Day of the Cheetah

by Dale Brown

  stick would send Cheetah into an unexpected pitch-up or away.

  He tried to loosen his tight grip on the control stick, but it was

  hard to reprogram his head to the realities of electronic fiber-

  optic controls-and had set the system to its lowest sensi-

  tivity.

  To complicate matters, a universe of information kept flashing

  on the windscreen, changing so quickly that McLanahan didn't

  have time to read it before it disappeared and another line of

  numbers or symbols danced across his eyes. He had experi-

  mented with turning off most of the laser-projected symbiology

  but found himself repeatedly calling the information back up a

  few moments later. Finally he decided to leave it there and just

  deal with it-he hoped it wouldn't distract him too much when

  472 DAIE BROWN

  the shooting started. How could assimilate all this infor-

  mation was beyond him.

  Suddenly Patrick saw a gloved hand reach across his shoulder.

  "By the way, I'm Marcia Preston." He realized only then that

  he had not said a word except "prepare for takeoff" to his new

  back-seater. With all the things going on in Cheetah's cockpit,

  he managed to reach across with his left hand and shake Mar-

  cia's extended hand.

  He had just leveled Cheetah off at only five thousand feet as

  once again he steered it southward toward Puerto Cabezas. At

  full power he was maintaining just under Mach one as he raced

  across the lush tropical forests and salt marshes of northeastern

  Nicaragua. He hit the voice-command control on the stick and

  in a deliberate voice said, "Autopilot, on, altitude, hold." The

  computer repeated the command, which reminded McLanahan

  to double check the autopilot status indicators. Cheetah's voice-

  command system had been programmed by , and although

  it was supposed to be -adaptable to any pilot, the subtle differ-

  ences in pitch, accent and volume of voices sometimes confused

  the computer.

  "Marcia," McLanahan said after setting the autopilot, "I've,

  got a question-why the hell did you volunteer for this mis-

  sion?

  "Because you needed me, and mostly because I wanted to

  go. "

  :'There's a chance we won't make it back."

  'Not to toot my own horn, sir, but your chances of making

  it back are much better now."

  "Can the 'sir,' okay?"

  "Okay, Patrick. Where to?"

  "It's an outside chance but it's possible that DreamStar could

  still be on the ground. We need to check the shelter at Puerto

  Cabezas. "

  At seven miles per minute they reached Puerto Cabezas in a

  little over ten minutes. McLanahan pulled the power back to

  eighty percent. "I'll line up so I can give you a good look out

  the right side," he said. "The shelter is pretty low but you

  should be able to see if an aircraft is in there."

  Their arrival at the Nicaraguan military base was greeted by

  a.cacophony of warning messages in English, Spanish and Rus-

  sian, ordering them to turn away. He ignored them-and there

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 473

  were no radar threat-warnings anywhere in the vicinity. They

  had decreased speed to less than five miles per minute to get a

  good look in the shelter. As they approached the base Mc-

  Lanahan hit the voice-command switch: "Arm, cannon, mode,

  strafe. "

  " Warning, cannon armed, strafe mode, five hundred rounds

  remaining. " An holographic aiming-reticle appeared on the

  windscreen in front of McLanahan. He switched off the autopi-

  lot, descended to one thousand feet and began to line up on the

  shelter.

  "You're arming the guns?"

  "If DreamStar is in there I want to shoot before he gets off

  the ground." He hit the command button again: "Target se-

  lect." The reticle began to blink. He moved his head until the

  aiming reticle, slaved to follow the pilot's head movements, was

  directly on the mouth of the shelter, then hit the voice-command

  button again: ". . . Now." The reticle stopped blinking and a

  series of lines drew themselves on the windscreen like an

  instrument-landing director. Once McLanahan centered those

  lines, the cannon would blast the target to pieces.

  "Target designated, select target q .ff to cancel.

  "Watch your altitude," Marcia Preston said. "You're less than

  five hundred feet AGL with autopilot off."

  "Thanks." McLanahan put the altitude-hold autopilot back

  on.

  As they raced across the Nicaraguan base they could see men

  and vehicles darting all across the airfield, even over the run-

  way-it was much too crowded on the flightline for normal air

  traffic. A number of emergency vehicles crowded the throat taxi-

  ramp that led to the alert parking shelters.

  When they were about two miles from the alert area Marcia

  called out, "I can see the shelters. No aircraft in any of them."

  Men were running from the shelter. "They think you're going

  to bomb them, I think."

  "I should put a few rounds in there."

  "Waste of ammo."

  "It would make me feel better, though." Instead of firing,

  however, McLanahan hit the voice-command button. "Target

  off. Cannon safe." The computer repeated and verified. He shut

  off the autopilot and began a shallow climb, putting in full mil-

  itary power once again.

  474 DAIE BROWN

  "Long gone," Marcia Preston said. "Which way now?"

