by Dale Brown
If not, and their mission ended in failure, he felt 'very confident he could punch them both out of the aircraft.
It was without a doubt the biggest warload the Metyor- 179 had ever carried: a pylon with one R-60 air-to-air missile and one Kh-73 laser-guided one-thousand-kilogram bomb under each wing, two Kh-73 bombs in the internal weapons bay, and four R-60 missiles in the internal wing launchers for emergency use only. The R-60s on the wing pylons were a lastminute suggestion from Yegorov. His logic was simple: the Tyenee was most vulnerable with the two big bombs on those pylons, so why not carry some extra insurance? When the external bombs were expended or if they got jumped before the target area, they could use the two extra missiles to fight their way out, jettison the bombs and pylons, and use their stealthiness to get away. It turns out they were not needed, but Yegorov proved he was definitely in charge of this mission and this aircraft.
The navigation system was as tight and as accurate as could be during the short flight from Codlea to Tirane. The radar warning receiver bleeped during most of the flight, especially near the Macedonian and Albanian capitals, but no fighters or antiaircraft weapon systems ever appeared to challenge them. Yegorov. had made Fursenko some drawings of what the German embassy might look like in the targeting display, in case he had to refine the aim, but the targeting box was right on the correct building all the way, so Fursenko didn't have to touch a thing except to be sure the weapon arming and release switches were in the proper setting for the bomb run, which of course he could do with his eyes closed-after all, he'd designed and positioned each and every one of them, and he
knew to the smallest detail exactly what had to happen to get a successful weapon release.
But Fursenko did not have his eyes closed-and lie saw everything, including the thousands of persons filling the streets near the German embassy. One
one-thousand-kilo bomb was certainly enough to destroy the small embassy building. The second weapon was targeted on the very same point, but actually impacted several meters short-right into the crowded street in the midst of the protesters. When the first bomb hit the Gennan embassy, and as the impossibly bright cloud of fire blossomed across the screen, Fursenko thought he could see the people as individuals, could see the shock wave hit them first, knocking down their signs, blowing tons of debris toward them in the blink of an eye, and whisking their heads back just milliseconds before the wall of heat and concrete washed over them. Then the laser targeting system automatically flipped to a wide bomb damage assessment shot of the target area, so Fursenko could not see any more details except for the second bomb falling short and adding its fury to the first.
But he knew there was going to be death down there. They had only targeted buildings, sure-but Kazakov must've known that those protesters were going to be there. He could've waited a few hours until the streets were clear, but he didn't. He could've targeted another building, or picked some other target to make his point and cause a distraction, but he hadn't. He'd deliberately chosen this target because of the number of people that would be in the path of that blast.
It was true: Pavel Kazakov was a murderous monster. He would order the deaths of thousands just to cover his tracks as easily and as casually as he'd order Cornish game hen from a restaurant menu.
"How are you doing back there, Doctor?" Gennadi Yegorov asked.
"All right," Fursenko asked. "And call me Pyotr, please." "I will. And call me Gennadi."
They fell silent for a few moments; then: "I was thinking . . "Yes, Pyotr?"
"I was thinking about how coldly Comrade Kazakov can
kill a person," Fursenko said. "Human life means absolutely nothing to him.",
:'It certainly adds a new dynamic to our business, doesn't itT Yegorov said with casual, dark humor. "Just too many ways to die."
Fursenko dropped his mask, afraid he might hyperventilate. He looked at Yegorov's eyes in the rearview mirror, then raised his oxygen mask and spoke into its microphone: "He will not let us live if we return. You know that, don't you?"
Ion was falling apart, Pyotr," Yegorov said. "He couldn't handle the task. He was getting bored and making mistakes." "But Kazakov shot him four times in the head, as easily
as ... as cutting open a melon for breakfast," Fursenko pointed out.
"Pyotr, forget about Stoica. He was a drunk and an idiot." "As soon as he's done with us, he'll discard us, the Metyor-
179, and everyone working out there in Codlea. He'll kill us all, just as easily as he killed Stoica and those soldiers in Bulgaria."
