“What’s your location, Alpha?”
“We’re still over the horizon, Snake Eyes. We can’t help you much just yet. When we do pop over, our track will take us east of the Philippines.”
“As soon as you’re in the area, heat up the radar. If this guy radiates, we want to triangulate him from all of our positions, then let the computers project his course.”
“Alpha copies. Will do.”
“And, Deltas,” McKenna added, “let’s also bring up the ADFs on the scanners. It’s a slim chance, but maybe we can catch him talking to someone on a frequency we don’t use. We know he hasn’t been using the on-board scramblers.”
In the backseat, Munoz turned on the UHF and VHR scanners that tested all their frequencies for voice transmission, along with the Automatic Direction Finder (ADF). On the ICS, so as not to confuse the Tac Two channel with lots of chatter, he said, “Got scanners and ADF, Snake Eyes. Going active on radar, full sweep at two-two-zero. What do you want on your screen?”
“I’ll stick to the radar,” McKenna said.
The full sweep image came up on his primary CRT. The MakoShark’s radar incorporated two antennas, one in the nose which oscillated back and forth 180 degrees, and a second antenna located in the tail, covering the aft 180 degrees. In search mode, the computer synchronized the two antennas, and the image on the screen was that of a full 360 degree circle. In an attack mode, the WSO would normally use only the forward antenna, narrowing its focus to an eighty or ninety degree sweep.
“He’ll come in high, won’t he, jefe?”
“I’d bet on it.”
On Tac Two, Munoz said, “Hey, Swede, Do-Wop?”
“Yo.”
“You selling something?” Olsen asked.
“I’m selling a forty degree upward deflection.”
“I’ll buy,” Olsen said.
“Yo yo,” Abrams replied.
As Munoz angled the antenna upward, most of the ground clutter and a few low-flying targets, which were probably commercial flights, disappeared from the screen.
Under a bright sun, the coast of Vietnam off his left wing was a verdant oasis. From McKenna’s altitude, the coastal hills appeared flattened. The South China Sea was a deep blue.
“What if he waits until it gets dark, Snake Eyes?” Conover asked.
“Then we wait until dark, and maybe we change our positions,” McKenna said. “I think, though, that he won’t waste the fuel. That had to be him that I saw at eleven this morning. He’s getting brave, flying daylight hours.”
“In order,” Munoz said, “to make a night landing in California.”
“Nevada,” McKenna said.
“Whatever. Somewhere.”
“Amy-baby thinks Nevada, Tiger.”
“Must be Nevada, then.”
McKenna maintained a shallow glide, and after he slowed to 450 knots at thirty thousand feet, he started the rocket motors for thirty seconds and climbed back to forty thousand feet and seven hundred knots, then shut down again.
He set up the navigation system to give him a beep warning when the MakoShark reached the limit of his northern search boundary, at 17° 30’ North.
When the computer beeped him, he turned right into a lazy turn back to the south, waiting for a beep at 15° 15’ North, the southern limit of his search area.
McKenna kept his attention on the instrument readouts and let Munoz worry about the radar contacts.
At 1424 hours, Munoz got a strong contact to the east, which they decided was a Quantas flight out of Hong Kong to Sydney.
Two minutes after three o’clock, Overton checked in.
“Delta Blue, Alpha One.”
“Go Alpha.”
“We’ve got coverage of your area now. Sigma One is on the set.”
“Roger that, Alpha. Thank you.” Sigma One was the call sign for Joe Macklin.
At 1522 hours, Delta Blue was approaching her northern boundary, and McKenna was preparing for yet another turn.
“Got him, Snake Eyes,” Munoz said.
“Zap!” Olsen said.
“Zap here, too,” Macklin added.
“Lock it in,” McKenna said. “Watch for another one.”
He had seen the radar emission appear briefly — less than a second — on his screen.
“Delta Red’s climbing,” Haggar reported. “Going to rockets.”
“About eighty thousand feet, compadre. Bearin’ zero-two-eight. One-nine-seven nautical miles.”
“Preparing for ignition.”
“Checklist on your screen,” Munoz said.
As McKenna brought the rocket motors up, the emission appeared again and radiated for nearly three seconds.
“He was too curious. Computer’s got a track on him now,” Munoz said.
“Let’s let Lynn make the initial probe. Send us down range, Tiger.”
“Calculatin’.”
The rocket motors ignited, and McKenna slammed both throttles to one hundred percent thrust. He sank into his seat as the Gs rose.
“Looks like he’s doin’ Mach 1.8,” Munoz said.
Easing back on the controller, the nose came to vertical.
“We want one-nine-four,” Munoz reported.
As the MakoShark climbed through sixty thousand feet, accelerating to Mach 2–5, McKenna retarded the throttles and eased back on the controller.
The MakoShark went onto her back, still climbing. He rolled into a heading of 194 degrees, and when he had it, rolled the craft upright.
At seventy thousand feet, he cut off the rocket motors.
“Sigma here. He’s radiating again. I read him turning west.”
“We scared him, jefe.”
“Red’s got a tally,” Haggar called. “Confirm visual of Delta Green.”
“Seven-four-thousand, heading two-six-five, range two-zero miles,” Ben Olsen added.
McKenna eased into a right turn.
“Red’s launching two Wasps IIs.”
McKenna counted to himself. One thousand one… one thousand two… one thousand…
“Both missed,” Olsen said. “This guy’s good. He’s gone for terra firma.”
McKenna put the nose down.
The HUD read Mach 2.6 and seventy-two thousand feet.
The radar altimeter reading dropped quickly through the numbers.
“Anything, Tiger?”
“Nothin’. He’s gonna stay off the radar now.”
And there he was.
A dot against the Earth, thirty miles away and twenty thousand feet lower. Trailing his eyes to the right, McKenna found Delta Red. Both craft were moving so fast it was difficult to track them.
A Vietnamese voice started chattering on the unscrambled Tac One channel. His view through the canopy explained the concern. They were a hundred miles inland over Vietnam.
“Deltas, kill the squawk.”
McKenna shut off the IFF transponder, keeping his eye on Delta Green.
“Launching two more,” Haggar said.
He was closing on them, but still seventeen or eighteen miles away. He saw the white vapor trails of the missiles as they leapt from Delta Red’s wing pylons.
Tracked them toward the target.
Munoz had gone to video on the screen.
Delta Green came up close in magnification.
Then rolled hard to the right, hauled her nose up, and almost tumbled.
The two Wasps IIs went sailing past her tail and finally exploded a half mile away.
“All I’ve got left is Phoenix,” Haggar said.
“We’ve got a tally,” McKenna told her. “Delta Blue’s moving in.”
“Roger, Blue.”
The radar altimeter had them at forty-two thousand feet.
“Cranking jets, Tiger.”
“Roger the jets.”
“Fix the position.”
After a few seconds passed, Munoz said, “Laotian border coming up.”