Yuri led his flight of MiGs due east, then cut southeast across the Caucasus mountain range. Skimming above the towering peaks, they rendezvoused with the tanker, took on fuel, and topped off tanks. Finally, when the last hungry MiG was at max capacity, they turned south-southwest.
The ancient Ottoman Empire below them was invisible through the light haze and cloud cover, but Yuri remembered the smells and sounds of his last trip to Istanbul. These peopleclose cousins but still so different. For a moment, he wondered why there couldn’t be room enough in the world for both of them.
No, it was a historical impossibility. Since the earliest days of their history, the Turks had sought to dominate the region. That they were now backed by Pan-Islamic nationalists from the Middle East did nothing to stabilize the area. Unless the Americans could be forced to intervene and stem the burgeoning tide of Muslim radicals, a second Ottoman Empire under the control of Shiite reactionaries would soon dominate the entire region.
The Caucasus Mountains would not hold them off for longsoon enough they’d cast greedy eyes on the fertile plains of Ukraine.
“Feet wet,” Yuri announced to his GCI, indicating they were now over the water. They out-chopped into the Aegean Sea, then vectored northwest toward the entrance to the Bosphorus Strait. The weapon under his wingsjust what was it?
Remembering the damage that the last one had caused, Yuri had plenty of reason to be concerned. With a flight of forty-eight MiGs hot on his heels, another EMP pulse was not acceptable.
Though it might prove a decisive victory over the Americans, it would also wipe out the delicate electronics that kept them all aloft.
Were his superiors willing to make that sacrifice?
He knew the answer to thatof course they were. Balanced against the future of Ukraine under Muslim domination, the sacrifice of forty-nine fighter aircraft was insignificant, especially when the current Naval inventory held more than 250, and production facilities were in full gear to produce more.
He fingered the weapons-selection switch, still set in its off position. There was one settingno, it didn’t bear thinking about. If he did that, his entire future was gone. Gone as surely as if it had disappeared in a nuclear blast.
Yet his thoughts kept returning to the possibility. Could he do it?
Jettison his weapon, go empty-winged into the conflict ahead?
He shook his head and dismissed the option. His career, not to mention all the family he still had remaining in Russia and Ukraine, was at stake. He had no choice but to follow the mission as briefed.
Heroes come in odd shapes and sizes, a silent voice insisted.
They were passing Istanbul now, and the sight of the city shook the captain almost as much as the mine attacks had. The waterfront was still and silent. The piers were crowded with fishing vessels tied up and vacant. Not a soul moved, not even the shipfitters and fishermen that normally crowded the waterfront and piers.
Ahead, the Black Sea beckoned. To the captain, it was probably the most beautiful sight in the worldfree, open water, probably devoid of minefields. Probably. The thought made him pause. Who was to say the Turks hadn’t seeded the entire Black Sea with mines. Mines were cheap, readily available, and one of the easiest defensive emplacements to deploy.
But intelligence reports had been fairly uniform. There was no indication that there were mines past the point about five hundred yards ahead. Like it or not, he would have to rely on those reports.
Five minutes later, Shiloh slipped past the breakout point. She was battered, water-logged, and clumsy in the waterbut she was free.
“Flank speed,” Batman snapped. “Send a signal to Shilohwell done and clear the area. How bad is her damage?”
“She’s still afloat, Admiral,” the TAO reported. “Barely.”
Batman nodded. “I’ll see that her captain gets so many decorations he walks with a port list. In the meantime, get us back into this fight. I’ve got aircraft overhead that need some company right about now.”
“Right full rudder.”
The captain felt the ship respond slowly, too slowly. She sluggishly veered off to the right, steadying up on a new course to clear the area. He walked onto the bridge wing to stare aft.
Behind him, the aircraft carrier plowed through the ocean like a behemoth. Huge bow waves sputtered up around her hull, an indication she was balls to the walls. The captain stuck his head back into the bridge and ordered another five knots of speed. Best to be clear of the carrier. In any conflict over who had the right of way, tonnage always counted.
“What’s our relative wind?” Batman asked.
“Spot on,” the bridge answered. “Ready to commence flight operations.”
“Make it so.”
Batman had barely finished the sentence when the overhead reverberated with the deep-throated roar of a Tomcat at full military power. During the transit through the Strait, the Air Boss and handlers had pre-staged the entire complement of the air wing, prepositioning Tomcats on the two forward catapults.
The waist catwas it usable? Batman wondered. An extra catapult could make all the difference in the world in getting gas and air support in the air right now. He glanced up at the plat camera, and noted that the Air Boss had staged aircraft within easy reach of all three catapults.
Was it time to take the chance?
It was one thing to launch pilots into the air with weapons loads and ask them to risk their lives against incoming adversary air. Another matter entirely to have them trust their lives to questionable catapults. Besides, if they lost birds off it, that was just as effective in depleting their forces as a missile strike by an incoming raider. An aircraft loss was an aircraft lossthe cause didn’t matter.
“Just the two catapults for now,” Batman decided. “And tell the Air Boss I want to see him setting a new record in launches.”
The TAO turned to face him for a moment, his face grim. “I think you’re going to get that wish, Admiral.”
“Now who the hell are these guys?” Gator shouted. His fingers flew over the distinctively shaped control knobs for his radar, his face pressed hard against the soft plastic hood. “Bird Dog, we’ve got a ton of new bandits inbound, coming directly from the east. Looks like forty, fifty of them. Jesus!”
“One at a time, Gator,” Bird Dog said grimly. “That’s how we kill themone at a time.”
He toggled over to tactical. “Skeeter, you holding the new bad guys?”
“Affirmative. Lead, we need to start taking this first wave out. We don’t have time or gas for ACM.”
“Agreed. Go with the Sparrow. Pick your targethere’s mine.” Bird Dog centered his targeting blip over one radar paint and pressed Enter.
“Got it.”
Bird Dog felt the aircraft shake itself like a dog coming out of a creek as the Sparrow left his wings. He shut his eyes as it left to cut down on the afterimage it would paint on his retina. When he was sure it had a solid lock and was underway, he toggled off another one. Just for good measure, he picked out another blip and dumped a Phoenix at it. It might not hitthen again, it might, considering the success they’d had so farbut at least his fuel consumption would drop with the heavy missile off the wings. Besides, it might keep the Turks on the defensive.