by Dale Brown
proached the border. "I never expected to get it from the Rus-
sians, but we'll take it."
Pain. Intense, burning.
For at least the past year the pain that always came to Andrei
Maraklov when the ANTARES interface was completed was
fairly easy to suppress. The concentration and the exhilaration
of flying a machine like DreamStar usually did the trick, but this
time it wasn't working. Obviously the shoulder wound was the
culprit. Every time he thought about his throbbing left shoulder
his body would receive a jolt of pain from the ANTARES sys-
tem.
So far it didn't seem to affect his flying performance or his
ability to monitor his ship's functions. In spite of the hard flying
that DreamStar had done during the past week she was running
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 479
perfectly. Her automatic monitors detected a higher than normal
level of metal particles in the oil, suggesting an overdue engine
overhaul or contaminated oil; other systems detected clogged
fuel-metering systems from dirty fuel, moisture in computer
components and a few loose panels. He made a mental com-
mand to have a list of these items recorded and played back to
him just before the next shut-down, to remind him to have them
checked. It was a long list, but Maraklov told himself he would
have time to check over his bird. In any case, these minor dis-
crepancies did not seem to be affecting DreamStar's perfor-
mance.
He was flying in the deep mountain valleys of the Cordillera
de Guanacaste mountains of northwestern Costa Rica, staying as
low as possible to avoid detection from radar sites at Santa Maria
International Airport to the east and Lomas Guardia Interna-
tional to the west. Although Costa Rica had an air force de-
ployed at Santa Maria Airport and a few other small training
bases, it was made up of a handful of aging American-built F-5
day VFR fighters to scare away drug smugglers, plus several
single-engine piston prop planes for surveillance. The federal
military forces were very small-the nation's popular phrase
nowadays was "we have more teachers than soldiers," and for-
tunately for him that was true.
It was also true in Costa Rica that most provincial and mu-
nicipal security (it could not be called "law and order") came
from privately funded and equipped armies, which was legal in
this country of only three million people. If you were rich enough
you could own a good-sized town in Costa Rica, which could
eventually turn into one's own little nation-including one's own
army, and it was legal for certain citizens to make their own
stamps, set prices, deal with other countries, appoint their
own judges and mayors.
One such privately owned city-state was Venado, a thirty-
thousand-acre plantation in the heart of the Guanacaste Moun-
tains. Two thousand people lived and worked on this plantation,
nearly half of whom were soldiers. The entire plantation, the
well-equipped army and the airport within it were all funded
and maintained by the KGB, one of dozens of secret KGB bases
scattered over the world, bases so secret, so well disguised, that
most party members outside of a few ranking officers in the KGB
knew nothing about them. This was Maraklov's destination.
480 DALE BROWN
Finding the airport was no problem, but making an approach
to it in daytime without being seen was going to be difficult.
Maraklov had already had to weave around scores of private
airstrips dotting the San Juan Valley and the northern Costa Ri-
can jungles to stay out of sight; he could not afford just to shoot
directly into Venado, with some farmer or peasant watching his
approach and blabbing to his boss or the police. Maraklov's plan
was to hug the northeast rim of the Guanacaste Mountains, stay
as deep in the valleys as possible, sweep around the valleys to
the southwest and then come back up over Venado from the
west. This way, he should be shrouded by mountains almost all
the way to landing.
There was another summer storm brewing out over the Pacific
to the west as Maraklov started his low-altitude swing to the
southeast along the mountain range. His holographic display
showed slivers of surveillance radar above him, but most of the
energy was blocked out by the tall mountains of central Costa
Rica. The area was sparsely settled, but occasional glances out
the cockpit showed a few very beautiful haciendas below, where
men had retaken the jungle and turned it into lush fields of coffee
or fruit. Maraklov throttled back on the power as much as pos-
sible, balancing his energy to avoid making as much noise as
possible but keeping up his speed to avoid letting anyone on the
ground get a good look at him.
The inertial navigation computer warned Maraklov that its
precision was not great enough to find Venado with less than the
usual quarter-mile accuracy, and since the satellite-navigation
unit was unavailable for use (it required a daily code) it recom-
mended that the attack radar be activated in ground-mapping
mode to update the computer's position. Any radar emissions
were dangerous, but Maraklov had no choice-DreamStar was
not the type of aircraft specifically designed for pilotage or for
navigating by use of visual references.
He allowed the computer to activate the radar, which trans-
mitted in thirty-mile range for five seconds, then went back to
standby. DreamStar steered west-southwest for a few miles, until
the very rim of a beautiful mountain lake could be seen, then
began a right turn on top of a ridge-line toward Venado. After
an instantaneous mental inquiry he knew that they were exactly
four point one nautical miles from the center of the runway. One
pass over the field was all it would take to make a radar survey
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 481
of the field for landing data, and the computer would do the rest.