"Pyotr, you agreed to work for the man," Yegorov pointed out. "'You did it voluntarily, same as 1. We both knew who he was and what he wanted long before we agreed to work for him. After we shot down that unarmed AWACS plane, we took his money. After we killed those people in Kukes, we took his money. After he killed those soldiers in Bulgaria, we took'his money. We're heartless butchers, just like he is. What do you want to do now? Fly away? Try to run and hide?"
"How about we save ourselves?"
"Then you had better find a way to make sure he's dead," Yegorov said. "Because if he's alive and you cross him, he'll find you and devise some ugly, horrible way to kill you. He did Stoica a favor by killing him quickly."
"Should we ask the West for protection?"
.' The West would want us to testify as witnesses against Kazakov, and then our lives would be worthless," Yegorov said. "We're co-conspirators with him now, Pyot r, can't you understand that? We're his hired killers. Just because you're a scientist and not a pilot or gunman doesn't absolve you from guilt. If we testify against Kazakov, we'd be put in prison our-
selves, and then we'd be targets for his worldwide network of assassins. If we're put into a witness protection program, our lives would be at the mercy of some government bureaucratno guarantee we'd be safe from Pavel Kazakov. No. We have a job to do, you and 1. Let's do it."
"Are you crazy, or just blind?" Fursenko asked incredulously. "Can't you see what's happening? Kazakov is a killer. Once he's done with us, we're dead. He'll have his billions, and we'll be dead."
"Doctor, to my knowledge, no one in Kazakov's employ has ever been killed without good reason-they were killed either for disloyalty or incompetence," Yegorov said. "Kazakov is generous and loyal to those who are loyal to him. I told you before, Ion was unstable, unreliable, and taking unnecessary risks. He was a danger to Kazakov's organization, and he had to be eliminated. Ion was my friend and longtime colleague, but under the circumstances, I agree with Comrade Kazakov-he had to be eliminated. And if there was any other way Ion could have been retired without blabbing his drunken mouth off to the world about what we'd done, I'd be angry about how he died. But he brought it on himself.
"I will not let that happen to us," Yegorov said, impaling Fursenko with a stem gaze through the rearview mirror. "We are going to accomplish this mission successfully, and then return home, and get ready to fly and fight again. If we did any less, we'd deserve to die ourselves."
There was simply no arguing with Gennadi Yegorov. Fursenko was stunned. This intelligent, soft-spoken pilot and engineer had turned into some kind of mindless killing machine. Was it the money? The power? The thrill of the hunt and the kill? Whatever it was, Yegorov was not going to be deterred.
There was no more time to think about it, because the last target complex was coming up. Yegorov had Fursenko configure the release switches and pre-arm the last two remaining Kh-73 laser-guided bombs several minutes before the bombrun initial point. His trigger was hot. Once IP inbound, Fursenko extended the imaging infrared scanner and laser designator and began searching for the last set of targets.
It was easy to find-because the Metyorgaz oil tanker Usti-
nov was one of the world's largest vessels. Surrounded by Turkish military vessels and a second tanker, to which the last five hundred thousand barrels of oil left in its holds was being transferred, the cluster of ships made a very inviting target.
"There's the Ust
inov, " Yegorov said, as he looked carefully into his targeting monitor. "The navigation system is dead on, just like over Tirane. Remember, we release on the Ustinov first. We'll probably lose it in the fireball, but we have to keep aiming as long as we can. If we miss the Ustinov, we'll drop the second Kh-73 on it. If we hit the first time, we'll shift aim to either the Turkish tanker or that big Turkish frigate nearby." He actually laughed. "This'll teach the Turks to take something that doesn't belong to them! Get ready, Doctor."
The bomb run was short and quick. There were enemy aircraft nearby, but they were patrolling farther north and east, probably to protect against any attack aircraft coming from Russia. The Turkish frigate was scanning the skies with its air search radar, but with the external pylons jettisoned long ago, the Mt-179 was too stealthy to be picked up by it. By the time it flew close enough to be detected, the bombs would already be in the air. One bomb would certainly be enough to send the Ustinov to the bottom, and the explosion would probably destroy the Turkish tanker and severely damage any nearby vessels, too-the second bomb would ensure complete and total devastation. Half the oil from the Ustinov was already offloaded, but spilling half a million barrels of crude oil into the Black Sea would certainly qualify as the world's biggest oil spill, more than double the size of the enormous Exxon Valdez oil spill in Prince William Sound, Alaska.
