Day of the Cheetah

by Dale Brown

  courage than brains, was the kind who would say he was okay if

  both arms were blown away. All Orlov could do was drive. Ei-

  ther Lovyyev was up to the task of holding off the response

  forces, or they would die.

  "Just don't shoot behind you," Orlov told him. "Maraklov

  and his fighter are right behind us. Shoot at anything else that

  moves. Don't waste a single shot. Our only hope is-"

  Orlov's voice was drowned out by a rhythmic hammering

  sound on the hull of the armored car. He thought it was from

  Lovyyev's gun until he realized that the sound came from out-

  side. He was about to warn Lovyyev to take cover when the

  young KGB agent's body, minus his handsome blond head,

  slumped into the bottom of the gun turret. Orlov stomped hard'

  on the gas pedal. Never leave a pretty corpse for the enemy.

  Dreamland's security forces had reacted much, faster than Or-

  lov had anticipated. Now the last obstacle lay ahead-the long

  movable steel gate that enclosed the fence surrounding the re-

  search hangars. Orlov had to work fast. Once fully closed, huge

  steel pilings would be lowered into place and the gate would be

  unmovable.

  Driving with one hand on the wheel, gas pedal to the floor,

  Orlov reached up and swung the fifty-caliber machine gun back

  facing forward, then fumbled with the remote trigger mecha-

  nism, finally clipping it into place on the rifle's trigger. He was

  less than a hundred yards from the gate. Firing in short bursts,

  he swung the wheel back and forth, pointing the gun's fire at

  anything that moved near the gate.

  To his surprise, the gate was already fully closed. Time had

  almost run out. TWo soldiers were low-crawling along the gate,

  trying to reach the locking mechanism.

  Orlov swung the V-100 toward them, trying to rake the fence

  with fire to pin them down, but the Americans refused to stop.

  Orlov caged the fifty-caliber forward and headed for the lock

  mechanism, spraying the area with bullets. But that lasted for

  only a few seconds-the shell-feeder on the machine gun

  jammed.

  It was too late. One guard was dead but the other threw the

  handle on the locking mechanism and dropped the steel post

  into place.

  164 DALE BROWN

  One chance left. Keeping the throttle full open Orlov aimed

  the Commando right at the gate opening. If the lock could be

  broken and the gate dislodged from the piling he could use the

  V-100 to push the gate far enough open for the XF-34A to get

  through.

  Under a hailstorm of bullets from all sides, Orlov's V- 100

  plowed into the gate's locking mechanism at well over sixty miles

  an hour-the four-ton armored car had built up enough force to

  demolish a house. But it was still not enough to snap the five-

  inch steel post securing the gate. Instead, the force of the impact

  snapped the motor mounts off the armored car, and the heavy

  armored plating in the car's nose acted like a giant piston, driv-

  ing the engine and transmission into Gekky Orlov's body. The

  bones in his body were pulverized like dry twigs under a steam

  roller. The V-100 exploded, starting a fire in the electric and

  hydraulic lock systems and killing the second security guard.

  But the gate held fast.

  And DreamStar was trapped.

  A quick mental command, and DreamStar's attack-radar flashed

  on, then off, at precisely two hundred and twenty yards from

  where Kenneth Francis James, Andrei Ivanschichin Maraklov,

  had stopped his fighter short of the burning gate ahead. Six hun-

  dred and sixty feet, then over a twelve-foot-high obstacle. An-

  other mental command: DreamStar's computers sampled the

  external air temperature, inertial winds, pressure altitude, relative

  humidity, aircraft gross weight, engine-trim-and-performance var-

  iables, then computed takeoff data at max performance best angle

  of climb over the obstacle.

  Not good enough., DreamStar reported that it needed at least

  one thousand feet to clear the obstacle.

  James' reaction was instantaneous. He brought DreamStar's

  turbofan engine to full power, moved the vectored thrust-nozzles

  to full reverse and released the brakes. DreamStar began to move

  backward toward the taxiway throat leading to the ramp in front

  of the hangars-back toward the melee he had just escaped from.

  At the same time he activated DreamStar's radar system, which

  scanned in every direction around the fighter.

  DreamStar had moved only a hundred feet farther from the

  e when he "saw" the first M113 armored vehicle approach.

  gat

  It was moving fast, nearly forty miles an hour, past the,burning

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 165

  piles of debris scattered around in front of the now-abandoned

  Hangar Five, less than a hundred yards away. He hit the brakes

  just as the superconducting radar detected the M 113's twenty-

  millimeter cannon open fire.

  "Hal, what's your situation? " General Elliott called over the

  security net.

  Hal Briggs grabbed a handhold on the M 113's door for support

  as he keyed his microphone: "We're approaching the plane from

  the left. It's now about three hundred feet in front of us, facing

  down the throat toward the gate. Id swear the thing backed up

  or somethin' . . . Over."

  Elliott, now in a staff car with McLanahan at the wheel, was

  racing down taxiway delta toward the hangar area, careening

  over ditches and weaving through gates to get back to the ramp.

