by Dale Brown
"I think I'm going to be screwed, blued, and tattooed when I get home."
"You're a hero, Annie," Deverill said. "You should be proud of what you've done. You should ... Oh, shit."
Duane stopped, and Annie glanced over to him to see what was the matter. She saw him staring out his right cockpit window. She looked-and saw why. The second Sukhoi-27 Flanker fighter was perched right beside them, less than a hundred feet away. Without the threat detection gear, the Flanker had been able to sneak right in and get a good look at them.
"Oh, hell," Annie murmured. "Busted."
"You gotta admit, that's some pretty good flying," Deverill said.
"Pretty good for a bastard who tried to blow two unarmed cargo planes out of the sky," Annie added. Now that the fighter pilot saw that the crew members of the bomber had him in sight, he turned on all of his exterior lights. The brightest light lit up his twin vertical stabilizers, which featured
the red star of the Russian Air Force. "A Russian air defense interceptor," she breathed. "Perfect."
"I'll bet he's not too pleased we blew away his leader." "How far are we from the Ukrainian border?" "Thirty-nine, miles."
"My God," Annie said. "Where the hell are those Ukrainian fighters? They should've rendezvoused by now."
"Sixty seconds out," Cheshire replied. "They've got you and the Flanker in radar contact."
"This bastard's right next to us, on our right side," Annie said excitedly. "If anyone farts, we're going to trade paint. Get em down here and help us!"
At that moment, the Su-27 moved in closer, less than fifty feet away, and a burst of cannon fire erupted from the rightwing leading-edge muzzle. Annie screamed into her oxygen mask. The Russian fighter pilot seemed to be sitting right next to her mission commander. They could both clearly see him making an up-and-down motion with a flashlight-the international signal for "turn and follow me, you have been intercepted."
"Kiss my ass, Boris," Annie said. "I'm not turning."
As if the Russian heard her, he maneuvered in front of them, then stroked his engines into zone one afterburner. The whitehot afterburner flame threatened to blow out their windscreen. The Russian fighter then smoothly, expertly slid back into impossibly tight formation, crowding them even more, and the Russian again made a "follow me" light signal.
"Genesis, this is Terminator," Annie radioed, the fear plainly obvious in her voice. "Where the hell are those Ukrainian fighters?"
"We see him," General Samson responded immediately.
"You've got three more inbound from Kiev, about one hundred miles southeast. ETA, five minutes."
"How about some help up here?" "Stand by," Samson replied.
" 'Stand by'?" Deverill shouted. "Boss, we need some help right now or we're going to get hosed."
"We're having some ... diplomatic problems," Samson said.
"Say again, Genesis?"
"Just hold your heading and keep coming for the border," Samson said. There was an unusual sense of urgency in his voice. Terrill Samson never got grim-sounding about anything. "Talk to us, General," Annie said, almost pleading.
"The ... the Ukrainian government is inquiring about the nature of your mission and the events leading up to this intercept," Samson said. "The Ukrainians won't engage Russian fighters unless they cross the border. I doubt if they'd try to take on a Russian Flanker even if they did cross the border. Ukrainian pilots are good, but they're not stupid."
"You mean, they won't help us?"
"You just hold tight. I'm going to brief the Pentagon and the White House by teleconference any minute now."
"Any suggestions?"
"Sure. But you don't want to hear them."
"Oh, shit," Annie breathed. "I'm not letting them have this plane."
"Try to make it to the border," Samson said. "Do whatever you need to do to keep those fighters off your back. Make up a plausible story. Use your feminine wiles on them, sweet-talk them, promise them a night they'll never forget, anything you can think of. They might be surprised enough to hear a woman on the radio that they'll leave you alone. They might be waiting for orders, too."
"And what if that doesn't work?"
"Just hope it does work. Stay calm. We're right here with YOU."
Annie ordered the computer to set the number-two radio to 243.0, the universal UHF emergency channel, and keyed
the mike button: "Russian fighter off my right wingtip, this is Annie. How are you tonight?"
