by Dale Brown
"It's clean," Liu said behind her.
"All right," said Danny. "Next objective is the cave where the submarine was, beyond that dock and the breakwater there. Piranha reports no vessels inside, but there may be people."
"I'd like a chance to help in the search for our people on the Osprey," said Dancer. "I think we should do that first."
"I think we can assist the search while we're looking for an entrance to the pen," Danny told her. "We need to get the divers in before we take on the cave. The Shark Boat too. I don't want to start an assault, or a possible assault, until we have all the possible entrances covered anyway. I'll check on what the possibilities are while you take charge of the search. Why don't you take Sergeant Liu and two of your Marines with you?"
"Thank you, I will," said Dancer. "And I'm holding on to your sergeant's hat. Does this thing get baseball games?"
"Only Yankee games."
"Those are the only ones I watch."
"Hey, Captain! I got people! Up here in the second tier of hovels."
Dancer and a Marine trailed Danny as he trotted up the hill and then climbed a short set of rock steps to Boston. The sergeant was holding his M4 on a pair of frail-looking women. One was middle-aged, the other in her early twenties. They wore heavy black clothes with veils drawn over their faces.
"I have a couple of civilians," Danny said over the Dreamland Command circuit. "I need the Arabic translator."
"He's on the line," said Major Catsman.
As Danny started to ask for the words "We mean no harm," the younger woman jumped up.
"Grenade!" yelled Boston.
Without thinking, Danny threw himself at the woman. Boston tried to grab the grenade, which flew up into the air. Twisting back, Danny saw it hover a few inches above his head, an old Russian-style weapon.
He also saw very clearly that its pin had been pulled.
Aboard Baker-Baker Two
0025
Starship took Hawk Three down to 25,000 feet, running head-on at the first element of MiG-29s. The aircraft were moving fairly quickly, around 600 knots. They were fifty miles away from his nose; the combined speeds of the aircraft meant they'd run through each other's windshields in a little more than three minutes if nothing changed.
Hawk Four paralleled Three by two and a half miles. Star-ship took control of the plane directly and started a slight turn farther east. "Intercept doublet pattern Zen-Two," he told the computer, naming a preset tactical maneuver that Zen used so often it had been named after him. While the contingencies of the encounter could immensely complicate what happened, the outline of the plan was simple: Hawk Three would engage the flight nearly head-on, attacking the lead plane, which was running a bit farther west and higher than the second MiG. Hawk Four would angle in from the east, aiming for a tail attack on the second MiG as it broke and ran or moved to help its mate.
"Real" pilots probably wouldn't have chosen the attack — for one thing, they'd be flying aircraft with missiles capable of engaging the enemy at long range — but the plan took advantage of the Flighthawk's strengths. The computer was much better at making close-quarter rear-end attacks than it was at any other angle; in fact, it was probably as good as Starship was, so letting C3 take the plane and follow that attack plan gave it a high chance of success. The small profile of the aircraft meant that neither plane would be detected by the MiGs' radar until practically the moment that Starship began firing. He'd not only be able to begin the engagement on his terms, but probably fire and be beyond the enemy fighter before it even knew he was there.
If he missed and both Yemen aircraft went after Hawk Three—the aggressive and logical action — Starship could easily turn and continue to concentrate on his original target, even if the enemy's wingmate maneuvered to get on his tail. That's what he wanted it to do, since it would give Hawk Four an easier and more predictable target. And if both planes turned to run away, they would be sitting ducks, at least until their afterburners helped them regain momentum.
Ironically, the strongest answer to Zen-Two was to split and take each Flighthawk head-on — then go for afterburners and cruise home at a couple of times the speed of sound. While it was unlikely to yield a kill for the MiGs, it also presented the Flighthawks with the least amount of tango time — and the higher the tango time for the Flighthawks, the higher the tomb time for the opponents.
One of Kick's favorite sayings.
Kick's not here, Starship thought. Time to let him rest.