  McLanahan looked at Elliott. "Did he say DreamStar was back-

  ing up?" Elliott had no answer. "Hal," Patrick said, "what's

  DreamStar's range to the gate?"

  "Hard to tell until we get closer, but I'd say less than three

  hundred yards."

  Elliott looked at Patrick. "Is it enough . . . ?"

  McLanahan didn't dare take his eyes off the road, floored the

  gas pedal and gripped the wheel tighter. "Cool morning, half a

  fuel load, a little headwind . . . it's enough."

  "God damn. Who the hell's flying it?" Even then, Elliott

  could not believe that James, one of only three men alive who

  could possibly fly DreamStar, was in the cockpit. "How the hell

  did he get in there?" Elliott pressed the mike switch hard enou h

  to turn his finger white. "Shoot out the tires, Hal. If the plane

  moves, shoot to kill. If DreamStar moves ahead, destroy it.

  Eight hundred twelve point seven feet. Now.

  Keeping the brakes on hard, James commanded the throttles

  to full power, let them stabilize for a few seconds, then pushed

  them to max afterburner. He allowed another half-second for the

  computer to perform a single full-power engine-trim adjustment,

  then opened the dorsal engine louvers. DreamStar's aft end

  pitched down and the nose shot up at a steep angle. He set the

  flex wings and canards for high lift and max performance climb-

  out . . . then released the brakes.

  DreamStar had not rolled more than a hundred feet forward

  166 DAIE BROWN


  when he realized he was not going to make it. He knew it even

  before the performance computer, receiving data from radar on

  range to the obstacle, reported a collision warning and recom-

  mended an immediate takeoff abort. Maraklov overrode the rec-

  ommendation with the thought: this is how I'll die? Not after a

  dogfight trying to steal and save DreamStar. Dying in a fireball

  crashing into the security gate, trying something that I knew had

  no chance from the beginning . . .

  Five hundred feet to go. All wheels still firmly on the ground,

  airspeed hardly registering. Maraklov could feel the absence of

  lift on his wings, the absence of the familiar twist that the com-

  posite flex wings underwent during the takeoff acceleration.

  Countering the wingtip twist was a simple computer-controlled

  correction, as simple as swallowing, as simple as-

  He cut short his gloomy predictions. The wingtip twist . . .

  DreamStar automatically neutralized the twist in the wingtips

  because the twisted wing created vortices under the wing and

  fuselage, which created turbulence, which increased drag and

  lengthened takeoff roll distances. But the turbulence under the

  fuselage created something else-ground effect. And the power

  of ground effect would be to cushion the plane a few feet off the

  ground, just below flying speed but still airborne. If that was

  true . . .

  Four hundred feet left . . .

  Maraklov overrode the order to counteract the wingtip twist.

  In response, the tips of DreamStar's wings curved even more,

  creating two hundred percent more lift as well as two virtual

  tornados of wind that swirled counterclockwise from the wing-

  tips down and under the wings and across the fuselage. He felt

  the vortices slam into the fuselage and fought for control.

  DreamStar felt sluggish, unresponsive, out of pilot control.

  Ninety knots. Three hundred feet remaining . . .

  A loud creak from the left wingtip, and a "CONFIGURATION"

  warning flashed in Maraklov's conscious mind. He ignored it.

  The wingtips were now being buffeted by winds nearing hurri-

  cane force, while the rest of the wing was wallowing in relatively

  calm winds nowhere close to takeoff speed. Maraklov stiffened

  the wings by twisting the inner surfaces, allowing the power

  being generated in the wingtips to flow to the lazy parts of the

  wing. The aircraft rumbled in protest. He was receiving "CON-

  FIGURATION" and "COLLISION" warnings, and had to struggle

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 167

  not only to ignore the warnings but to prevent ANTARES from

  taking command and aborting the takeoff. DrearnStar's artificial

  brain was programmed for self-preservation at all costs, not self-

  destruction.

  One hundred knots, two hundred feet remaining . . .

  DrearnStar's nose gear popped off the runway, held aloft by the

  large canards and by the force of the upwardly directed thrust

  from the dorsal louvers. DrearnStar was in takeoff attitude but

  she was still far, far from lift-off speed.

  One hundred fifty feet . . . one chance left-he commanded

  the landing gear up.

  One hundred feet, one hundred ten knots. An ANTARES-

  generated warning from the flight-configuration computer flashed

  in Maraklov's mind, warning him that the landing gear safety

  switch still showed pressure on the gear struts-DreamStar was

  still on the ground. Instantly he overrode the warning, com-

  manded gear up, then closed his eyes and waited for DreamStar's

  tail to hit the runway.

  Seventy-five feet, one hundred fifteen knots-liftoff speed for

  this takeoff configuration. The tail did not hit the runway.

  -Zero feet left . . . With the tall, bulky landing gear retracted,

  DreamStar accelerated to one hundred thirty knots, and was able

  to use the extra airspeed to lift its nose even higher, clawing for

  every last bit of altitude. A shower of sparks erupted from the

  top of the steel gate as DrearnStar scraped past the reinforced

  barbed wire, tearing apart the two ventral rudders that had au-

  tornatically deployed in DreamStar's slow-flight mode-Marak-

  lov did not think to retract those low-speed rudders in time.