The white computer targeting square was dead on the tanker. Yegorov had Fursenko move the pipper slightly so it centered on the very center of the middle hold, the structurally weakest point on the upper deck and also one of the empty holds. The bomb detonating inside an empty hold would ignite the petroleum vapors and quadruple the size of the blast, which would certainly rip the tanker into pieces and create the enormous spill they wanted. Yegorov had already had Fursenko set up the secondary target pipper on the Turkish
frigate, although he wouldn't switch targeting away from the Ustinov until they were sure it was holed.
Switches configured, final release checks accomplished, Fursenko opened the
inwardly-opening bomb doors, and the first Kh-73 bomb dropped into space. "Bomb doors closed! Laser on!" Yegorov commanded. Fursenko activated the laser designator and received a good steering signal from the weapon. "Data good, laser off." They only needed to turn the laser on for a few seconds after release to give the bomb its initial course, then for ten seconds before impact to give it its terminal steering. The pipper stayed locked on target. Everything was going perfectly, just like Tirane. Everything was-
DEEDLE DEEDLE DEEDLE! they heard from the threat warning receiver-an enemy radar had just locked on to them. It was the Turkish frigate's air search radar. Yegorov started a shallow turn away from the ship, careful not to turn too suddenly so as to break the laser's aim. Yegorov wondered about the warning, but soon dismissed it. The frigate might be trying to lock on to the bomb, he thought-the Kh-73 one-thousandkilogram bomb probably had ten times the radar cross-section of the Metyor- 179 stealth fighter 'right now. No problem. The bomb was tracking perfectly.
Ten seconds to impact. "Laser on!" Yegorov shouted. He immediately received another "data good" signal from the bomb. Nothing could stop it now....
"Contact!" Duane Deverill shouted. "Annie, come thirty left now!" He keyed the voice command button on his target tracking joystick and ordered, "Attack target two with two Anacondas!"
"Attack command two Anacondas, stop attack ... bomb doors open, missile one away ... launcher rotating, stop attack ... missile two away ... doors closed, launcher rotating, " the computer replied, and it fired two AIM- 152 Anaconda longrange air-to-air missiles from twenty-three miles away. The missile's first-stage motors accelerated the big weapon to twice the speed of sound, and then the missile's scramjet engine kicked in, accelerating it well past five times the speed of sound in
seconds. Traveling at a speed of over a mile per second, the Anaconda missile closed the gap in moments.
Steered by its own onboard radar, the missile arrived at a point in space just two hundred feet above the tanker Ustinov, then detonated-at the exact moment the Kh-73 laser-guided bomb arrived at the exact spot. There was a massive fireball above the tanker, like a gigantic flashbulb popping in the night, that froze everything within a mile in the strobelike glare. The Anaconda missile's sixty-three-pound warhead split the big Kh-73 into several pieces before it exploded, so the size of the fireball wasn't enough to do much damage to the tanker except cook some paint and blow out every window not already destroyed on its superstructure.
"Any aircraft on this frequency, any aircraft on this frequency, this is Aces One-Niner," Deverill radioed on 243.0 megahertz, the international UHF emergency frequency, as he studied his supercockpit display, "I have an unidentified aircraft one-seven miles northwest of Eregli at thirty-one thousand feet, heading south in a slow right turn." He was aboard an EB-IC Megafortress Two bomber, flying high over the Black Sea about thirty miles north of the Turkish naval base at Eregli. He had been scanning the area with the Megafortress's laser radar all evening, but had detected nothing until seconds before the bomb came hurtling down from the sky toward the Russian tanker. "Just a friendly advisory. Thought someone would like to know."
"Aces One-Niner, this is Stalker One-Zero, we read you loud and clear," David Luger replied. Luger was aboard the Sky Masters Inc.'s DC- 10 launch-and-control aircraft, orbiting not far from the EB-IC Megafortress at a different altitude. He, too, had been scanning the skies with a laser radar mounted aboard the DC- 10, and he had detected the unidentified aircraft and the falling bomb at the same instant. "You might want to contact Eregli approach on two-seven-five-point-three. Thanks, guys."