"Unidentified American bomber aircraft, this is Unit TwoZero, Fifty-fourth Air Defense Fighter Regiment, Voyska Protivovozdushnoy Oborony, Zhukovsky,"
the Flanker pilot responded. "You are in violation of the sovereign airspace of the Russian Federation. You are ordered to follow me for landing at Zhukovsky. Do you copy? Over."
"Am I over Russia right now?" Annie asked, with all the feminine innocence she could muster. "My navigation system must be all screwed up. I thought I was over the Black Sea. Oh dear, this is pretty embarrassing. Why don't you just point me toward the Black Sea and I'll get out of your hair. Pretty please, commander?"
"I have observed your aircraft launch weapons at V_PVO aircraft, and I observe one of your weapons bays is partially open," the Flanker pilot replied angrily. "I suspect you of attacking and destroying a Russian air defense aircraft, and attacking Russian military forces. That is an act of war, and I am authorized to divert you to a suitable airfield for detention and interrogation of you, your aircraft, and your crew. You will be given all rights under the Warsaw Convention regarding treatment of airspace violators. I am authorized to take any actions I feel I must take to ensure your compliance. I order you to turn to a heading of one-five-zero immediately or you will be shot down."
"Hey, honey, you've got it all wrong," Annie said sweetly. "I didn't attack anyone. I've got two engines shut down and major damage to my aircraft. I don't have any weapons on board-this is an unarmed training flight. Do I look like a fighter plane? I was on my way to land and have apparently gone off course. If you can offer any assistance, I'm sure my company will reward you handsomely. I'll personally see to that. Just let me turn back toward the northwest, and I'll see to it that you're compensated in full. You have my promise, commander."
There was no response. The Sukhoi-27 Flanker merely pulled up and out of sight.
"Hey, Nancy," Annie said, "you see where this guy went?"
"He's at your four o'clock, slightly high," Nancy Cheshire replied. "Moving to six o'clock, one mile."
"We got any weapons yet, Dev?"
"Weapons just came on-line," Deverill replied. To the weapons computer, he spoke, "Ready Anacondas. Target aircraft at six o'clock, one mile. Attack."
11 Warning, configuration error, " the computer responded. "Warning, bay doors not ready. Warning, airspeed too lowfor safe weapon release. Stop attack. "
"Override configuration error," Deverill ordered. "Override airspeed inhibits. Emergency open forward bay doors. Launch two."
"Warning, configuration error override ... warning, weapon airspeed limit override, no safe separation ... warning, bomb bay doors not latched. " They received bomb door open indications as the computer merely unlatched the forward bomb bay doors and allowed them to gravity-fall fully open. Warning, launch command received, stop launch... "
"Annie! Dev! " Cheshire shouted over the satellite transceiver. "Get out! Get ... ! "
It felt as if they had crashed headlong into a brick wall. The Flanker pilot had fired two R-60 heat-seeking missiles at the EB- I C Vampire, and both missiles had hit the only operable engines on the right wing. The engines exploded, igniting jet fuel in the right-wing and aft body tanks.
Both Annie Dewey and Duane Deverill knew the time had come. When Nancy Cheshire issued her warning, their hands were already reaching for the ejection handles, and by the time the fireball engulfed the Vampire bomber, the ejection seats had already cleared the plane and they were blasted free.
High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center
(HAWC)
A short time later
"I've alerted the weapons teams, sir," David Luger shouted as he dashed into the battle staff area. General Samson and John Long were already there, checking computerized charts and satellite imagery of the shootdown area, along with several other staff and operational members from both HAWC and the I I I th Bombardment Wing. "They're ready to upload a full hard target penetration load on every Vampire we got. I've got the combat support team putting together an intel package and attack routing scenario to the shootdown area immediatelythey can have DTECs and flight plans ready to brief in three hours. I've also
called a secure dataconference meeting with ISA to put together a plan of action."
"Wait a minute, Colonel, just wait one goddamned minute," Long interjected angrily. "You HAWC guys are forgettingagain-that you don't command the I I I th. We don't just go launching off into space with bombs and missiles and start shooting everybody up, especially the Russians. We need authorization, and we need a warning order and frag order. We need to coordinate our efforts. I'm not going to start launching Vampires without a plan of action."
