by Don Brown
"I understand, Kapitan. The captain of a great ship like the Alexander Popovich has heavy responsibilities for his ship and the lives of his crew and passengers." She touched his hand.
It must have been the effects of the wine, Batsakov thought.
"Please, do not feel bad. You have great responsibilities as a sea captain. Perhaps I will stay here and finish my wine and my meal, if that is all right with you, and then I will see myself out."
"Yes, I insist. And I also insist that you give me the privilege of seeing you again under different circumstances."
She smiled, and touched his other hand. "I am certain that our paths will cross again."
"Of that I am certain also." He stood and walked out of the stateroom and into the passageway.
He would see Masha Katovich again, all right.
He would see her when he blew her brains out and tossed her to the sharks.
What a waste.
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Three
Northwest of Grozny, Chechnya
Alexander Giorsky banked the supersonic Fulcrum in a large, swooping turn to the left, pointing the nose back to the southeast. Their target destination: the city of Grozny, the Chechen capital, which sat in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains, just at the edge of the Caspian Depression.
Giorsky's targets on this run included a warehouse on the northeast side of Grozny, a railroad depot, and a second warehouse.
"Sniper Two, are you there?" Giorsky was calling to his wingman, Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin, who was piloting the other MiG- 29 in this attack tandem. This was Staas's first combat mission, which Gior-sky knew would bring out the jitters in a man's stomach no matter how thorough the training.
"Sniper One. Still here, sir. Looping on your right wing. Awaiting instruction."
"Sniper Two. Descend to one-five-zero-zero. Lock on targets. Watch for incoming SAMS."
Unfortunately, the two powerful S-24B surface-to-ground rockets that each plane was carrying were unguided weapons. Thus, the MiGs had to swoop down low, get visuals on their targets, and then release their weapons in visual conditions.
"Descending to one-five-zero-zero. Following you, Kapitan."
Giorsky watched the altimeter spin in counterclockwise loops. 5000. 4500. 4000. 3500. 3000. 2500. 2000.
"Approaching one-five-zero-zero."
"Roger that, Kapitan, approaching one-five-zero-zero."
The altimeter leveled at fifteen hundred. "Sniper two. Hold at one-five-zero-zero. Follow me in."
"Holding at one-five-zero-zero, " Staas Budarin said. "Following you, Kapitan." The junior lieutenant's voice reflected a tinge of nervousness.
Giorsky focused on the ground, searching for the target identified as Warehouse Number 24.
He knew that the Sunzha River snaked through the city from the southwest to the northeast. Warehouse 24 and Train Depot 3 were located at the vortex where the railroad crossed the river just to the northeast of the city. According to the preflight intelligence briefing, Lieutenant Budarin's targets, Warehouses 25 and 26, were located adjacent to Giorsky's. That was a good thing. The less Staas had to think for himself, the better.
Giorsky's eyes followed the river through the city, out to the northeast. The railroad bridge came into view. And right beside the bridge, all four targets appeared! Adrenaline shot through his chest.
"Sniper Two! I have visual on our targets. Let us do one more loop, and approach targets from the northeast. Follow me."
"Sniper One. I am behind you, Kapitan!"
They did another wide, circling loop, this time heading back toward the southwest.
"Sniper Two, go to one thousand feet and prepare to release."
"Sniper One, I'm going to one thousand now."
The ground rushed below them now, and approaching rapidly in the distance, Giorsky saw Warehouse 23.
"Sniper Two. Release weapons. Now!"
"Releasing weapons!"
Giorsky pushed the firing button, freeing the powerful S-24B rockets from his plane. "Five – four – three – two." He looked down to his left and saw three warehouses and a railroad depot in smoke and flames.
"Good shooting, Staas!"
"Thank you, Kapitan!"
Giorsky glanced down for another look at their kill. This time, multiple flashes and bursts were coming from the ground. "Sniper Two!
SAMs inbound! Climb! Again I say climb!"