"Hawk Three? What's your situation?" asked Breanna.
"Lining up for an intercept. Weapons are ready."
"Roger that," said Breanna. He heard her switch over to the frequency the Yemen pilots were using and broadcast a prerecorded warning in Arabic that they were approaching a U.S. aircraft and were to turn back.
"No acknowledgment," said Spiderman after a few seconds.
"All channels," said Breanna.
The warning was repeated, again without an acknowledgment. Just for good measure, Spiderman repeated it in English.
"They certainly know we're here," said Telly, the airborne radar warning operator. "Their fuzz busters are probably hotter than a toaster in a boardinghouse."
"Intercept in zero-two minutes," said Starship. "What's your call, Captain?"
"They're activating weapons radars!" said Spiderman. "Trying to lock on us!"
"Hawk Three and Four, engage enemy aircraft," said Breanna.
"Roger that," said Starship, leaning closer to the screen.
Northern Somalia,
on the ground
0023
The woman's grenade floated in the air ten inches from Danny's head. As he started to cringe, his body bracing for the shock, an ebony-shaded hand appeared from nowhere, grabbing the grenade and in the same motion throwing it out toward the sea.
A blackness filled his eyes in the next second. He became
blind.
Then he was falling, crashing against the rocks, pulling the woman who'd tried to kill them against the ground.
The grenade exploded somewhere below. Danny rolled and pushed upright, his only thought for his pistol, loose in his holster. He gripped the woman unsteadily, then managed to throw her to the left, away from his gun. She continued to struggle, grabbing something from her body. Three shots rang out and she fell back, then tumbled down the hill.
Danny rolled to his feet. "Thanks, Boston," he said.
"The lieutenant grabbed the grenade and threw it," said Boston. He pointed to Dancer. "She shot the bitch too."
"She had another grenade in her dress there," said Dancer, motioning with the gun. Her voice had a tinge of regret. "Fortunately she couldn't pull the pin. Crazy."
"You better search this one," Danny said, pointing to the older woman on the side. She'd either fainted or been knocked unconscious. "Let's make sure we're secure here before you go anywhere else," he told Dancer. "And thanks."
"My pleasure, Captain."
Aboard Baker-Baker Two
0023
The thing Starship couldn't figure was: Why make it so easy for us? Why attack at all? We're just going to shoot you down.
The lead MiG did not see the Flighthawk, either on radar or visually, until the computer turned Starship's firing cue yellow. By then it was too late for the MiG to do much of anything. Undecided about whether to fight or flee, the Yemen pilot attempted to do both, launching an all-aspect R-73 heat-seeker at the Flighthawk and trying to tuck hard on his right wing and roll away.
The R-73—known to NATO as an AA-11 Archer — was an excellent weapon, able to accelerate to Mach 2.5 and guided by an extraordinarily sensitive infrared seeker in its nose. But even the best infrared seeker — and the R-73 certainly was in the running for consideration — had trouble picking out a relatively small target like the Flighthawk head-on, especially in an encounter where seconds loomed like hours. Starship flicked left as the enemy started to turn, only vaguely aware of the air-to-air weapon's flash. His cue t
urned red; he counted "one-two" to himself and then fired, sliding the nose of the Flighthawk down slightly to keep the stream of bullets on the MiG's wings. By the time the R-73 missile flew past the Flighthawk, the MiG that launched it had burst into a U-shaped ring of red flames.
Starship pulled off abruptly, afraid the explosion would spray debris in the U/MF-3's path. He cleared without getting hit, and corrected slightly north to line up an intercept on the second group of aircraft, some thirty miles away.
He wanted to execute the same plan, but Hawk Four was having trouble with the MiG it was assigned to nail. The Yemen pilot turned toward the Flighthawk's path before Hawk Four was in range to fire, and the computer changed its attack pattern. It managed a few shots as the two planes passed, the MiG heading farther west. By the time Hawk Four came around and got on the Yemeni plane's tail, it had launched a pair of R-27R radar missiles — not at the Flighthawk, but at the Megafortress guiding her.