"There's no time for that," Luger shot back. He went to a nearby computer ten-ninal, calling up the maintenance status of their aircraft. "We can launch three birds in about six hours. In the meantime, we can divert Rebecca and Patrick to a refueling anchor over the Baltic Sea. We can also--"
"Hey, Luger, that's my job," Long inteiJected. "You don't work for Aces High."
"Get off your ass, Major!" Luger retorted angrily. "Annie is out there on the ground in goddamned Russia! We need to get her out of there now!"
"Colonel, Major, knock it off, now," General Terrill Samson cut in. "Everyone relax-"
"Relax? We can't relax!" Luger exploded. "Do you realize the danger if Annie or Dev gets captured by the Russians? Do you realize what the Russians do to captured fliers? Huh? Do you?"
"Dave, ease off-"
"They'll twist their minds, empty their brains, use drugs or chemicals or physical or mental torture to make you reject or deny everything you've ever believed."
"What in hell are you blabbering about, Luger?" Long asked. "You been watching too many spy movies."
Terrill Samson knew what John Long did not-that when David Luger spoke about being tortured by the Russians, he spoke from personal experience. He put a hand out toward his chief engineer. "Easy, David, take it easy-"
11 1 will not take it easy, sir!" Luger shouted. "You have got to put out an alert to every intelligence and special operations team within a thousand miles of that shootdown point-tell them to mount up and get a search-and-rescue operation started immediately."
Long shook his head in exasperation. Look at this hotshot HAWC smart-ass going to pieces, he thought. They're all a bunch of blubbering candy-asses. "Take a pill, Colonel-"
"Shut up, Long," Samson said. "David-"
"If you won't do something now, General, I will!" "Colonel!" Samson shouted. He finally stopped, but his chest was heaving as if he had just gone three rounds in a boxing ring.
Samson looked at his chief engineer with serious concern. Luger had reported his two contacts with the Ukrainian bomber forces commander, who happened to have been one of the test pilots at the same facility where Luger had been held captive years ago. He'd considered sending him off on leave while the
Ukrainians were at Nellis, to avoid any further complications, but he'd let Luger override him. He'd seemed just fine. Obviously, those two brief encounters
had dredged up a lot of very bad memories. "Stand at ease! That's an order!" Samson's booming voice finally seemed to shake Luger out of his nearpanicked anguish. "We're going to help them, Colonel, I promise you. But we need to devise a plan of action and get approval from Washington. Prepare your planes and get weapons uploaded right away, but I don't want anyone launching. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Luger said. He took a deep breath and wiped cold sweat from his forehead. Quickly, his tortured mind began to think rationally. "But if the decision is made to do a rescue, we should brief up the teams and launch as many Vampires as we can to forward strike locations. If Annie and Dev can evade capture long enough, we might be able to rescue them, but we need to get ISA units moving now. If the Russians capture and then release Annie and Dev right away, we'll just come home. But if they don't, we want to be in a position to nab them before they get moved all the way back to Moscow."
"I said, no one launches without my go-ahead. End of discussion." To Long, he said, "I'm preparing for a briefing to the National Security Council staff right now. I'll get you clearance as quickly as I can."
"Yes, sir," Long said.
"We are still receiving life signs," Luger said, checking the satellite communications server's readouts on Deverill and Dewey. "Still no voice contact. The longer they're on the ground, the better the chances of them getting caught. General, at least give us clearance to refuel and divert Furness and McLanahan in the mission backup plane. We can schedule a tanker and get it turned around in minutes."
"Request denied," Samson said. "Furness and McLanahan follow their original recovery routing back here-no alterations unless I get approval from the White House. That is all. Major, you're with me. We should be getting a videoconference call from the White House any minute." Luger was left with nothing to do, so he got ready to depart.
"Colonel, are you going to be okayT'Samson askedjust before Luger reached the door.
"I'll be all right, sir," he responded evenly.
