The go/no-go for Bunny had been whether she could come up with a combination of AI routines that would allow her Fantoms to lock onto the incoming Ilyushin and then hold position underneath it at wave-top height. To do it, she’d re-written and combined the code for an optical targeting algorithm with a nap of the earth formation keeping algorithm meant for use with air to ground radar, but it had been impossible to test, so it would either work, or… the Fantoms would die. Most probably by plunging into the ocean as the Ilyushin began its landing descent.
“Got a visual lock. AI matching course and speed,” Bunny said, eight minutes later. Rodriguez saw the two icons merge — the Ilyushin at 20,000 feet and descending, and the two Fantoms below it at wave-top height, flying in train, nose to tail, making them nearly the same total length as the monster above them but with a much smaller radar cross-section.
The communications between the tower at Lavrentiya and the IL-77 were encrypted, but the L-70 satellite could read the inherent pattern in them, and reported to NORAD-ANR-NCTAMS-A4 that comms appeared normal as Bunny’s Fantoms began gliding toward Lavrentiya directly underneath the track of the transport flight.
Inside the command trailer of Russia’s undisputed ace Nebo-M unit — the only unit now with two confirmed combat kills — Lieutenant Colonel Chaliapin listened to the chatter of Lavrentiya air traffic control and watched on his own display as the 0640 transport flight from Murmansk began its approach. There was no enemy air activity in the Operations Area, and he reflected with some satisfaction that the US appeared to have given up any idea of trying to hit him in retaliation for the destruction of their aircraft two days earlier. Normally he would expect a ‘wild weasel’ air defense suppression attack or a cruise missile strike intended to target his radiation signature, and local air patrols had been increased in anticipation. But personally, he doubted the US had the resources in place for another strike this deep behind the forward line of control. The drone attack of the day before had probably been made with fighters piloted by an autonomous AI and sent on a one way trip from a base 1,000 miles distant, which is why it had been so dumb, and had failed.
He could see no activity around the incoming IL-77, and there were no reported contacts from either Airborne Control or any of the 3rd Air and Air Defense Forces Command fighter patrols currently blanketing Western Alaska. This particular White Whale was safe.
But he had not become the leading Nebo-M unit in the air force through complacency. If the enemy planned to take this particular flight down, it would be getting in position to hit it now, when it was in its vulnerable landing phase, wheels down, flaps up, flying close to a stall and unable to maneuver.
“Low-frequency sector scan on the IL-77 now, 30 seconds,” he ordered. Any stealth aircraft sneaking in behind the White Whale thinking it was going to make an easy kill was about to get a serious dose of radiation poisoning. He smiled. He freaking loved his job.
“Nebo in narrow beam search mode,” Bunny said suddenly. “They’re looking for us.”
“They can’t be,” Rodriguez said, pointing at the NORAD feed showing the Russian fighter combat air patrol CAPs, following routine patrol routes. “They’d be sending fighters your way if they were.”
“OK, maybe not for us, but they’re suspicious bastards,” Bunny said. “No lock. Yet.”
“Sir, I have… I’m not sure…” the systems officer of the Nebo-M said. “Here, look…”
Chaliapin bent over his system officer’s screen. It showed an icon for the White Whale, and overlaid on it, the icon for a potential unidentified contact. As they watched, the system’s AI wiped the unidentified contact from the screen due to ‘low return, low probability’.
“OK, get ready to override AI,” the Nebo commander said.
“But the UI contact has been wiped,” the man pointed out. “It was a false return.”
“You might trust your life to an AI system,” the Russian commander said. “I don’t. If you get another return like that, override and lock it manually.”
He turned to another officer. “Keep all arrays in circular mode. The bastards could be using the IL77 as a distraction, trying to jump us from a different direction.” To himself he muttered, “It’s what I’d do.”
“Five miles to release point ma’am!” Bunny said. “Goddamn, I never flew a combat mission so damn slow! Any slower, our birds will have to drop flaps and we’ll lose stealth…”
“Easy girl,” Rodriguez said, letting all formality go. “Can you show me the White Whale?”
“Sure,” Bunny said, swiveling her head to look at a virtual screen inside her helmet, tapping a touchscreen and then pointing to one of the overhead 2D viewing monitors. “Topside cameras.” The view on the screen flicked from a forward view, showing water and a smudge of land, to the sky above the Fantoms. The transport swam into focus and looked like it was about to drop right on top of the Fantom.
“Shit…” Rodriguez said, holding herself back from grabbing Bunny’s shoulder. “What’s the separation?!”
Bunny looked down at her virtual-reality instrument panels, “500 feet,” she said. “If they evacuate the in-flight toilets, we’re going to get wet ma’am.”
“Sir!” the systems officer called. “I have another return. Manually locking unidentified object. Entering 30-mile inner ring range. Shall I bring the S-500 missiles up?” He sounded unsure. “Whatever it is, it is congruent with the approaching aircraft. The Ilyushin will be at risk if we fire.”
“No, that’s the last resort. We can order the Whale to abort and go-around for another landing, see if that shakes anything loose.” He picked up a handset, prepared to call Lavrentiya air traffic control.
“It’s on final approach,” his operator said. “A go-around now would bring it nearly overhead anyway.”
Lieutenant Colonel Chaliapin squinted hard at the screen. Overlaid on the IL-77 icon was a ‘UI aircraft’ icon. The two were blinking alternately, indicating the returns were completely aligned. The AI had decided the two returns were both from the same aircraft, not unsurprising given how close the huge transport plane was to water level. They were probably getting a double return — refraction of their radar energy off the aircraft onto the surface of the water and back. It happened.
But almost never.
“Dammit. Bring the missiles up and give me a full burst sector scan of that Ilyushin!” the battalion commander said. “I really don’t like this.”
If he was wrong, he might be about to blow away one of the biggest aircraft in the world, its crew, and 200 tons of war supplies. But it was the kind of call he relished.
“JAG-ems one through six away!” Bunny called, “Cudas one and two away! Bugging the hell out.”
From the weapons bays of her two Fantoms, six JAGM air-to-ground missiles dropped and accelerated toward Lavrentiya, just visible on the horizon. Right behind them, two Cuda missiles fell free, lit their burners, turned 180 degrees to clear the tail of their launching Fantom and then sped over the top of it headed straight for the White Whale wallowing along above them. It didn’t stand a chance. Bunny’s fighters spun on their wingtips, went to full burner and began active jamming to spoof any missiles that might be fired their way.