Starship blocked out the sounds of the crew responding in his headset, taking control of Hawk Four himself to press the attack. Anticipating that the MiG would try to run home, he cut back north, slamming the throttle — and sure enough, the MiG swept back, accelerating so fast that even though he'd expected it, Starship nearly missed the shot.
Nearly wasn't good enough for the MiG driver, though — Starship punched two dozen slugs through the rear engine housing, crippling the aircraft as surely as a knife slicing a horse's knee tendons. The pilot bailed a few seconds later.
Starship turned back north, trying to get into position to take the run on the second element of Yemen aircraft. But Hawk Three was now too far ahead to pull the same maneuver; he had to settle for what they called Train Attack One— one ship in a deep trail, reacting to whatever was left after the lead aircraft made its attack. He jumped into Hawk Three just as the computer closed in for the kill; he got a red in the target screen and pressed the trigger. The computer was too optimistic — his bullets trailed downward, and the MiG jinked hard to Starship's right. This element of aircraft was flying parallel, and Starship flew through without another shot. He banked to get behind the flight, turning as sharply as he could, the small plane recording more than eight g's on her air frame.
Flown by the computer, Hawk Four lined up for a head-on shot at the easternmost MiG, which hadn't changed course. Starship let the computer hold onto the Flighthawk and angled toward the other plane, which had begun to dive to the west.
"Hawk Three, we're going to take those MiGs out with missiles," said Breanna. "We have another group of four MiGs taking off from Yemen. Meet them."
"Hawk Four is engaging," said Starship.
"Pull off," said Breanna.
"Roger that," he said reluctantly, overriding the computer.
* * *
Breanna waited until Spiderman got a lock on the second aircraft to give the order to fire. The AMRAAM-pluses clunked off the launcher, whipping forward from beneath the Megafortress's belly.
"Close it up," she told her copilot.
"They're locking — launching the Alamos."
"ECMs."
"Jesus, Captain, they're scrambling their whole air force," said Telly. "I have that group of four MiG-29s, and now two MiG-21s, four MiG-21s coming out of the north. They're going for broke."
"So are we."
* * *
Starship had his pick of targets — four MiG-29s and six MiG-21s had joined the playing field. The MiG-29s were more serious threats to the Megafortress, and closer besides — he set the two Flighthawks up for a run at their front quarters from the east. This time the attack was a no-brainer, with the enemy planes spread out at easy intervals. Despite the two earlier encounters, they were unaware of the Flighthawks and took no evasive maneuvers as Starship approached.
The cockpit of one of the MiGs materialized in the center of his firing screen, the image complete with the bobbing head of the pilot. Starship hesitated — it seemed inhumane for some reason to target the man flying the plane rather than the metal itself — but then squeezed the trigger. The rain of lead flowed across the aircraft for perhaps two whole seconds, twice as long as the Flighthawk's cannon needed to obliterate the Russian-built machine.
A second aircraft appeared almost immediately. Starting to ride the adrenaline high of the encounter, Starship fired even though the gear showed he didn't have a shot. He scolded himself and turned right, just in time to witness the computer's first score of the night with Hawk Four—a screaming attack from above that tore off the right wing of one of the MiGs.
As Starship hunted for his own target, he got a warning from the radar warning receiver — one of the MiGs had man aged to turn and was on his tail. He pulled the MiG with him in a dive and then a tuck to the right, weaving back to the left and then pulling up with a twist to the left. The MiG hung with the smaller plane, very close to its tail but not quite lined up for a shot. Sweat rode down Starship's back as he ducked left then right, then left again. The Flighthawk flicked in the sky, changing course so sharply that a live pilot would have been knocked senseless by the heavy g's. Finally the MiG shot past. Starship waited a second for his wings to steady, then zeroed out his opponent with a steady burst.