The turbofan engine throttled back to seventy-five percent, the
canards moved from cruise position to high-lift position, and the
mission-adaptive wings began to reshape for approach speed-
"DreamStar, this is Cheetah on GUARD channel. We've found
you.
The sudden radio message screamed in Maraklov's brain like
a siren. Instinctively he increased power to ninety percent and
reshaped the wings and moved the canards back to high-speed,
high-maneuverability position, ready to evade a missile or gun
attack. The attack radar also activated in air-to-air search mode
for three seconds before Maraklov commanded it to stand by-
at this altitude he would see very little on radar, while his own
radar energy could be seen for miles by aircraft at higher alti-
tude. He also punched off the Lluyka tanks in preparation for
the fight-he hoped he could somehow fool Kalinin into getting
him another pair of external fuel tanks. As for Cheetah, by de-
nying DreamStar a long-range cruise capability once again, it<
br />
had already won a considerable victory.
Maraklov found it hard to believe. Cheetah? Cheetah was
here? How was that possible? Who was flying it?
"Got him," Marcia said. "Brief airborne search radar at one
o'clock position. Hot damn. This time the Russians were telling
the truth."
McLanahan hit the voice-command switch: "Arm, missiles,
arm, cannon."
"Warning, all weapons arined, select safe to safe all weap-
ons. I I
"Weapon, select, radar, missile." The computer repeated the
command, and on the weapon-status display one of the four
radar-guided AIM-120C Scorpion missiles on the fuselage sta-
tions was highlighted.
"Radar, mode, air, range, maximum. Radar on." The attack
radar came on, showing no air targets within one hundred miles.
"Check your radar," Marcia said. "You've been transmitting
for twenty seconds at ftill power."
"I know," McLanahan said. "I want him to know we're
here. "
' I' ISir," Preston said, "he doesn't need any of our help to hose
US.
482 DALE BROWN
"The smart thing for him to do would have been to land,"
McLanahan said. "If I was close to my destination I'd hightail
it over there and hide and not risk an air-to-air engagement. But
if I look inviting enough for him, maybe he'll come up and
fight.
"Don't take unnecessary chances," Marcia said. "You might
flush him out, sure, but then you have to deal with him on your
tail. Don't be so anxious to mix it up with him. The fight will
happen. "
He smiled. Her words in his helmet sounded a lot like JC.
Powell. Powell had been a skilled flight instructor, with seem-
ingly infinite patience in spite of some of the stupid mistakes
McLanahan would make-Marcia Preston seemed a lot like him.
"Radar, standby," he commanded. "Thanks, Marcia."
"Electronic jammers are on," she reported. "Keep your
power up. Remember, you're the power fighter, he's the angles
fighter. He might be able to move like greased lightning but you
have the speed and the power ... You've been too long on this
constant heading, too," she said. "Give me a few clearing turns.
Let's take a look-bandit, three o'clock, low. Break tight!"
He slammed the stick hard right. Cheetah executed a hard
right full roll, then another half-roll until he could regain con-
trol. When his eyes were adjusted after the spin, he saw
DreamStar headed right at him, less than a hundred yards away,
with its nose high in the air but tracking Cheetah's every move
as if the two were mechanically linked. And in a way they were,
now in more ways than one . . . He saw DreamStar's nose light
up as he fired his cannon.
McLanahan pushed the stick full forward, sending Cheetah in
a screaming dive. He released the back pressure almost imme-
diately, but Cheetah wasn't pulling out.
"Pull up," he heard Preston yell. He hauled back on the
stick. It did not move-it was as if Cheetah's controls were
locked, which made McLanahan push or pull harder each time.
He realized that was the reason for the steep dive-the rigid side-
stick control had no play, which automatically made him push
even harder to try to move it. He zoomed Cheetah up into a
climb, gaining two thousand feet in altitude but losing two hun-
dred knots of precious air speed. Finally he leveled off and took
a deep breath, the first one he remembered taking since the
attack began.
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 483
"He's right above us, still at ten thousand feed," Preston
said. "Be careful dogfighting with this guy. He knew exactly
which way we were going. Keep your speed up. That's your
advantage.
He took a look at DreamStar's position once more. "I'm
gD_
ing for a shot. Hang on. " He pulled back on the stick and aimed
the nose at DreamStar, then waited for the radar-lock-on tone.
When he heard it he moved his right thumb over to the missile-
launch button and pressed.
