weapons load would serve mostly as a backup to hers.
That was why most fighter jocks preferred the “loose deuce” formation, developed by American pilots during the Vietnam war. In loose deuce configuration, the two fighters kept a great deal more space between them, and depending on circumstances, one or the other might become the primary attack plane, with the second flying in the support and backup role.
Although he’d never admit it, Hot Rock not only liked flying welded wing, he preferred the wingman slot. It was challenging from a piloting standpoint, because a wingman had to not only anticipate his lead’s movements so as to maintain proper relative position on her, but do so while constantly scanning the surrounding sky for enemies.
This meant the wingman had to leave the most crucial battle decisions up to the lead.
And that was fine with Hot Rock, because such an arrangement almost eliminated the possibility that he might make a bad tactical error.
He followed Lobo as she flew a grid search pattern, drawing an invisible tic-tac-toe board over the approximate area where the business jet had gone down. Looking down at the water, Hot Rock glimpsed the occasional fleck that was a drifting cushion or other piece of flotsam. He was hoping to see a flare or spreading dye marker, or even a life raft. Nothing.
Of course, it was difficult to concentrate on searching the water, because he and Lobo were not alone in the air. Apart from the eight bogeys far overhead, two more were hurtling around at virtually this same altitude, probably conducting their own search. Twice already, Hot Rock had gotten a much closer look at them than he would have preferred as the Flankers cut across the Tomcats’ path.
He toggled the radio to tactical. “Viper Leader, they’re going to be just above us on the next pass,” he said.
“I know that.” Lobo’s voice was curt. “Be ready, but ignore them.”
Hot Rock started to reply, then toggled to ICS. “ ‘Be ready, but ignore them’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means to keep your finger over the weapons selector,” Two Tone said. “I’ll let you know when you need it.”
“You mean ‘if.’ ”
“Right.”
“Here they come,” Lobo said, eyes locked on the two Chinese aircraft crossing from her right. She felt sweat prickling her scalp as they closed in, everything moving too fast —
— and then the Flankers thundered overhead, so close the shock of their passing gave Lobo’s Tomcat a savage yank. For once, she was glad for the tight fit of the cockpit.
“Assholes,” Handyman said dryly.
“Looked like SU-27s,” Lobo said, as if she’d had all day to study the Chinese plane going by. “Guess they left the top-of-the-line fighters in the high-altitude hairball.”
“Yeah. Probably all the missiles these two are carrying are low-budget models, too,” Handyman said. “Now I feel a lot better about having them playing chicken with us. It’s — Lobo! Flare at two o’clock!”
She looked to her right and saw it, a red spark burning bright and hot even against the sunny sky. She immediately put in a call to the carrier. “Homeplate, Viper Leader. We’ve spotted an emergency flare. Repeat, an emergency flare; looks like it came from the area where the plane went down.”
“Viper Leader, this is Admiral Wayne. Maintain overhead orbit until SAR arrives. Don’t start anything, but make it clear we’re involved, understood?”
“Roger.” She rolled her eyes.
“Fifteen minutes,” Homeplate said. “Be advised a Luhu-class destroyer just pulled out of the harbor and is making flank speed to your datum. ETA twenty-five minutes.”
“A destroyer?” Hot Rock said, switching to ICS. “Great.” He knew that China’s
“We got other problems at the moment,” Two Tone said. “Like the fact that those two Flankers are coming back around on us.”
“They’re just doing the same thing we are,” Hot Rock said, forcing his dry lips to move. “Circling the flare.”
“And what about the six dudes overhead?” Two Tone asked. “Why do you suppose they’re there? Tour guides?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Hot Rock’s hands weren’t just sweaty inside his gloves now — they were slathered, and shaking a bit. Had been ever since those goddamned Chinese fighters galloped past, close enough to kiss. He sharpened his voice. “Our orders are to keep things clear for SAR, so we keep things clear for SAR.”
“But what if the Chinese get their SAR here first? Because I’m picking up a low-level return, bearing??… same bearing and distance as the destroyer. That’s gotta mean the Chinese launched a helo. And guess what? It’s going to get here before any of our eggbeaters do.”
SEVEN
Tai Ling gazed down through the golden haze of sun on water, searching for his prey. He couldn’t visually pick out the four fighters circling far below. His look-down radar showed they were there, and their relative positions, but he wished he could see them with his own eyes. It would make it much easier to recognize the signal when it came. He didn’t know what the signal would be, exactly, but he’d been told that it would be unmistakable.
He’d also been told that the Americans, unbeknownst to themselves, would be the ones to give it.
Speaking of Americans… Tai’s radar also showed the approach of four more fighter aircraft from the direction of the aircraft carrier.
The sight of those blips filled him with a strange emotion: half eager anticipation, half sick hope. The anticipation was the natural sensibility of any trained fighter pilot facing his possible first real dogfight. The hope was inspired by the unremitting memory of Hua Shih’s SU-37 exploding into a burning comet in front of him, its beautiful skin punched full of 20mm cannon holes. From Tai Ling’s cannon.
Although Tai knew that what he had done was essential in the long run, that didn’t make accepting the fact any easier: He had shot down one of his own men. His own section leader, in fact. And he’d done it from the trusted position of wingman.
The fact that he had himself been promoted to section leader following Hua’s “flame-out and crash” only made the memory of that day more bitter.
Perhaps making a true, man-to-man kill on an American plane would clean the slate, would erase the shame of what he’d done. Had to do. Perhaps even Hua would understand and applaud.
Focused again, Tai returned his attention to the radar and willed the Americans to come closer.