Giorsky pulled back on the stick and hit the jet's afterburners. The MiG shot toward the heavens. Explosions rocked the skies all around the aircraft.
"Sniper One, this is Sniper Two! I'm hit! I'm hit. Repeat, I'm hit."
"Okay, Staas! Okay! Hang in there!"
"I'm bailing out!"
"No! Do not bail. Repeat. Do not bail!"
Giorsky knew that bailing into the hands of Islamic Chechen rebels was instant suicide. He had to think fast… for both of them.
"Okay, Staas. Can you hear me?"
"Dah, Kapitan, I can hear you."
"Staas. Are you injured?"
"Stand by."
Static.
"Staas? Do you have control of your aircraft?"
"Kapitan, I can climb and descend, but I cannot turn the plane! Tell me what to do! I think I should bail."
"No! No! Do not bail. Repeat. Do not bail! Not yet. Listen, Staas, if you can continue your climb, follow me up. We must get above SAM range."
"Continuing my climb, Kapitan!"
"Relax, Staas. Everything will be fine."
Giorsky eyed the jet's altimeter. 2500. 3000. 3500. He looked around in the sky behind and below him, but saw only blue. "Are you still with me, Staas?"
"I am here, Kapitan. Still climbing."
"Do you have a visual on me?"
"Dah, dah. I see you."
"Good. Staas, you are doing well. Keep your eyes on me and follow me to ten thousand."
"My eyes are on you."
Captain Alexander Giorsky was not a praying man. But if he were, this would be the time to throw out a prayer for his wingman. The plane kept climbing. 8500, 9000, 9500, 10, 000.
They leveled off. Giorsky looked out to his right, just above him at eight o'clock. The MiG-29 was there, just off his left wing.
But the compass showed a bearing of one-eight-zero degrees.
Due south.
In a matter of minutes, Staas's plane would be over the airspace of the nation that the president of the Russian Republic had ordered all Russian warplanes to avoid at all costs. And since Staas could turn neither to the left nor the right, nothing could be done about it.
What to do? Giorsky considered ordering Staas back down to treetop level when they reach the Georgian border. But now, NATO radar on Mount Ararat and at other listening posts in Turkey had already spotted them headed toward the border.
"Sniper One. Have you checked our compass heading?"
"I see it, Staas."
Should he fly into the forbidden airspace with his wingman, which would involve disobeying the president's order? Or should he let Staas go it alone, crossing through a beehive of NATO fighter jets?
If Staas could make it just another fifteen minutes, even on this course, he would be back over Armenian airspace, where he could bail out to a far more friendly reception than Chechnya or Georgia.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Hold course. When you reach the Armenian border, bail out."
"What about crossing into Georgia? Are you coming with me, Alexander?"
What to do?
While Giorsky would welcome a scrap with an F-15, poor Staas, as green as he was, stood no chance against the more experienced American pilots even if his plane were fully operational. Without maneuverability, Sniper Two was a sitting duck.
The Georgian border was less than a minute away.
Giorsky pushed the stick down and to the left, banking his plane around in a big circle, back towards Grozny.
"Sniper One. Where are you going?" Staas's
voice shook. "Are you leaving me?"
"Nyet, Staas. I am not leaving you. I am only looping around to come in behind you. That way, I can better keep an eye on things. I will stay with you all the way to Armenia."
"Spaceeba, Kapitan."
"Think nothing of it. You would do the same for me."
A few seconds later, the planes crossed the northern border of Georgia.
CHAPTER 14
EC-2 Hawkeye
Codename Papa Bear
28 miles southwest of Kars, Turkey
The U.S. Navy EC-2 Hawkeye, with its twin propellers and dome on the top that looked like a giant flying saucer affixed to the aircraft, had taken off from the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz, operating off the northwestern tip of Cyprus.