"I would like you to assist in preparing available Vampire aircraft for weapons upload and launch in case we're given the go-ahead," Samson said. "John will be working with me here to get ready for the NSC brief. I'm sure it would be a big help to have you and Major Cheshire in the maintenance area supervising things." John Long said nothing, but nodded.
"I'll be over there if you need me, sir," Luger said.
"And David? Advise General McLanahan and Colonel Furness on what's happened." He paused, staring at Luger as if punctuating his next order: "I want them to continue on their recovery track. Under no circumstances are they permitted to try a rescue mission without prior authorization. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir. I'll advise them."
"Tbey can contact me directly via satellite if they have any other information, or if they have recommendations, but I want them to head on back otherwise," Samson said again. For some reason, he felt a strong need to repeat his orders to Luger. "No heroics. I don't want to lose any more aircraft over Russia." "Understood, sir."
David Luger went over to the maintenance hangar complex and briefed the chief maintenance officer, the chief civilian engineer, and the NCO in charge, on what was happening, but he was wise enough to let them do their thing without hovering around them. Besides, he was too angry and frustrated-at Samson, at Long, at himself-to think and organize effectively.
His mind drifted away to his friend and lover, on the ground in Russia. He activated his subcutaneous satellite transceiver and spoke: "Dewey, this is Luger... Heels, this is David--can you hear me? Please answer, Annie. Can you hear me?" His voice choked as he thought of her lying on the ground half a world away, and he too far away to help her. "Annie, answer me, please ... answer me, goddammit . .
No reply.
He understood General Samson's order. Sampson wanted to be sure Patrick returned-meaning, he fully expected Patrick
to turn around and fly cover for Annie and Dev. Luger knew what could happen if he disobeyed him-but also knew that Patrick McLanahan was Annie's best
hope to avoid capture. Samson could have contacted McLanahan himself via the satellite transceiver and directly issued the order to him. He was purposely vague about it. Did he want Patrick to fly cover---or was he passing the responsibility to his second-incommand?
A gain, Luger activated the worldwide satellite transceiver: "Luger to McLanahan."
"Go ahead, Dave."
"We've got a situation, Muck," Luger said, and he
ran it down for him.
"Come to a heading of one-two-five, right now, " Patrick said urgently. His mouth was dry, and his fingers shook as they flew across the large supercockpit touchscreen display. "Heading back to our due-regard point. Steering is good. Take it." The due-regard point was a special point in a flight plan where flights were "dropped" or "accepted," without any air traffic control agencies knowing or responsible for where the flight went-they were used primarily by classified military flights. They were currently over southern Norway, well out of range of any ground radar sites, but they still used satellite communications and GPS to call in their position to transoceanic air traffic controllers. "I'll call Oslo Transoceanic and get a clearance."
"Clearance? What in hell are you talking about?" Rebecca Furness asked. She had to paddle off the autopilot to prevent the EB- I C Vampire bomber from automatically following the new steering command Patrick had given. "We're not turning around and flying hundreds of miles back through Russian airspace. Are you nuts?"
"Rebecca, one of our planes just got shot down-one of your planes, a point you made very clear to me the other day," Patrick said. "Two of your crew members are on the ground in Russia. If they get captured, it'll be an enormous security breach for the United States. It'll be the military classified in-
formation discovery coup of the decade!" He scanned his flight information. "I can have us over the shootdown point in less than two hours. I'll download Annie and Dev's position from the satellite server, and Dave will upload the updated tactical order of battle to us, so we can-2'
"Hold on, General," Rebecca said. "Why didn't General Samson or someone from the Pentagon call us?"
"They're probably deciding exactly what to do," Patrick replied. "Terrill won't be in charge-it'll be someone at USAFE, or it might be turned over to the Director of Central Intelligence or Defense Intelligence Agency. It might take them hours just to decide who the hell is in charge. By that time, we can be over the shootdown point and helping Annie and Dev. If the Intelligence Support Agency or U.S. Special Operations Command launches a rescue sortie out of Turkey, they can be over the shootdown spot at the same time we arrive, and we can cover them. Let's go, Rebecca!"