"Warning, min range inhibit, " the computer announced.
The AIM-120C Scorpion was too close to its target to arm its
warhead, so the computer automatically overrode the launch
command.
McLanahan slipped his right index finger down onto the can-
non trigger, but just as he squeezed, DreamStar turned as if
doing a pirouette in mid-air and dived so fast and so sharply that
it virtually disappeared from sight.
"I see him," Preston said, grasping the back of her ejection
seat to turn herself around so she could watch DreamStar. "Four
... five ... six o'clock, he's coming around on us. God, I've
never seen a plane move so fast. "
Suddenly McLanahan and Preston felt a banging and shud-
dering sound throughout Cheetah, as if a giant hand had grabbed
the F- 15's entire tail section, held it fast and started shaking it
back and forth. The laser-projection screen reported a half-dozen
faults. "Right rudder actuator out, " he said. "Right radar warn-
ing receiver and ECM antennas-looks like he shot off our right
rudder. I I
"Fox Four, at your six o'clock," they heard on the radio. It
was a cold, monotonous, mechanical voice, as eerie as listening
to strangers' faraway voices in a dark cave.
"What the hell is that?" Preston asked.
Nt's his," he told her. "His voice is computer-synthesized.
"He's right behind us, right between our tails."
"Who is in command of Cheetah?" the eerie voice said on
the GUARD channel. "McLanahan? Elliott?"
Before McLanahan could reply, Preston called out, "He's right
beside us-"
Patrick snapped his head around. DreamStar was precisely on
Cheetah's right wing, flying in perfect formation. At first, a
completely disoriented feeling came over him-this was like it
484 DALE BROWN
always had been, Cheetah in the lead, DreamStar on the wing. They
had flown like this for months, talking over a maneuver, doing the
maneuver, then fon-ning up as they repositioned themselves, cri-
tiqued the previous maneuver's results and talked over the next one.
But this wasn't Dreamland, and that wasn't Ken James.
"Marcia, there's a satellite transceiver unit on your right rear
panel. Ever use one before?"
"Yes, we have a larger version in the NSC office."
"Send a clear-text message to Storm Control and to the Joint
Chiefs about our location. Tell them we found DreamStar in
Costa Rica." On the emergency radio frequency he said, " Mar-
aklov, I want you to land. I've been in contact with the Russian
authorities. What you're doing isn't authorized even by yourgov-
ernment. You've got the U. and the USSR both wanting your
head on a platter. Give it up. "
"Colonel McLanahan, I will never give up DreamStarl" Mar-
aklov replied. "I am ordering you to withdraw across the border
immediately. Otherwise I will destroy Cheetah piece by piece
before I put the final missile into her. Comp
ly immediately."
"Maraklov, there's no place you can run. The KGB knows
where your landing base in Costa Rica is, and pretty soon we'll
know it too."
As he watched, DreamStar began to slip aft. "Patrick, he's
moving behind us again," Preston called out.
This was it, Patrick thought. Ken James is going to shoot
me out of the sky. He had no place to run. DreamStar already.
had an attack planned for every climb, descent and turn imagin-
able . . . It was time to act . . .
No. JC. Powell's words came back full force . . . DreamStar
does not play defense. Act unpredictably, force her into a defen-
sive situation and take advantage of its programming deficiency
to try to turn the tables-
The computerized voice of the ANTARES computer cut in:
"You have been warned, Colonel McLanahan. This is your last
chance. I will open fire if you-"
He did not wait for the rest of Maraklov's warning. He yanked
the throttles to idle. On the throttle-quadrant on the left Side-
panel, a large guarded switch read REVERSE. McLanahan flicked
the guard away, selected full-reverse thrust on the two-dimension
vectored-thrust nozzles and cut in full military power. The rect-
angular engine-exhaust nozzles reduced down to their smallest
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 485
size, and steerable exhaust louvers over and underneath the en-
gines opened, blowing the engine exhaust toward the nose. As
the thrust came back to full power, Cheetah's airspeed was cut
in half in a matter of seconds.
Cheetah's steel and titanium airframe shrieked, and the com-
puterized stall and airframe overstress warning messages blasted
in their helmets. McLanahan's and Preston's bodies were thrown
forward against their shoulder harnesses. Struggling against
the G-forces, he waited until he was abeam DreamStar again,
then yanked the control stick over, and rolled right into Dream-
Star . . .
Even if the ANTARES computer had not warned Maraklov of
Cheetah's sudden decrease in airspeed, he had seen Cheetah's
engine exhaust nozzles snap closed and the ventral louvers open,
and had time to react. What he wasn't expecting was the suicide-