“All right,” he told the crew. “Let’s take a deep breath.”
He and the copilot ran through the computer’s screens, double-checking the damage. Besides the engine, there had been some light damage to the control surfaces on the right wing. But it wasn’t too severe; the plane remained eminently controllable and they were climbing at a decent pace.
“Time to head back for the barn,” Mack told his tired crew. But as he brought up the screen to plot a course home, they reported an odd contact on the surface of the water, heading at high speed toward the Brunei oil derricks.
“Range, twenty miles, almost directly ahead,” said Jalan. “Computer can’t identify it, but it’s doing at least fifty knots” It was almost directly ahead.
“Let’s have a look,” said Mack.
Chapter 44
Dazhou Ti folded his arms as they approached the oil platforms. He planned on drawing to within a mile before firing. The target was unarmed, and destroying it would be child’s play. The fact that the shells from the Barracuda’s gun were only twenty-five millimeters meant that they would have slightly more time to practice their marksmanship.
“Sixty seconds to firing point,” announced the weapons officer. “Steady,” said Dazhou Ti.
“Captain, the aircraft we noted earlier is tracking us,” said the radar operator.
“How can that be?” Dazhou moved over to the radar station, where the indicator showed that they were indeed visible on the airplane’s radar. It was the American Megafortress that had been given to the enemy.
General Udara had promised that their spies and radar would keep track of the aircraft, and that if necessary the Malaysian air force’s two Sukhoi Su-27s would distract it — or. if the opportunity presented itself, shoot it down. But obviously the Megafortress had managed to slip by them.
Imbeciles.
“Prepare the anti-aircraft missiles,” said Dazhou Ti. “Stay on the course but lower our speed. If they come close enough, we will make them very sorry.”
The ship — if that’s what it was — looked like a black triangle with wings on the surface of the ocean ahead, a metal loon that was aimed like an arrow at the Brunei oil field. And it moved incredibly fast — around a hundred knots.
“I’ll bet that’s what sunk the merchant ship the other day,” Mack told Jalan. “Probably hit the oil tank as well.”
“I can alert the navy,” said Jala.
“Yeah,” said Mack, looking at the image in the enhanced video. He wasn’t much of an expert on naval architecture, but the craft looked as if it used something similar to wing-inground effect, skimming over the surface of the water like an airplane at very high speed. The sharp, odd angles would also make it hard to spot for most radars, even the EB-52s. except at close range. The black paint made it hard to see.
During the nighttime, that is. They must be feeling their oats to operate during the day.
The nearest oil platform was only a few miles away. It’d be easy pickings for a missile or even a gun attack.
“Not getting an acknowledgment from the navy,” said Jalan.
“Get our ground control and give them the coordinates,” said Mack. “See who’s on alert — Dragonflies could probably take out that piece of tin with a couple of 250-pound bombs.”
“Minister — the vessel is targeting us with its radar,” said Jalan. “Its roof is opening”
Mack cursed as he realized what the strange craft was up to. By the time he leaned on the throttle the ship had launched two missiles at them. Mack fired off the last of his flares and poured on the dinosaurs, his heart pounding as the flat-footed Mega-fortress tried to pick up momentum against the SA-14s, small Russian heat-seekers similar to the American Stinger shoulder-launched anti-air missile. The weapons had a very limited range and small warheads; even so, the Megafortress’s tail caught some shrapnel as one of the warheads exploded.
Which really pissed Mack off.
As he banked back, he told Jalan to open up the bomb bay. “Minister?”
“Do it, Jalan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give me the air-to-ground attack mode, standard bomb program one.”
The Megafortress’s computer hadn’t complained about firing the Sparrow missiles; while it had been designed to operate with the more advanced weapons, the system’s designers had realized there might be an emergency in the field and made sure the system was backward-compatible with earlier weapons. But now the computer refused to recognize that the missile was on its sling, even as Jalan and Brown tried the different air-to-ground attack modes.
“What about as a JDAM?” Mack asked, suggesting that the copilot tell the computer the missile was actually a guided bomb known as a JDAM or Joint Direct Attack Munition. The weapon was a modern version of an iron bomb, with a guidance system that could use either GPS coordinates or an internal guidance system to hit a precise point from relatively close range, usually no more than ten kilometers.
“Negative.”
And then Mack realized he was being far too clever.
“Reset the program back to the Sparrow parameters.”
Once the computer was ready, he brought up the targeting panel and told the weapons system that he had a bogey at low altitude.
Very, very low altitude.
The computer didn’t even hesitate.
“Target locked.”
“Fire at the motherfucker?’
“Unknown command”
“Fire Sparrow.”
“Launching.”
Too late, Dazhou realized he had misjudged his enemy. The big aircraft quickly ducked his missiles and locked its radar on him.
“Evasive maneuvers,” the captain said calmly, moving to the helm. “Active and passive countermeasures. Everything we have.” He gave the order to increase speed to maximum power.
The Barracuda slammed hard to the left and then the right. They thundered over the waves, tucking back to the south and picking up speed.
They were just touching two hundred when the missile struck the rear quarter of the craft.
“Missile struck the target,” said Jalan. “Starboard side at the rear.”
Mack put the Megafortress into a shallow dive, still wary. The ship was so strange that it could easily have some other trick up its sleeve — a laser anti-aircraft weapon, perhaps.
“He’s dead in the water,” reported Jalan as Mack banked a mile and a half from it. “Stern is settling. I think he’s taking on water.”
If he had had another missile loaded, Mack would have finished the stinker off. He debated getting in close and firing the airmines at it, but the weapon was designed to shred jet engines moving at high speed; it wasn’t particularly good at punching holes in anything thicker than an airplane fuselage.
And besides, he was down to three engines, had wing damage, and his fuel tanks contained a heck of lot more fumes than liquid.
“Tell the navy where that thing is,” Mack told Jalan. “We’re going home.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“And one other thing, Jalan.”
“Yes, sir?”
“You can call me Mack from now on. You’ve earned it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Minister.”