muttered protest from Gator, then silence as the RIO blacked out.
The Tomcat responded beautifully, turning harder and tighter than he’d ever thought possible for her to do. He lost some speed in the maneuver, and drained off even more as he pitched the Tomcat nose high to track the MiG down. He punched the afterburners, felt the surge slam him back into his ejection seat, and again felt his consciousness start to fade. “Not now, dammit. Not now,” he muttered, fighting off the darkness. He eased the afterburner back, and felt the gray start to recede. But by then the MiG had already topped out, and was heading back down toward him.
“Fox two, fox two,” Kelly howled. “Bird Dog, break right!”
“Fuck you, Kelly,” Bird Dog howled. At the same time, he cut the Tomcat to the right as directed. No pilot in his right mind ever ignored a break command from a wingman.
But his forward momentum was just too great. Had she been more experienced, Kelly would have seen it. She would have known that Bird Dog could not get his aircraft out of the line of fire in time.
Bird Dog saw it happen as if in slow motion. The AMRAAM seemed to creep through the air, a long, white cylinder with stubby fins hurtling toward him, yet seeming to creep along at a snail’s pace. The MiG was still descending, picking up speed, and was now almost parallel with him. His Tomcat felt sluggish, and was just starting to come right in response to his order as the MiG passed by.
The AMRAAM seemed to gently caress the MiG, and then started disintegrating. Bird Dog howled, aware that they were close, too close, too damned close. He could see the other pilot’s face through the canopy, the Chinese’s expression masked by the oxygen mask and helmet.
Just as the MiG exploded into flames, his canopy popped off and he and Gator were spit out like watermelon seeds. He felt a moment of sheer, raw fear, hanging suspended in the air, his parachute not yet deployed, the ejection seat separating from its pan with almost painful slowness. He tried to twist his head around to see Gator, but couldn’t stop his motion tumbling through the sky.
The combination of excessive G-forces, ejection, proved to be too much. He felt his gorge rise, hot, foul liquid crowding the back of his throat. Bird Dog puked, then passed out.
Kelly watched in horror as the burning MiG airframe reached out tendrils of flame to stroke the Tomcat carcass. Shrapnel peppered the fatally wounded American aircraft, and thin spews of JP8 fuel sparkled in the air for a microsecond before the entire mass exploded into an incandescent fireball.
She stared down at the water below, ignoring the repeated calls from
“I’ve got ’em!” Tits said. “There, just forward of our nose. Two of ’em. Ain’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
It was, except for the MiG exploding into flames. In that brief millisecond when it had been her kill and her kill alone before disaster reached out to stroke her lead.
Finally, the incessant queries from
“What happened up there?” a new voice asked.
Kelly recognized it immediately as Batman. “I took a shot at a MiG, nailed him, Admiral. But Bird Dog was too close. He punched out just before the fireball got to him.”
“Are they okay?” Batman’s voice asked.
She shook her head, knowing he couldn’t see the gesture. “I have chutes. I’ll know more in a little bit.”
“How did you manage to get too close?”
“I don’t know exactly, sir. I called for a break right and took the shot. Maybe I called too late, maybe he didn’t break fast enough. I don’t know, sir.”
There was a long silence, then Batman said, “How are you for fuel?”
She glanced down at the fuel indicator and grimaced. “Five thousand pounds. Enough for a pass at the boat.”
“You want a tank before you take a shot at the deck?” he asked. What he really meant was, was she so shook up that she needed a couple of passes to get on board.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Well. Just concentrate on getting on board, now. We’ll sort this out later.” Batman’s voice was grave, but not unkind.
The Air Intercept Controller was on the circuit immediately, giving her a vector around the starboard marshal and into an immediate approach on the carrier. She followed his instructions carefully, precisely, forcing her mind to concentrate on the second most dangerous evolution any carrier pilot undertakes, right after tanking. Tits, unusually quiet behind her, simply murmured a few reassuring, “Looking good, looking good,” from time to time.
She rolled in on the deck on a perfect flight path and handily snagged the three wire. She waited, the Tomcat throbbing at full military power, until a yellow shirt stepped in front of her and indicated it was safe to reduce power. Then she eased the tailhook up, dropping the three wire, and taxied carefully across the deck and into her spot. She and Tits ran through the shutdown checklist quickly, and popped the canopy while the plane captain mounted to safe their ejection seats and help them out.
Finally, she swung a leg over the aircraft and started down the boarding ladder, the footholds that popped out from the side of the aircraft. She jumped off the last one, felt a slight jar run through her as she landed heavily on the flight deck. She heard Tits hit the deck behind her.
As she headed for the island, she noticed the hatch pop open and a rangy female figure step out. Short clipped blonde hair framed an iron mask of a face.
Kelly halted in front of Lobo and regarded her gravely. The older woman stood there, her face unreadable, her arms crossed in front of her. Finally, Lobo spoke. “You saw chutes, right?”
Kelly nodded.
Lobo closed the distance between them and slung one arm around her shoulders. “Well, then, he’ll be okay. He’s got Gator keeping an eye on him, you know.”
Kelly felt the first shiver of weakness go through her, and the carefully maintained fighter jock facade start to crumble. She tried to speak, found her voice was too gravelly, and stopped.
Lobo swung around to face her again. “Do not do this,” Lobo said, her voice low and dangerous. “Everything we’ve fought for — I’ve fought for — do not lose it now. I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you cry.”
Cold fury flooded back into Kelly. The tears that had started in her eyes dried and the lump in her throat vanished. She nodded tightly, then said, “Let’s go.”
Lobo shook her head. “No, not yet. I want you to understand this — shit happens up there, you know? I know, and Bird Dog sure as hell does. We all take our chances, knowing what can happen every time we strap a Tomcat to our ass. But that’s naval aviation, and you either learn to live with it or you get out. So that’s what you get to decide now, lady. Can you handle it? If you can’t, you might as well put those pretty little gold wings on the admiral’s desk as soon as you walk into his stateroom. Because if you can’t handle it, then you don’t have what it takes to be out here. You read me?”
Kelly lifted her chin and glared at the other woman. “I read you. Now, if you’ll excuse me — I’m quite certain that there are a number of people I need to talk to.” She marched off with Tits trailing close behind her. Tits shot Lobo an oddly grateful look as they entered the skin of the ship.
Lobo shook her head as she watched them go. The younger pilot didn’t understand now, but maybe she would someday. And whenever she did, she’d thank Lobo for what she’d just done.
Just then, the 1MC announced, “Attention all hands. SAR mission successful — two souls recovered. Alive. Well done.”