As the plane exploded, a second fighter came into view; Starship immediately turned to close for an attack. But he'd lost so much airspeed already that he got a stall warning — it was a wonder, between his maneuvers and the effect of the cannon, that he wasn't moving backward. Feeling cocky, he slammed his wing down and circled in the direction he figured the MiG would take. The Flighthawk moved sideways and down, more brick than anything approaching a controllable aircraft. Part of it was luck, but Starship managed to put the Flighthawk on the tail of the MiG and begin firing. He was too flatfooted to get more than a few bullets into the other aircraft, and when the MiG pulled away, he had to let it go.
He turned to check the sitrep screen to reorient himself when he got a warning buzzer from C3—he was low on fuel. Very low — ten minutes.
"MiG-21s are moving to engage us," Spiderman told him. "Eight of them. They're five minutes from missile range."
"I need to gas up," Starship said. "Both planes."
"This isn't a good time," Breanna told him.
"It's a lousy time," said Starship. "But I'm almost bone dry."
"We're being tracked by a surface radar," added Spider-man. "SAMs — we're spiked! They're firing!"
Aboard the Abner Read
0030
"Hit on Sonar Contact One!" said Weapons, relaying the news that one of their torpedoes had struck the Libyan submarine.
"It's about time," said Storm. "Eyes — status of that submarine?"
"Still trying to determine, sir."
"Weapons — torpedoes five and six?"
"En route and true."
Hallelujah, thought Storm.
"The submarine is dead in the water," said Eyes.
"Time to impact on torpedo five is three minutes," said Peanut. "Six is right behind."
"Stay on him."
"I'm trying, Storm," said the executive officer. Storm detected some of his pique at being bypassed creeping into his voice but didn't comment on it; he'd take care of the man later on, reward him for his patience.
He'd reward all the crew members — best damn crew in the Navy, bar none.
Storm turned his attention to the rest of the battle. All of the vessels coming from the targeted base area had been struck, but there were other ships in the vicinity, which he guessed must be part of the pirate fleet. They would have to neutralize as many as they could.
His move against the submarine had taken him in the direction of three ships identified as small patrol boats by the Megafortress; these were heading out from the coastline to his west about eight miles away. Shark Boat Two had engaged a similar-sized craft three miles beyond them. Storm decided that since the Abner Read was already headed in that direction and the land objective had been secured, they would cut off the three patrol craft and stand
by to render assistance to the Shark Boat. He told Bastian to remain over at the pirate camp, supporting the landing team and Shark Boat One.
The rules of engagement required the ships to positively identify any craft not at the landing site as a pirate before opening fire, unless they were fired on first or represented an immediate threat. Storm had communications issue a warning to the three patrol craft, telling them that they were interfering with a UN-sponsored operation and were to return to their ports.
"No answer," said the communications officer.
"Peanut, target the patrol craft identified as Surface Contacts Fourteen, Fifteen, and Sixteen."
Peanut issued the command. As it was being passed along, Eyes reported that the Libyan submarine had opened its torpedo tubes.
"Weapons, what's the status of the torpedoes?" said Storm. "Five is sixty seconds away."
"Torpedoes in the water!" warned the computerized threat indicator.
The twenty-one-inch torpedoes carried by the enemy submarine were heavier and deadlier than those Storm's ship had launched and in theory had a longer range — as much as fifty kilometers. As the crew began to respond, Eyes reported that torpedo five had detonated prematurely, too far from the submarine to damage it.
Storm stifled a curse, struggling to control his anger. He would get the bastard — he would get all of the bastards — but to do that he had to remain calm.
But remaining calm was not his strong suit.
"Dreamland EB-52 Wisconsin to CAG Tactical Command," said Bastian over the Dreamland circuit. "The other Megafortress is engaging fighters from Yemen. We'd like to go to their assistance."
"We need you to stand by," said Eyes. "All of our forces are engaged with the enemy."
"They're under heavy attack."