Another targetthe missile wavered for a moment, confused by the sudden profusion of bright heat spots around its primary target. It settled on the strongest one, changed course slightly, and headed for it.
Four seconds later, it exploded harmlessly in the middle of a flare in a cloud of chaff.
Thor swore vehemently. The MiG had ejected flares and chaff and executed a hard port turn. The first Sidewinder was decoyed. He fixed all of his hopes on the second.
The second missile had a steady lock on the port exhaust. The MiG’s turn only served to present it a more favorable aspect. The MiG spat out a last-minute flurry of chaff and flares, but even if the missile had been decoyed, its momentum would have carried it straight on. It rocketed up to the exhaust, poking its nose into the broad flow of hot air before exploding.
I’m going to dump it. Even with a Hornet on his ass and odds that he was just moments away from having to eject, Yuri felt an odd sense of relief. He closed his hand around the bar labeled Weapons Jettison. Just as he started to yank it, he saw the second missile, felt the cold clear knowledge that this one wasn’t going to miss. Rage engulfed him, an overriding regret for the rest of his lifeor what could have been the rest of his life were it not for his superiors, for the Hornet welded to his ass. It isn’t fairall I wanted was a little freedom. Without even pausing to reach for his ejection switch, he slapped his hand against the stick and fired the missile under his wing.
Thor shut his eyes against the glare as the MiG exploded in midair. A violent black and yellow fireball, shot through with red and white flames, erupted. He heard the small ping of shrapnel hitting his fuselage, and broke hard right to avoid it. That would be a hell of a thingto shoot down a MiG and then get dumped in the water himself with shrapnel in his engine intake.
Over tactical, Thor could hear the cries and victory yelps from his compadres. The first aircraft launched from the carrier were just starting to arrive on station, and the desperate fighters that had held the line alone were breaking off one by one to seek out the tanker. He glanced down at his own fuel statusfine for a while. He went buster and rejoined the fray.
As he selected his next victim, Thor’s mind scampered back briefly over the odd, stealthy MiG. Had it been carrying nuclear weapons?
Someone on the carrier would know. No doubt the explosion would have spewed radioactive material through the air, and the damage would be detectable by the ship’s radiac meters. Still, at least he’d gotten it before it detonated. It took a helluva lot more than a fireball to set off a nuclear tactical weapon.
“Vampire inbound!” the E-2C TACCO howled. “Thorhe got it off just before you nailed him!”
“Just in time.” Bird Dog saw the tanker off in the distance, and cut the Tomcat sharply to the right to swing around and come up behind it.
Another Tomcat was currently glued to the basket trailing behind the KA-6, greedily sucking down fuel. At this point, the original fighters had been ordered to take on just enough fuel to take a pass at the boat, land, and be rearmed. They’d be completely refueled on the boat.
“Two thousand pounds,” Gator confined. “Man, we’re cutting it close.”
“How is our wingman doing?” Bird Dog asked. Gator pointed off to his right. Skeeter was welded into position, hovering virtually motionless off their starboard wing. “Doing fine. Gonna make a fine pilot, he is.”
“Maybe,” Bird Dog grumbled. “Got a little attitude problem.”
Gator stifled a chortle. If he’d had to design a scenario to brighten his day, it was thisto see Bird Dog get a taste of his own medicine from another young hothead.
The tanker was positioned halfway between the carrier and the furball, providing easy access to gas both for fighters refueling to rejoin the battle and those headed for the deck. As Bird Dog started his final approach on it, the Tomcat in front of him drew back slightly, withdrew his probe from the basket, and peeled off back to the furball.
Bird Dog lined up on the flexible basket trailing behind the KA-6.
His refueling probe, located on the forward portion of the cockpit fuselage, was extended. He slid the Tomcat forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the basket, not watching the relative motion of the aircraft. Of all the maneuvers a fighter pilot was required to perform, this one was second only to a night carrier-deck landing for stress. The two aircraft flew less than ten feet apart, linked basket-to-refueling-probe. There was no room for any mistake in judgment.
Bird Dog slid up slowly, felt a slight plunk as the probe seated, then glanced down at his instruments to check the fuel flow. As expected, he was taking on fuel at the optimum rate.
“Headed back for the boat, aren’t you?” the KA-6 pilot said. “Looks like your wing’s empty.”
“That’s affirmative.”
And it made a difference, it did, during the approach on a tanker. It was much easier to bulldog a lightly laden Tomcat into position behind the smaller jet than one carrying a full combat load.
“Be back soon, though, I expect.”
“If there’s anything left for you to do. Looks like the Turks are dropping like flies.”
“We do what we can. Okay, I think I’m good to go.”
“Roger. Securing fuel flow.”
As the instruments indicated that the flow of aviation fuel had ceased, Bird Dog eased back slowly on the throttle. The two aircraft separated, the distance between them growing at an almost imperceptible rate. Finally, when he was well clear of the tanker, Bird Dog peeled off to starboard and headed for the martial stack to wait his turn.
Five miles off the carrier, Gator started yelping. “Bird Dog, contactMach 2Jesus, it’s a missile!”
“Where, where?” Bird Dog hollered, frantically scanning the sky around him. “I don’t have it.”
“On our six,” Gator snapped, his voice now cold and steady. “Come right, steady on four-zero-four. I’ve got it on radarrecommend we find a use for those Sparrows on your wings.”
Bird Dog followed the orders instantly, slewing the jet around in a violent turn that pushed her up to max Gs. As he came out of the turn, he saw it, a wavering glittery speck just dead ahead. He continued to turn to starboard, increasing their lead-angle geometry. As the radar lock growled, he turned off first one Sparrow, then another.
“They knowthe carrier’s already screaming bloody murder,” Gator reported. “Bird Dog, we’re out of thisno more weapons. But Skeeter has two Sparrows left. Put him in chasenow!”
Gator’s voice was demanding, urgent.
Bird Dog glanced over at his wingman, still rock-steady in place.
“You heard the manhere’s your chance. Get out ahead of that bastard, take it nose-on-nose. The carrier’s got a close-in weapons system, but it’s for shit. If we wanna knock this baby down, it’s gotta be now.”
Two clicks on the tactical circuit acknowledged Bird Dog’s order. His wingman rolled hard to starboard, dived to gain speed, and headed out for front position on the missile.
“Bird Dogwhat was his fuel status?” Gator said urgently. “He was just starting to take it on when I called the Vampire.”
“I don’t know,” Bird Dog said grimly. “Little shithead probably thinks he’s got enough. He knows how fast he’s going to burn it upat least according to the booksbut he doesn’t really know, not like you and I do.”
“Let Mother know to get SAR ready,” Gator said grimly. “I have a feeling your wingman is headed for the drink.”
Skeeter let out a loud howl as he gave chase. The missile was still ten miles away, and if he played it right, he had just enough time to get in front of it and take it out with a nose-on-nose shot. He fingered the weapons-selector switch, making sure it was in position for the Sparrows.