The revolving dome atop the aircraft gave the Hawkeye the unique ability to watch all air traffic, military and civilian, for a range of five hundred miles each way. For the next four hours, the Hawkeye would quarterback all of NATO air activity for military missions over northeastern Turkey and Georgia.
From inside the plane, Navy Master Chief Rick Cantor monitored air activity over Georgia, Chechnya, and Armenia all afternoon. The screen showed that dozens of Russian sorties had been taking off from Erebuni Air Base in Armenia, flown to Chechnya through Azerbaijan, dropped their bombs, and returned along the same route.
No sign, however, of any Russian planes threatening Georgian airspace. Not until fifteen hundred hours.
Master Chief Cantor was sipping his last mug of coffee when radar showed two blips representing hostile aircraft heading straight for the Georgian border. Cantor squinted his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The blips were crossing into Georgian airspace from Chechnya!
Russian MiGs.
If not intercepted, their flight path would take them straight over of the Georgian capital city of Tbilisi.
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia
Eagle Three! Papa Bear! Be advised two hostile aircraft penetrating Georgian airspace in your sector! Course one-eight-zero degrees. Range twenty-five miles. Bandits flying south roughly along forty-five-degree east longitudinal line on course for Tbilisi. Intercept! I repeat, intercept!"
"Papa Bear! Eagle Three! We're on it. Plotting course for intercept!" A. J. Riddle made a wide, looping circle, bringing his Strike Eagle back on a course to the west. His wingman, Air Force First Lieutenant Travis Martin, followed suit.
"Eagle Four! Eagle Three!"
"Eagle Three, " Lieutenant Martin said.
"Travis, on my mark, hit afterburners. We've gotta cut these suckers off."
"Roger that, sir."
"Stand by, Travis. Three, two, one, now!"
Captain Riddle pushed his throttle to the floor. The F-15 rocketed to the west on an intercept course for the Russian planes. First Lieutenant Martin followed suit.
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
80 miles east of Tbilisi, Georgia
Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin was watching the plethora of activity on his radar screen.
Most of the white blips against the green background represented military flights by NATO aircraft crisscrossing the airspace around Tbilisi. So far, none of the NATO flights in the area had responded to the intrusion by MiGs into Georgian airspace.
Staas looked down at the mountainous terrain passing seven thousand feet below. At least there were no bursts of white smoke in sight. Of course, they were well above the range of most surface-to-air missiles. But the air-to-air variety caused concern, particularly the short-range Sidewinders and medium-ranged Phoenix missiles armed on most of the American interceptors.
Staas felt totally alone. Captain Giorsky, who was tailing him about two miles to his rear, had ordered radio silence until they were over Armenia.
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
45 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain A. J. Riddle looked out from the canopy of his F-15 Eagle at three o'clock. Adrenaline shot through his body.
"Papa Bear! Eagle Three! I've got two MiGs in sight! Bearing one-eight-zero. Headed straight toward Tbilisi. Awaiting your instructions."
"Eagle Three! Papa Bear. Orders from National Command Authority are as follows. Intercept. Intercept. Attempt to divert. If bandits enter Tbilisi airspace, attack. Repeat, if bandits enter Tbilisi airspace, attack."
A command relayed from National Command Authority meant that the president himself was involved in the order being relayed. That thought brought chills to A. J. as he repeated the order back to the airborne command post on board the Hawkeye. "Roger that, Papa Bear. Intercept. Intercept. Attempt diversion. Attack if Bandits enter Tbilisi airspace."
"Eagle Three, Papa Bear! Copy that, Eagle Three."
A. J. flipped the switch opening a direct channel to his wingman, Lieutenant Travis Martin. "Eagle Four, Eagle Three. I've got the lead guy, you take the rear. Our orders are to intercept, attempt diversion, but attack if bandits enter Tbilisi airspace. Got it?"
"Got it. Roger that, Eagle Three. I'm following your lead."