"You're welcome-whoever you are," the Megafortress's aircraft commander, Annie Dewey, replied. She found it impossible to hold back a tear and keep her voice from cracking. "Have a nice flight."
"You too, Aces One-Niner," David said. Annie heard his voice soften for the first time, and it was a voice filled with promise, and good wishes, and peace. "Have a nice life, you guys.
Dev reached over and touched Annie's gloved hand resting on the throttles.
She looked over at him and smiled, and he smiled back. "We will," Annie replied. "Thanks. Be careful out there."
David Luger switched over from the emergency frequency with a touch of sadness, but no regrets. He knew it would probably be the last time he'd ever talk to Annie. But she had made a life with Duane Deverill, and it was hers to hold on to and build if she wanted it. His destiny lay elsewhere.
On the new secure interplane frequency, he radioed, "Stalkers, Stalkers, this is Stalker One, your bandit is now two-twoone degrees bull's-eye, range three-one miles, level at angels three-one, turning right, possibly racetracking around for another pass."
"Stalker Two-Two flight of three, roger," the Turkish F- 16 flight leader responded. "Converging on bandit at angels threefour."
"Stalker Three-One flight of two, acknowledged," the Ukrainian MiG-29 flight leader responded. "We will converge on target at angels two-niner."
"Stalkers, datalink on blue seven." "Two-Two flight, push blue seven."
1 11
'Two. 'Three. "Three-One flight, push blue seven."
"Two." Each fighter pilot set the same laser frequency channel into their receivers, corresponding with the frequency that Luger, in the DC- 10, was using to track the unidentified aircraft with the laser radar. Since none of their air-to-air radars could pinpoint a stealth aircraft, the laser radar on the DC- 10, tuned to the only frequency that could track the aircraft-a fact known by the Metyor- 179's first chief designer, David Lugerwas the only way to do it.
"Two-Two flight, tally-ho!" the Turkish flight lead called out.
"Three-One flight has contact," the Ukrainians called a few moments later. "Three-One has the lead."
What happened? " Yegorov shouted. "We lost contact with the weapon! What is going on?"
"The weapon exploded before it hit the tanker," Fursenko said. The infrared scanner was still locked
on to the tanker Ustinov. Except for some minor damage, the tanker was still very much intact.
The attack had looked perfect until one or two seconds before impact-what could have happened? Yegorov wondered. Now the threat warning receiver was blaring constantly, with multiple lock-on signals-and there was no longer a bomb in the air, meaning the enemy radars were definitely locked on them. Yegorov furiously scanned his instruments. Everything looked perfectly normal-no speed brakes or flaps deployed, no engine malfunctions that might be highlighting their position, no warning or caution lights, no-
Wait, there was one caution light, but not on the "Warning and Caution" panel, but on the "Weapons" panel on the lower right side-the bomb doors were still open. "Fursenko, damn you!" Yegorov shouted, staring wide-eyed at the engineer in his rearview mirror. "The bomb doors are still open' Close them immediately!"
Fursenko looked down at his instrument panel, then up at Yegorov almost immediately. "I can't," he said in a calm, even voice. "The hydraulic system B circuit breaker has popped, and it will not reset. I have no control over the doors."
If Yegorov thought the scrawny pencil-necked scientist had it in him, he would've thought the old man was lying to him! "Disengage the hydraulic system B and motor the doors closed with the electric motor."
"I tried that," Fursenko said, still in that calm, even voicethe voice of someone who was resigned to his fate. "The door mechanism must be jammed--I cannot motor the doors closed.
Maybe the Kh-73 dropping on partially opened doors caused it to malfunction and detonate early."
The bastard, he was doing this on purpose! He didn't believe for a second it was a malfunction! "Damn you, Fursenko, do you realize what you're doing?" Yegorov shouted in utter fury. Whatever Fursenko had done to the bomb doors, Yegorov couldn't undo them from the front seat. "You are signing our death warrants!"