  "Not sure." Patrick McLanahan climbed to ten thousand feet,

  well above the mountains of central Nicaragua far off to the

  west. "James' original plan was to fly DreamStar to Cuba. More

  secure than Nicaragua. Then on to the Soviet Union . . . " He

  switched frequencies to the channel set up with the communi-

  cations facility at Puerto Lempira. "Storm Control, this is Storm

  T,vo. How copy?"

  "Loud and clear, Storm Two," General Elliott replied im-

  mediately.

  "Our target wasn't at Puerto Cabezas. Is the AWACS up?"

  "Affirmative," from Elliott. "He's got complete coverage of

  the Caribbean north of Nicaragua. He's got one F-16 with him.

  No word from him yet."

  "Target must be heading south, back to Sebaco or Managua."

  McLanahan called up Managua on the inertial navigation unit

  and set the autopilot on course. "We're en route back to Sebaco

  to check it out, then Managua."

  "Roger. Keep us advised. Storm Control out."

  They flew on for another few minutes, then Marcia clicked

  on the interphone: "Colonel, you said we're flying to Sebaco,

  then Managua . . . What kind of air defenses does Sebaco have?

  I know Managua is heavily protected. Isn't Sebaco that KGB

  base where they kept DrearnStar?"

  "Yes," he replied testily, the questions interrupting his train

  of thought. "Sebaco was protected by fifty-seven-millimeter guns

  and SA-10 missiles and a few MiG-29 fighters. We destroyed

  them two days ago."

  "Are they back in place?"

  "I don't know."

  "What about Managua? What kind
of defenses does it have?"

  M "Probably like Puerto Cabezas. SA-15 missiles, MiG-29 or

  iG-27 fighters, probably tactical anti-aircraft artillery. Why?"

  "Why? Well . . . do you think the Nicaraguans are just going

  to let us fly over their cities? Don't you think they're going to

  throw everything they got at us?"

  "We're going anyway. I don't care what defenses they have,

  we've penetrated them before, and--

  "No, sir- JC. Powell and you defeated their defenses. You

  were in the backseat-"

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 475

  "It means that you can't just charge -in over Managua and

  Sebaco without some kind of a game plan," she said. "We were

  lucky over Puerto Cabezas, sir-you assumed that the defenses

  that were destroyed by the B-52 two days ago were still de-

  stroyed, or they didn't bring in more fighters just waiting for you

  to fly over looking for DreamStar. What if they'd been replaced?

  We would have been dead ten minutes in the sky. You can't

  assume anything."

  No response from McLanahan. "I'm not trying to chicken

  out. I'll fly wherever you want, and I'll help you defend this

  aircraft the best I can. But we've got to do this the smart way or

  we'll be dead without ever getting off a shot at Ken James . . . "

  "You're right. I took off from Puerto Lempira with no idea

  where I was going after checking Puerto Cabezas. And we did

  receive intelligence that the runway at Sebaco had been re-

  paired-they could have moved in a whole squadron of MiGs by

  now. We could be jumped at any moment, and we have no air

  cover, no surveillance and only six missiles to defend ourselves.

  Stupid. Damned stupid - . . "

  "The question is-what are we going to do now? We can't

  just drone around in circles."

  "We've got to get an idea which way we went." But how . . .

  He ordered the voice-command computer to set a frequency in

  the number two VHF radio.

  "Sandino Tower, this is Storm Zero Two on one-one-eight

  point one. Over."

  "Storm Zero TWo, this is Augusto Cesar Sandino Interna-

  tional Airport tower," a controller with a thick Spanish accent

  replied. "State your position, altitude, type of aircraft, departure

  airport and destination. Be advised, we have no flight plan for

  you. You may be in violation of the air traffic laws of Nicaragua.

  Respond immediately."

  "Tower, Storm Zero, Two is an American military fighter. I

  am in pursuit of an American aircraft piloted by a Russian crim-

  inal. I intend to overfly Sebaco and Managua in search of this

  aircraft. I request assistance. Over."

  "Storm Zero Two, overflight of Nicaragua by American mil-

  itary aircraft is prohibited. You are in violation of national and

  international law. You are directed to land at Sandino Interna-

  tional immediately or you will be fired on without warning.

  Over.

  476 DALE BROWN

  "Sandino Tower, I say again; I am in pursuit of a criminal

  piloting an American aircraft. He is a danger to you as well as

  to the United States. I request assistance in pursuing this air-

  craft. I am not hostile to Nicaragua. Please assist. Over."

  "It's not going to work," Preston said. "They're just trian-

  gulating our position. We've got to get out of here, head back

  across the Honduran border-"

  "Storm Zero TWo, this is Sandino Tower. Please stay on this

  frequency for important message. Acknowledge."

  He did not reply. A message flashed on his windscreen, warn-

  ing him that a search radar was in the vicinity. From the rear

  seat Preston said, "We're getting close to Managua's search

  radar. "

  "Storm Zero Two, contact the man on frequency one-three-

  one point one-five VHF. Important. Sandino Tower out."

