release button. “Come on, man, you’re fouling my shot!”
But the Hornet and the MiG, almost equally matched in performance characteristics, had drawn themselves in to a close, tight circle, chasing each other, each trying for the tail shot, neither one willing to break out of the circle for fear of being the target. Thor circled above them, watched in frustration, hoping for a clear shot. Maybe if he went in with guns, and tried to pull them apart — yes, that might work. He was just starting in, closing to within one quarter mile when fire flashed in the MiG’s wake. Thor immediately pulled out of his approach, popping chaff and flares as he did so, but he knew instinctively that was too late. Just before the MiG’s missile reached him, his hand closed over the ejection handle and he yanked down.
He saw an explosion in the air off to his right. A pressure wave of air swept over him. The noise of the explosions was muted by the rush of air as he fell.
He was cold, so cold. And it would get colder yet when he hit the water below him. But, if everything worked according to plan, he’d be picked up soon enough. He debated for a moment pulling out his rescue radio, but immediately decided against it. Too much danger of dropping it. Randy had seen him, seen the chute, and the helos would be on him after he splashed down. It wasn’t like he could do a special forces midair recovery.
He saw it just then, a flash of silver off to his left, and swung himself around to face it. It was a missile — one of the cruisers? No, it was headed away from Bermuda. Damn, they’d gotten a shot off! And from the looks of it, the Aegis had missed it.
Thor was spinning around in a circle now, the result of the jet wash from Randy’s Hornet. Thor drew his legs up to his belly and reached down into a side pocket that ran along his calf. His cold fingers fumbled with its zipper, trying to find purchase, and eventually he managed to snag the metal tab. He jerked it open, then reached in and closed cold fingers around the even colder grip of his nine millimeter pistol.
He got two hands around the pistol butt, lifted it free of his pocket, and, operating on instinct, took aim on the missile that was broadside to him. He fired off three rounds, paused, then added another three.
At first, there seemed to be no effect. But, then he saw vapor streaming out of a hole in its side, enveloping the aft section in a white cloud. The missile veered sharply away then began tumbling ass over elbows out of the air, departing controlled fight in a truly impressive manner.
Thor watched with satisfaction for a moment. The motion of the parachute increased violently, an indication that he really needed to pay some serious attention to the risers if he expected to make it down to the surface of the ocean. He started to drop the gun, then tucked it down the front of his flight suit. He still had two rounds left, and no Marine ever wastes ammo.
The ocean surged up to meet him.
EIGHTEEN
With his binoculars, Maskiro could see tiny streaks of black smoke in the air to the north, indiscernible to the naked eye and just barely visible under magnification. His missiles, launching, heading for the United States with their deadly payloads.
For perhaps the thousandth time since Korsov had approached him, Maskiro wondered just how reliable the genetically targeted warheads would be. Korsov had wanted to refit all the long-range weapons with them.
Maskiro had not been convinced. Yes, it was a wonderful idea if they worked as advertised. Yes, he too would be pleased to see the American continent resettled with Russian citizens. But, try as he might, he could not convince himself that the plan was as infallible as Korsov claimed. So the new warheads were mounted on only one-third of the missiles. The remainder contained tried-and-true chemical, biological, and nuclear warheads. One way or the other, America would suffer.
And how was Korsov’s part of the plan proceeding? He tried to correlate what he saw with the chatter over the tactical circuit, but there was no way to be certain whose aircraft had been hit. He knew his resupply squadron would be low on fuel, and this battle had to be finished quickly and decisively.
Reports on the radio were complicated by the fact that there were far more kills reported than there were aircraft in the sky. If the pilots were to be believed, every Russian aircraft that launched a missile scored a kill — and that he found hard to believe. He felt an increasingly uneasy conviction that if Korsov were left to his own devices, the entire reinforcement squadron would be lost. And that was not acceptable.
“All flights, disengage. I repeat, disengage,” Maskiro said. “Break off as soon as consistent with safety of flights, and proceed due east. Then turn hard south, increase speed to maximum, and descend to three thousand feet.”
“Three thousand feet? Sir, our fuel reserves—” a voice said.
“I know about your fuel consumption rates,” Maskiro cut in, scowling. “If you descend to three thousand feet, I can fire over you at the Americans and they will break off long enough for you to land. You’ll be refueled immediately, and relaunch. Do it now. You can stay airborne long enough to win this fight.”
“This is not your decision,” Korsov’s voice cut in. “We agreed that the air elements were under my sole command.”
Rage rushed through Maskiro. Everything depended on having enough MiGs to maintain air superiority, and Korsov was risking everything. “Stay airborne if you will,” Maskiro said coldly. “But in one minute I am launching a massive antiair attack. You know that the missiles are supposed to distinguish between friend and foe. Are you willing to bet your life on it?”
There was silence on the circuit for a moment, then a reluctant, “Roger, acknowledged. Breaking contact, turning east.”
Shaughnessy studied the MiG’s maneuvers. First they broke into two segments, and now they were reforming into a single flight. A change of plans? But, why?
“Bird Dog, what do you think they’re doing?” she asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care. Kill ’em all and let God sort them out,” her lead replied immediately, firing another AMRAAM.
“But don’t you think that we—?”
“You don’t think. You do what I tell you. I’m not going to be responsible for you buying it on this mission, you got it? Now get back up to altitude.”
She wasn’t certain, but she was determined to find out.
NINETEEN
