There was no question of turning around to take off into the wind. The way in front of her was clear, though short.
Could she make it?
The Dragonfly was made for short field operations and this one was light on fuel, with hardly much of a load. More importantly, McKenna was desperate. She gunned the engines, revving the J85s to the red line.
“Yee-haw!” she shouted as they cleared the wall at the edge of the highway by a good two inches. “Brunei Dragon One is off the ground and looking for permission to land,” she told her controller.
“Negative, negative — we’re under attack!” said the controller. “Airport is not secure! Airport is not secure!”
McKenna turned toward the sultan. He didn’t have a headset.
“We can’t land at the airport,” she shouted to him. “But I’ll take care of you, Your Majesty. Don’t fret”
Whether he understood what she said or even heard it all, he gave her a thumbs-up.
Chapter 43
Mack studied the radar warning screen, which showed the range of the radar covering the northeast tip of Malaysian territory. The Megafortress was well out of range of the radar, but what was interesting to Mack was the type of radars that had been detected — a large-band system identified as a Russian P-37 Bar Lock, and a shorter-range P-15 Flat Face. Malaysia was not known to possess either, and Mack hadn’t encountered them on Borneo before. The P-15 Flat Face was especially troubling, since it was designed to work with surface-to-air missiles — SA-3s or more capable SA-6s and SA-8s. Any of those missiles could splash an A-37B without breaking a sweat, and even a Megafortress couldn’t afford to completely ignore SA-6s or SA-8s.
“We’re abreast of Sandakan,” reported Jalan, as they reached one of the waypoints programmed for a course change.
They brought the Megafortress onto the new course heading, still skirting Malaysian territory. Mack checked with his radar operators; with the exception of a commercial flight far to the south, they were the only plane in the air.
“Sixty seconds to Darvel Bay,” noted Jalan.
“All right, boys, this is for keeps now,” said Mack. “I need everybody on their game. We’re going to be over hostile territory for thirty minutes. Ready?”
He spoke to each crew member, more in hopes of giving them a boost than making sure they were ready.
Did it work? Did telling Jalan he was going to “kick butt” make the copilot handle his instrument screens any faster, or make his hand more assured on the stick? Did the radar operators click through their panels quicker?
There was no way of knowing; Mack realized he was going to have to take it on faith that it did help somehow. They took the Megafortress to three thousand feet, enough to see … and be seen.
“Patrol ship is trying to lock on us with his radar,” reported Jalan as they crossed over land. “He’s — we’re out of range.”
Mack concentrated on his course, nudging the stick slightly at their next waypoint, flying on a diagonal toward the mountains at the center of the island. The air in front of him gave no clue of the danger; a few wispy clouds hugged the far side of the mountains but the rest of the sky was clear and bright.
“Anti-aircraft radar operating?’ said Jalan, noting a ZSU-23-4 emplacement off their left wing. This low they were easy targets, but Mack had the element of surprise on his side, and was beyond the flak dealer’s range before it could fire. In the meantime, they mapped the small army base protected by the weapons, finding six helicopters out in the open and possibly more in a hangar. The helicopters, identified as American Hueys or similar civilian models by the computer system, did not appear on any of the force estimates of the Malaysian army. The computer recorded all of the data they collected, allowing it to be analyzed later.
“P-15 Flat Face,” said Jalan, repeating an alert just now flashing onto Mack’s warning screen, accompanied by an audible buzz. “Should I go to ECMs?”
“Hang off a second,” said Mack. “We got a location?”
The radar unit was near Kalabakon, a small city a few miles from the coast.
“Airfield, Mr. Minister!” said one of the operators. “I have it on the video.”
As Mack reached to bring the image onto his screen, the RWR barked out a warning that they were now fat in the target pipper of the missile system connected to the Flat Face radar. A J-band radar had begun tracking them, indicating that the system was ready to fire.
“ECMs,” said Mack.
Before Jalan could even punch the buttons the Malaysians launched two SA-8 missiles. The missiles had an effective range of roughly sixteen miles, but they had been launched near the edge of that envelope and within seconds the Megafortress had disrupted the ground link, obliterating the I-band guidance radar and persuading the missiles to veer off course.
“Good,” said Mack as the missiles detonated several miles to the south. “Hang on, now — let’s get some close-ups of that airfield, shall we?”
He wheeled the big plane over in the sky and put her nose on a line to the airfield they’d seen, pulling upwards of eight Gs briefly as he twisted in the sky. He felt himself being pushed and pulled by gravity as the plane whipped toward the earth, its momentum shifting abruptly. The Megafortress wasn’t a fighter jet, but damn, she could get out of her own way when she had to.
“ECMs — give ‘em the whole symphony,” said Mack as the warnings sounded again.
There were more SA-8s, as well as anti-aircraft cannons and a battery of very short-range IR seekers, ID’d by the computer after analyzing the video feed. Mack had the airstrip fat in the left part of his windscreen — it had been shaded to make it look like a pair of different roads, and to the naked eye there looked like there was a hill about midway down and a ditch at the western end. The camouflage had undoubtedly been meant to fool satellites or high-altitude spy planes. Mack saw a missile battery on the right side — it was an SA-8 launcher, a large amphibious vehicle with what looked like a tray of missiles on top. The back of the tray exploded; one of the missiles took off, fired pointblank toward the Megafortress.
Mack threw the plane left, firing off defensive chaff and flares while Jalan stayed on the ECMs. The SA-8 had been launched “blind,” its radar guidance completely blitzed by the Megafortress’s ECMs. The missile sailed high over the right wing, climbing to forty thousand feet before imploding.
More dangerous were the two missiles with infrared guidance launched just as the Megafortress passed. These were M48A1 Chaparrals — very short-range heat-seekers that were essentially ground-launched versions of the AIM-9D Sidewinder. Mack’s maneuvers had cost him some speed, and one of the missiles ignited less than a hundred yards from his right wing sending a spray of shrapnel into the back of the fuselage. But the damage was minor, and they climbed through the neighboring mountain valley without a problem.
“Did you locate the Su-27s?” Mack asked the radar operator. “Negative,” said the man. “No hangars visible.”