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
40 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Staas looked out the cockpit to his left. The F-15 Strike Eagle had swooped in from out of nowhere, and was matching speed about forty yards or so out to his left. Staas recognized the insignia of the United States Air Force painted on the side of the war bird. The American pilot was making all kinds of motions with his hand and was pointing to his left.
This hand signal needed no translation from English to Russian. The American was ordering Staas to "peel off."
Junior Lieutenant Staas Budarin had to somehow let the American know that turning was impossible, that they simply needed a harmless passage of overflight through Georgia for a few more minutes before reaching Armenia.
He held his palms up, and began pointing straight ahead, over and over again.
This seemed to make the American angrier. The pilot gave the "peel off" signal with a renewed vengeance. He was pointing to his left faster, and with staccatolike chops.
Captain Giorsky had ordered radio silence. But that was academic now. He must somehow tell the American that his intentions were harmless. He switched on an international hailing frequency on his radio and prayed that the Yank understood Russian. "Ya nee magu perverneetzyah! Ya nee magu perverneetzyah!"
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Eagle Three. Papa Bear. What is your status?" "Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Visual contact made. I'm getting angry hand gestures and transmission in Russian. Bandit refuses breakoff. Repeat, bandit refuses breakoff."
"Eagle Three. Papa Bear. Bandit entering Tbilisi airspace. Execute shoot-down order. Repeat, execute shoot down."
"Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Roger that. I'm breaking off to acquire firing position."
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain Alexander Giorsky had been watching this strange game of cat and mouse between the F-15 and his junior partner. Now the American seemed to be breaking off the pursuit. The Strike Eagle looped away from the Fulcrum, making a wide turn far out to the left.
Perhaps this was a good thing. Perhaps the American had understood the broadcast on the international frequency when Staas had said, "Ya nee magu perverneetzyah!" I cannot turn left.
Perhaps not!
The American was now looping in behind the Fulcrum, as if to acquire a firing position.
Giorsky decided to break radio silence.
"Fulcrum Four, Fulcrum Three. Bandit on your tail! I'm locking onto him. Hit afterburners! Now!"
F-15 Eagle
Codename Eagle Three
35 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia
Captain A. J. Riddle had trained for this all of his professional career.
Now th
e moment was at hand.
This was a moment that most American fighter pilots never encountered. Still, for this moment, most American fighter pilots would give their right arms.
The opportunity to engage a hostile enemy aircraft.
But reality was not what he had expected. Instead of the high adrenaline that he imagined would come at this moment, sobering reality chilled his body.
He was about to shoot down an enemy aircraft, if that aircraft did not shoot him down first. Someone would die. His adversary could be a family man, like him, with a wife and small children at home.
And even if the other pilot survived, women and children on the ground could be killed by falling wreckage from the aircraft.
Captain Riddle swung the Strike Eagle around to the rear of the Fulcrum, which was still on a course for the dead center of Tbilisi. He mentally reminded himself that the Russian had refused to peel off, and was engaged in a military sortie for the center of the capital of a nation that was a United States ally.
The S-24 surface-to-ground rockets that the MiGs typically carried could be targeted for any place in the capital, including the parliament building or the presidential residence. Its Alamo missiles and its can nons were a threat to NATO planes, including his own. The Russians had been ordered to stay out of Georgia. This pilot was taking hostile action by violating that order. The rules of engagement left only one option.
Riddle settled the Eagle into a chase position about a mile behind the Fulcrum, and five hundred feet above it.
Riddle armed missile number one, then fed the tracking data from the plane's radar into the fire launch computer.
Three seconds later, a red flashing light appeared on the console.
Target acquired. Target acquired. Target acquired.
Riddle felt that surge of adrenaline. His thumb pressed the fire button.
The AIM-9L Sidewinder missile dropped from the right wing about ten feet through the air, then ignited in a burst of flame and white smoke, streaking out in front of the F-15.
"Papa Bear. Eagle Three. Missile in the air!"
MiG-29
Codename Fulcrum Four
30 miles north of Tbilisi, Georgia