"Can they land the plane on all that snow?" Angelina ask McLanahan cross-cockpit.
"Not recommended, but this is a tough bird and those are two tough pilots Big brave talk, he told himself.
"Airbrakes zero," Elliott said as Ormack read from the computerized checklist on his screen. "Ready for the gear flaps, here they come."
He lowered the gear handle, and moved the flap switch to its first-stage position, Elliott started a slow right turn to put them perpendicular to the snow-covered runway.
"Left-tip gear shows unsafe," Ormack said, watching gauges. "All other wheels down. Flaps twenty-five percen Elliott moved the throttles forward to regain speed as the huge flaps, large as barn doors.
lowered into the slipstream, allowing the bomber to fly increasingly slower on final approach.
"Fuel danger lights on for all mains," Ormack announced "Okay, crew, this is it," Elliott said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he felt.
"The fuel's run out. We either land or eject. Dave, I'll make sure you get a few hundred f altitude, but don't delay pulling the trigger."
"Nav… copies Luger was not as successful controlling his voice.
His shoulder harness was already lock his back and neck stiff and straight, his hands rested lightly on the trigger-ring between his legs.
"Patrick he whispered, fighting off the pain in his leg. McLanahan didn't have a chance. He would need several thousand feet to even attempt manual bailout, much less survive it.
Elliott started a slow turn to the right again to align the Old Dog onto the runway.
"Flaps fifty," Ormack asked. "Starters on. Fuel panel is set.
Running on fumes now "Lower the nose," Elliott said. Ormack flipped a switch and the long, pointed SST-style nose slid down beneath the windscreen.
"Landing lights," Elliott ordered, and the four-thousandwatt lights on the landing gear struts snapped on and the Russian runway leapt into view. A massive snowdrift at leas thirty feet high blocked the approach end of the runway. Elliott shoved the power forward.
"Flaps full," he called out.
The howl of the engines obliterated all sound. Luger had his eyes on the bailout warning light on his front console, waiting for the command to eject, his fingers closing around the trigger ring. Wendy and Angelina tensed.
The right-front landing-gear truck plowed into the small mountain of ice, the Old Dog heeled sharply to the right and plummeted down.its nose rushing toward the frozen runway Elliott stomped on the left rudder before realizing that their rudder was useless, shot away long ago. He jammed the yoke full-back and full-left to try to counteract the headlong tumble, but the Old Dog was a freight train out of control.
McLanahan folded his arms across his chest, waited. He felt the impact on the ice, felt the plane lurch to the right at an angle so steep and so sudden he thought the plane had flipped upside down. The right wing stayed down, and he found himself wondering what the crash would look like from outside, a hundred tons of B-52 cartwheeling around on the frozen ground.
He closed his eyes and waited for everything to grow dark and the sound to stop…
For the first time since he began his chase Yuri Papendreyov was beginning to feel he had made a mistake.
Despite stealing his MiG-29 Fulcrum, he had been receiving assistance from ground and air forces in trying to locate the B-52 intruder. But so far he hadn't found it. The climb to twenty-six thousand meters, almost eighty thousand feet, was necessary to receive reports from the elements of the Far East Air Defense Force searching for the B-52.
.
at lower altitudes the mountains would block out reports from coastal or partially terrain-obscured stations. All had reported negative contact…
Yuri had taken his Fulcrum nine hundred kilometers along the Korakskoje Mountains toward Trebleski and Beringovskiy, the main coastal air-defense base and radar installation north of Ossora. He was sure the B-52 would stay along the Korakskoje, hiding in the rugged mountain peaks, then destroy or jam the Beringovskiy radar and head out across the Gulf of Anadyr toward Alaska. With the powerful Beringovskiy radar down, the inferior MiG-23s of the Trebleski Air Reserve Forces, although very heavily armed, would not be able to spot the low-flying B-52 or engage it.
Papendreyov checked his fuel. He would already be in emergency fuel status if he had not taken along the largest external feel tank available, but now he was again very low on fuel. Only his long idle glide from high altitude left him with enough to make some decisions… Trebleski was the most obvious choice for a quick-turn refueling.
but Anadyr, a small limited-operations base, was available and within gliding range. He had been briefed, though, not to use Anadyr or other such warm-weather bases except in an emergency.
He had no choice-Trebleski it had to be. He switched his radios to Trebleski Command Post.requested permission for landing and a "hot" refueling, a battlefield-quick refueling technique where a high-pressure tank truck pumped fuel while the aircraft engines were still running.
"Ossora one-seven-one. Trebleski copies your request.
Stand by."
"Standing by," Papendreyov replied. Then: "Trebleski.
say latest reports on intruder aircraft."
"One-seven-one.intruder last reported by Ossora radar bearing two-eight-two true, range twenty-one kilometers, heading three-four-one true."
"That report is hours old, Control. Any other reports?Has Beringovskiy reported contact?"
"No reports by Beringovskiy radar, one-seven-one. You are cleared for approach to Trebleski Airfield, descend and maintain two thousand meters. Your request for hot refueling has been delayed. Expect cold refueling support in bunker seventeen on landing."
"Control, I am a priority air-defense aircraft. Request k priority hot refueling."
"Copy your request, one-seven-one," the Trebleski controller replied.
"Priority request is being delayed by your headquarters. Stand by for confirmation of your flight-tasking.
Reset transponder to one-one-one-seven for positive identification.
Stand by this frequency" Papendreyov swore into his face mask. So that was the reason for the delay… by requesting priority refueling he'd forced Trebleski to run a check on his flight-tasking order-which, of course, Yuri didn't have. If he'd just accepted a normal bunker refueling he would have gotten a fast turnaround because of the air-defense emergency and Trebleski wouldn't have double-checked. Now Ossora would know exactly where he'd taken his fighter on its unauthorized chase.
No doubt they'd order him arrested after landing.
Yuri checked his chart, saw he was now actually closer to Anadyr than Trebleski. Anadyr would have fuel, might even be set up for a hot refueling. He could wait at Anadyr and monitor the interceptor frequency for any sign of the B-52, then chase it down and destroy it.
If the B-52 didn't show-but that was impossible-he could refuel, cruise back to Ossora and try to talk his way out of a court-martial or a firing squad.
He ignored the request to set a new identification code and pointed his MiG-29 Fulcrum toward Anadyr, switching radio frequencies to Anadyr's command post. He would be in radio range of the base in half an hour, and he would still have almost an hour's worth of fuel once over Anadyr…
ANADYR FAR EAST FIGHTER-INTERCEPTOR BASE, RUSSIA
Sergei Serbientlov was indulging in one of his few delights Chinese food. It wasn't exactly a popular dish in this remote corner of the Soviet Union but perhaps that was one of the reasons why he enjoyed cooking and eating Chinese food-it set him apart. Unfortunately it was that sort of anti — Sovie thinking-and eating-that got him stuck in Anadyr in the fir place, but everyone had to be somewhere.