  He began a left turn away from Managua and changed chan-

  nels. Preston asked, "Are you going to talk on that frequency?

  It could be a military ground-controlled interceptor's direction-

  finder. They could pin-point our location as soon as you key the

  mike without using radar."

  " Maybe. But I don't think so." He hit the mike button. "This

  is Storm Zero Two on one-three-one point one-five. Over."

  "Storm Two, this is General-Lieutenant Viktor Tcharin, Dep-

  uty Commander of Operations for Soviet Central America Op-

  erations Base Sebaco. Whom am I addressing?"

  "It's a damned Soviet general," Preston said. "What the hell

  does he want?"

  Patrick keyed the mike. "General Tcharin, this is Lieutenant

  Colonel Patrick McLanahan, United States Air Force. State your

  request. Over. "

  "McLanahan . . . McLanahan . Then, sounding as if he

  was reading from a script, went on: 'Senior project officer,

  Midnight Sky. Code name for XF-34 DreamStar advanced tac-

  tical fighter aircraft flight technology validation project. Age

  forty-one, white male.' Ochin kharasho. Very good. Colonel

  McLanahan, I believe we want very nearly the same thing. You

  want the XF-34. We want Colonel Andrei Maraklov. Perhaps

  we can make an arrangement-"

  "I want Maraklov and the XF-34, General. Do you know

  where Maraklov is headed?"

  "We have evidence to that effect, yes," Tcharin told him.

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 477

  "We believe we have tracked his course on radar. But we do not

  have the air assets to pursue him. You reported to the Nicaraguan

  tower controller that you are in command of a fighter plane. Is

  it your intention to attack Colonel Maraklov?"

  "Yes. I I

  "We have information that may be of use to you. In exchange

  for this information we want you to deliver Colonel Maraklov to

  us, should he survive. Is that agreeable to you, Colonel Mc-

  Lanahan?"

  "I'm not making any deals," McLanahan told him. "I don't

  trust you any more than I trust Maraklov. But if you tell me

  where he went, and if he survives, I promise not to kill him

  myself. What happens to him after that is up to our governments.

  How about that?"

  A pause, then: "I agree. Colonel Maraklov had received in-

  structions" . . . he did not say from whom . . . "to fly the

  aircraft south, to an isolated landing strip somewhere in Costa

  Rica. He was detected flying forty nautical miles west of Blue-

  fields in southern Nicaragua about ten minutes ago, We have no

  other information. He was at twenty thousand feet, flying at five

  hundred nautical miles per hour."

  "Copy that down for me, Marcia," McLanahan said. On the

  radio: "How do I know you're telling the truth? He could be

  flying north to Cuba, or east. He could even be on the ground

  in Managua or Sebaco. "

  "You contacted us for assistance and I have given it to you.

  If you do not trust us, your request makes no sense."

  "Why can't you get Maraklov by yourself? Isn't he delivering

  the XF-34 to you?"

  "It's not clear what orders Colonel Maraklov has chosen to

  follow. Our last orders, from the Kollegiya, were to tur
n over

  the XF-34 to you at Puerto Cabezas. Why he took the aircraft,

  I do not know. We want to question him about that matter, as

  well as the killing of two Soviet officers and two soldiers. My

  orders are to capture Colonel Maraklov for questioning, but I

  have no resources to do it. That is where you can help . . . "

  If this Soviet general was lying, every mile he flew south

  could be two miles that Maraklov was increasing the distance

  on his way to Cuba or someplace to the east. Yet he had no other

  possible options.

  "Marcia?"

  478 DAIE BROWN

  1 1 1 don't see much of a choice. I don't trust him either, and I

  sure as hell don't like making deals with him, but it's the only

  lead we have. Our AWACS from Grand Cayman is covering the

  north Caribbean-so south seems like a good direction for us to

  be heading. Might as well try it."

  .McLanahan keyed the radio again as he began a right turn

  toward the south. "General Tcharin, if I get Maraklov alive I

  promise you'll have an opportunity to question him about the

  murders. I was a witness to three of them in Puerto Cabezas."

  "Unfortunately an American is an unacceptable witness in

  our military court of law," Tcharin said, "but I believe we have

  a deal ... Colonel McLanahan, the XF-34 is armed with twenty-

  millimeter shells, two radar-guided missiles and two infrared-

  guided missiles-not the most modem Soviet weapons but

  proved effective against your F-16s over the Caribbean. One more

  item: Maraklov is wounded. We have tested and found his blood

  at a site here in Sebaco as well as the blood of one of his victims.

  You have clearance to transit Nicaraguan airspace west and south

  of Bluefields. Costa Rican approach control frequency for cross-

  ing border restricted airspace MRR Three is one-one-nine point

  six, El Coco Control."

  And the channel went dead. McLanahan told the computer to

  set the frequency, and he checked the computer flight-

  information database and double-checked the flight information

  files for Costa Rica-Tcharin's information seemed right on.

  "Well, you wanted a plan, Marcia," he said as they ap-