  DreamStar shuddered as the rudders ripped off her belly, but she

  did not stall or hit the ground.

  DreamStar was airborne.

  McLanahan and Elliott had just reached the hangar area as

  DreamStar lifted over the gate, the aircraft flying so slowly and

  at such a steep climb that it seemed almost suspended in midair,

  an apparition at the end of a shaft of fire. It also appeared to be

  failing slightly, but this was mostly an illusion; DreamStar's nose

  dipped slightly to build up valuable airspeed, and it began to

  accelerate at it crossed the deserted runways and climbed slowly

  into the dawn.

  McLanahan slammed on the brakes in time to avoid an M113

  168 DAIE BROWN

  combat vehicle that continued to fire heavy caliber rounds into

  the sky until DreamStar was completely out of sight. A few

  moments later Hal Briggs climbed out of the ACV, head tightl

  bandaged and carrying an M-16A2 rifle, and moved over to

  McLanahan's sedan. After Elliott opened a door for him, he

  nearly collapsed in the backseat.

  "Sorry," Briggs gasped, painfully hauling himself upright.

  "Couldn't . . . couldn't stop him." Before Elliott could speak,

  Briggs had pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Red Man, this is Hotel. No-

  tify the four-seventy-fourth tactical fighter wing at Nellis. XF-

  34A fighter aircraft stolen from this location. Aircraft is armed

  with air-to-air missiles and must be -considered hostile. Orders

  from Alpha are to search and destroy,"

  "Copy, Hotel. "

  "Break. All Drearnland security units, this is Hotel. XF-34A

  aircraft is airborne, last seen heading southwest out of Dream-

  land at slow speed. The aircraft has been hijacked by unknown

  persons. It is equipped with air-to-air missiles only. Air defense

  units have authorization to engage and destroy at will; report

  detection or engagement to Red Man, Nellis and Las Vegas Air

  Traffic Control Center ASAP. Repeat: all units, engage and de-

  stroy at will. Hotel out." He dropped the walkie-talkie into his

  lap as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

  " Take us over to Hangar Five, Patrick," Elliott said. He

  turned to Briggs, gently lifting up the bandages to check his

  wound. "Cancel that. Take us to the infirmary."

  "I'm all right," Briggs said, gingerly touching the top of his

  hairless head and checking his hastily applied bandages. "The

  guys on the ACV fixed me up."

  At least for the moment, Elliott didn't want Briggs in the

  hospital any more than Briggs wanted to be there. As Mc-

  Lanahan headed for the hangars he asked, "What the hell hap-

  pened, Hal?

  Briggs wiped stinging sweat from his wounds and bums. "It

  all happened so fast, General. The Foxtrot guard posts didn't

  look right. I had them report in. Whoever was in Five Foxtrot's

  Commando
, it wasn't Jacinto. I headed over to check it out when

  I got hit by the fifty cal. I barely made it to Rover Nine when

  flash grenades start popping. Before I knew it DreamStar was

  out in the throat. I've never seen anything like that takeoff, who-

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 169

  ever did it. It was like he levitated right over the gate. I didn't

  think he'd make it . . ."

  They drove up the entrance of Hangar Five. Rover Seven, the

  second M113 armored combat vehicle, was positioned in front,

  with guards covering both the front and back. Rover Seven was

  also aiming a huge spotlight inside the hangar.

  "Seven, this is Hotel. Is the hangar secure?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Roger. Sergeant Macynski, follow me in. The rest cover

  us ."

  Briggs got out of the sedan, flipped off the safety lever on his

  M-16 and ran over to the M113. He met up with Macynski,

  outlined a brief tactical plan to the NCO, then approached the

  hangar door at a dead run. They scanned the interior of the

  hangar, quickly sweeping their rifle muzzles around the hangar

  while sighting through them, ready to fire at any sound or move-

  ment. Nothing. Briggs ordered the M113 in closer to secure the

  hangar, then headed back to the sedan.

  In the backseat he said into the walkie-talkie, "Red Man, this

  is Hotel. I want an investigation unit in Hangar Five and one on

  the Commando ACV on the ramp gate on the double. Break.

  Rover Nine, secure the V-100 that crashed into the gate. Recover

  any bodies from the wreckage for the investigation unit. I want

  an 1. D. on the occupants ASAP. "

  "Roger, Hotel," the security controller replied. "Hotel, be

  advised, Lance One and Lance Two F-16Fs airborne from Nellis

  at five past the hour. Two F-14 units from China Lake also report

  airborne. CATTLECAR is their controller. You can meet them on

  channel one-one. "

  "Roger, Red.Man. Get all Dreamland air defense units on

  channel eleven and help coordinate an intercept with CATTLE-

  CAR. The last thing we need is for our guys to take shots at those

  F- 14s or - 16s. "

  "Switching all units to eleven, sir," the security controller