiral,” the Cossack sneered. “it is always dangerous to expose one’s weaknesses to an enemy, is it not?” Rogov turned back to his squad. “If the admiral does not order the ship to turn west in the next thirty seconds, you are to shoot her. Take her into the conference room, since I do not want a ricochet to damage the equipment.”
He turned back to Tombstone. “And I will ensure that you accompany them. I would not want you to miss the lesson especially arranged for you.”
Tombstone prayed that the fear and anger pounding through his body weren’t showing on his face. In his most impassive voice, he said, “She’s a naval officer, nothing more. You can’t force me to do anything by harming her.”
He felt Rogov’s gaze prying at the facade he carefully held in place. “Perhaps so,” the Cossack said finally. “Perhaps. Let me increase the stakes. Tell me, Admiral, have you been notified of a missing civilian vessel in the area? A large fishing vessel?”
Cold coursed through his body. “No, I haven’t,” he lied.
“I think you have. That fishing vessel was merely a demonstration of what one submarine can do to a ship. I believe you call the boat an Oscar.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with me,” Tombstone answered.
“That same submarine is now fifty miles astern of you. If you fail to comply with my orders, I will send every man and woman on your ship to the bottom of the ocean.”
CHAPTER 14
“Get us back in the fight,” Bird Dog snapped. Every second of the last five minutes of tanking, he’d felt increasingly impatient. Somewhere not so far away, the Bear-J orbited menacingly, datalinking down to the submarine aft of the carrier. Eliminate the targeting information, and the submarine was less of a threat.
“Bear’s on three-one-zero true, range ninety-two miles,” Gator announced. “No LINK data from Jefferson, but I’m holding him bigger than shit.”
“He’s alone?”
“Looks to be. Shouldn’t be much of a knife fight.”
“He carries some self-defense missiles, but I can shoot from outside his engagement envelope,” Bird Dog answered. “Right?”
“I think so. Probably.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“The best one I can give you,” Gator said, exasperated. “Look, I can read the latest Intel reports as well as the next guy, but are you willing to bet your ass — not to mention mine — on what they say? They’ve missed this whole skirmish developing, but you want me to tell you their offensive weapons data is the gospel? Sorry, Bird Dog. There’re not enough detections on Bear-J’s for me to be real happy about this.”
“They might have long-range air-to-air missiles? Hell.” Bird Dog slammed the Tomcat into a steep climb. “Nice of you to finally mention it. I think I’ll just grab a little airspace while I can. And I thought this was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“It probably will be,” Gator shot back. “I just don’t want you getting too complacent up there. Chances are that you can stand off at maximum range and blow his ass out of the air.”
“I’ll try the Sparrow first. Just inside thirty miles — no, let’s go on into twenty. That’ll give us a margin of safety.” The semiactive radar-homing AIM-7 missile used continuous wave or pulse-doppler radar for target illumination. It was more effective in a nonmaneuvering intercept than in a dogfight, as the Navy’s experience in Libya and Iran had proven. Later engagements during Desert Storm showed improved performance from the new solid-state electronics and better pilot training, but most pilots were still reluctant to count on it close in.
“Might as well,” Gator agreed. “if nothing else, you’ll dump some weight off the wings and improve our fuel figures. Be more maneuverable, too, since you’ll dump five hundred ten pounds per missile.”
“Like I need maneuverable against a Bear.”
“And like I said, there’s a chance he can fight back. You got missiles inbound, maneuverable’s a real good thing to be.”
“If he’s carrying long-range air-to-air missiles, that might explain why he’s out here without fighter protection,” Bird Dog said suddenly. “That’s been bothering me, trying to figure out why he’d be out here all alone.”
“It might at that,” Gator said, ending the sentence with a harsh grunt as the G-forces tugged at his guts. “That never did make much sense. The Russians aren’t ones for subtle, probing feints. They’d rather slam you with three waves of Backfires and MiGs.”
“Okay, let’s assume he’s got something new on his wings. I think we have to, seeing as how we’re the only CAP out here. Is he going to let me get inside Sidewinder range?”
“Ten miles? Maybe. But remember, his exhaust isn’t going to be screaming out at the infrared homer like a jet on afterburner. You might want to get in closer. Besides, one hundred eighty-six pounds of Sidewinder’s not going to slow you down like a Sparrow still on the wings.”
“This is crazy,” Bird Dog said suddenly. “We’re talking about ACM with a Bear. Let’s get real.”
“Like you said, we’re the only friendlies out here. If that means we got to be a little more cautious than usual, then we live with it.”
“How far now?”
“He’s at forty miles,” Gator replied. “Still in a starboard turn — no, wait. He’s shedding some altitude. Now at fifteen thousand feet.”
“Okay with me. I’m going to get a broadside shot at him.”
“I don’t like it. What’s he doing at fifteen thousand? And still descending.”
“Where’s the sub?” Bird Dog asked.
“Twenty miles to the north. The Bear’s pattern’s been taking him almost directly overhead.”
“And that Oscar might have surface-to-air missiles on her, too. Just dandy.”
“Something to watch out for,” Gator agreed. “Range now thirty miles.”
“I’m ready. We’ll go in to twenty.”
The seconds clicked by too slowly. Bird Dog bit his lower lip, tried to will time to move faster. The selector switch was already toggled to the Sparrow, and his finger was poised to twitch. That’s all it would take — an almost infinitesimal movement of his finger, he’d take the easy shot at the Bear, and then they could — could what? With the carrier under the terrorists’ control, there was no assurance that they’d have anywhere to land. Adak was too far, and ditching in the hostile sea below was unthinkable.
“Now,” Gator snapped.
His finger moved of its own accord, toggling the weapon off the wing. The Tomcat jolted abruptly to the left as its center of gravity shifted.
“He’s still heading for the deck, increasing his rate of descent,” Gator reported. “Now passing through five thousand feet.”
“Sparrow’ll catch him,” Bird Dog said grimly, “Mach 4 ain’t peanuts.”
“Shit, he’s got almost zero speed over ground,” Gator muttered. “He must be damned near vertical.”
“Wouldn’t you be? His only chances are getting lost in sea clutter or having the Sparrow go tits up. I’ve still got a lock — let’s put the other one on his tail.”
