settled over the spot where Liu and Danny had surfaced. A metal chain and strap dangled from its belly; the strap would be connected to a hastily rigged harness that Danny and the sergeant had put on the warhead.
The noise from the Osprey was so loud that Jennifer almost didn’t hear Danny’s smart helmet beeping with an in-
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coming communication. She put the helmet on, cleared the transmission, and found herself talking to Dog.
He stared at her for a moment, clearly taken off guard.
Jennifer felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him—but of course she couldn’t.
“There’s a fresh wave of Chinese fighters on their way,”
said Dog. “Two other aircraft as well. May be transports with paratroops; they’re a little too far away right now. What’s your situation?”
“We’ve located the warhead in the water. They’re rigging the Osprey to pull it out now.”
“How long before you get it out of there?”
“It’ll take a couple of hours at least. Safing it is an hour-long procedure.”
“Move it along as quickly as you can,” Dog said.
“Tecumseh, I know you’re mad, but I only did—”
“This isn’t the time. Bastian out.”
Aboard Dreamland Cheli,
over northwest India
0235
NAILING THE SUKHOIS WAS AS EASY AS PRESSING A BUTTON.
Or should have been. The targeting system was having trouble locking.
“I can’t lock number three, Brad,” said Steve Micelli, the Cheli’s copilot. “It just won’t lock.”
“Yeah, keep trying,” snapped Sparks. The pilot put his hand on the throttle glide, urging more power from the turbos.
“Targets are at 160 miles,” said the airborne radar operator, Tom “Cheech” Long.
“Yeah yeah, Cheech, I know,” said Sparks. “Come on, Stevie. Get the missiles locked and away.”
“Targeting Bandit Three, ” said the copilot finally.
“Locked. Firing missile.”
The Anaconda whipped away, sailing out from under the RETRIBUTION
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Megafortress’s nose. Two more followed in quick succession.
Then more problems.
“Lost Bandit Six entirely,” said Micelli.
“Steve, I’m going to get up and slap you on the side of the head if you don’t stop screwing around,” said Sparks. “And I’m only half joking here, dude.”
“I’m trying, Brad. I’m trying.”
Sparks glanced at his sitrep plot, which showed his position and that of the other aircraft in the sky. The Sukhois were moving at him from the northwest; he was nose-on with their leader, Bandit One, at 150 miles.
“Missile launch from Bandit One. Missile launch from Bandit Two,” warned the radar man.
“Steve?”
“Yeah—got it. ECMs.”
“Stand by for evasive maneuvers.”
As soon as the Anaconda missile was under way, Sparks threw the Megafortress into a hard turn south.
“Missiles are tracking us,” said Cheech. “Must be passive homers, just like Colonel Bastian said.”
“The ol’ Dog knows his stuff,” said Sparks, starting another turn, this one to the west. “Kill ECMs.”
“Moving at 2,000 knots,” said Cheech. “Coming for us.
Both of them.”
“I only want to hear good news from you, Cheech.”
Sparks had turned the aircraft around so the missiles were now following him; he hoped to outrun them. The problem was, he didn’t know if it was possible, since he had no data on the missiles’ range. They were moving roughly 33 miles a minute to his ten.
“Hey, Flighthawk leader—you staying with me or what?”
Sparks asked.
“With you,” said Lieutenant Josh “Cowboy” Plank. “We running away from these assholes?”
“Bite your tongue, Cowboy,” said Sparks. “This is merely a strategic retreat.”
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Flighthawk; Cowboy didn’t have enough experience yet to handle two at a time, and there was no second Flighthawk pilot available.
“Missile one—bull’s-eye!” said Micelli. “Nailed him! Missile two—hit.”
Sparks listened with satisfaction as the copilot tallied the score—five Sukhois down.
“What happened to Bandit Four?” said Sparks.
“Still there. Missile is off the screen.”
Sparks had other things to worry about at the moment—the two missiles that had been launched at him were now just thirty miles from his tail. He began a series of hard jinks, pushing the Megafortress sharply left and right in the sky, hoping the trailing missiles would have a difficult time following.
“Stinger air mines,” he told Micelli. “Get ready.”
“Ten miles,” warned Cheech.
The air mines had a very limited range, and to make it easier for his copilot, Sparks had to hold the plane as steady as possible. Unfortunately, that would also make it easy for the missiles.
“Five miles. Stinger ready.”
“Well, shoot the bastards down!”
A chit-chit-chit sound erupted from the back as the air mines were launched. Sparks put his hand on the throttle, urging the power plants to give him a few more knots.
Sixty seconds later he realized they’d made it.
“Missile is off the scope,” said Cheech. “Gone.”
“I shot it down! I got it!” yelled Micelli. “I got them both.
Yeah! Yeah! ”
Sparks turned the Megafortress back in the direction of the Sukhoi and the two larger aircraft. They had altered their courses slightly, but were still moving toward the area where the warhead was being recovered.
“Computer is IDing those two aircraft as Fokker F27 airliners,” said Cheech.
“Go away,” said Micelli. The encounter had given him a RETRIBUTION
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serious adrenaline rush, Sparks thought, as if he could fly home without the airplane.
“No shit, that’s what it says,” said Cheech. “Two Airbus airliners.”
“You queried them?” asked Micelli.
“Computer did and it confirmed.”
“Bullshit. Try it again.”
“We’re too far right now. You think it’s going to be different?”
“All right boys, settle down,” said Sparks. “Flighthawk leader—yo, Cowboy, I want you to rustle on over there and scout those aircraft out. We’ll take the Suck-hoi.”
“Roger that, Cheli. ”
Northern India,
near the Chinese border
0250
THE OSPREY’S HEAVY ROTOR WASH PUSHED DANNY FREAH
downward as he waited for the aircraft to get close enough so he could attach the lifting chain. Liu treaded water near him, pushed the spray from his face while rubbing his face so hard Danny thought he was going to poke his eyeballs out.
Unlike their Whiplash-issue diving gear, the borrowed Navy sets didn’t have radios. A spotter stood on the shoreline, radioing to the pilot of the Osprey, who was also relying on two crewmen in the rear to help guide him.
His first attempt was way off, the chain closer to the shore than to them. As the Osprey moved sideways, the chain began to swing like a pendulum. Danny made a swipe, only to have the heavy strap at the bottom smack the back of his hand so hard he thought for a moment he’d broken a bone.
Liu lunged at it, grabbing the loop and wrapping his body around it. The Osprey’s momentum pushed him several feet through the water. Danny seized him as he began to twirl around, pulling him to a stop.
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“This is almost funny!” yelled Danny.
The roar of the V-22’s engines overhead made it impossible to hear if Liu replied. Danny let go of him and, his hand still hurting, plunged beneath the water and retrieved the harness lead from the warhead a few feet below. They hooked the lines together, then swam backward to get out of the way.