And she was gone.
Aboard Dreamland Bennett
2202
ENGLEHARDT KNEW HE COULD BEAT THE MIGS IF THEY
f ired. He saw in his mind exactly what he’d do: jive and jab and zigzag while Sullivan hit the ECMs. He’d drop low, then come up swinging—fire the Anacondas at point-blank range.
The question was: What would he do if they didn’t fire?
“Still coming at us,” said Rager. “Slowing.”
Englehardt checked his position. The Bennett was close to the Chinese border—another problem, he thought; if he went over it, the Chinese might send someone to investigate as well.
That might be a good idea. He could duck out of the way and let the two enemies go at it.
“MiGs are thirty miles and closing,” said Sullivan.
Englehardt once again thought of radioing for instructions.
But there was no point in that—he’d only be told to use his judgment.
That was the Dreamland way, wasn’t it? You were on your own, trained to make the call. A Megafortress flying alone wasn’t “controlled” by an AWACS or even a flight leader—its pilot was on his or her own. If he wasn’t up to the responsibility, he didn’t belong in the cockpit in the first place.
So do it. Just do it.
And yet he balked, inherently cautious.
“Are they talking to anyone?” Englehardt asked.
“If they are, we’re not hearing it,” said the copilot.
Englehardt flipped over to the Dreamland Command channel to speak to Danny Freah.
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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
“Captain, we have a couple of Indian aircraft up here taking an interest in us. Are you ready to get out of there?”
“We need ten more minutes.”
“I’m going to lead these planes away from the area. When you take off, have the Osprey stay low in that mountain valley. The MiGs shouldn’t be able to see them on radar.”
“Good. Copy.”
He had it figured out now: he’d fool the Indians, diverting their attention while the Ospreys got away.
Was that the smart thing to do? Or was he wimping?
Maybe he should shoot them down.
“I’m going to try talking to those bastards myself,” said Englehardt. “I’m going to broadcast on all channels and see what the hell they’re up to.”
“Take your shot,” said Sullivan.
Englehardt identified himself and the ship, saying they were on a Search and Rescue mission and asking the Indians’ intentions. Once again they didn’t answer.
“Ten miles,” said Sullivan. “Still closing.”
“Get ready on the Stinger air mines.”
“Yeah,” said Sullivan.
The two MiGs had widened their separation as they approached. They flanked the Megafortress, then slowly began drawing toward her wings, still separated from her by a mile or so.
“American EB-52,” said one of the Indians finally. “Why are you over Indian territory?”
“I’m on a Search and Rescue mission for American fliers,”
said Englehardt. “Why didn’t you answer my earlier radio broadcasts?”
The Indians once more chose not to answer. The Megafortress’s radio, however, picked up a succession of squeals and clicks, indicating they were using an encrypted radio system to talk to someone.
“Gotta be talking to their ground controller,” said Sullivan. “What do you think? Did he just tell them to shoot us down or leave us alone?”
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283
* * *
BY SLOWING DOWN TO MATCH THE MEGAFORTRESS’S SPEED, the MiGs allowed Hawk Two to catch up to them. Starship angled Hawk Two toward the tail of the closest MiG, which was aiming itself roughly toward the Bennett’s right wing. The Flighthawk’s faceted body and absorbent skin gave it a radar profile about the size of a flying cockroach, and the black matte paint made it hard to pick up in the night sky. But even if it had been daylight the Flighthawk would have been nearly impossible for the MiG pilot to see; Starship had the plane exactly behind his tailfin.
“Computer, hold position on aircraft identified as Bandit Two.”
“Hold position.”
Starship took over the controls for Hawk One, still circling low over the recovery site. The Indian ground unit had stopped about a mile south of the landslide. The Americans, meanwhile, were getting ready to bug out.
This is going to work out, he thought. The Osprey was going to sneak away, and then the Megafortress would head over to Pakistan and go home without the Indians knowing exactly what was going on.
Then he noticed a flicker in the lower corner of Hawk One’s screen.
He pushed his throttle slide up to full.
“Hawk leader to Whiplash ground team—Danny, there are helicopters trying to sneak in up that valley behind the Indian ground units.”
Jamu
2205
STARSHIP’S WARNING CAME JUST AS THE WARHEAD WAS
secured and the Marines had been ordered to return from their lookout posts. Danny needed a second to work out in his head where everyone was. Then he jumped in the back of 284
DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND
the V-22, slipped through the nest of lines and straps holding the warhead in place, and ran to the cockpit.
“Helos coming up that road,” he told the pilot. “Can you get us out without them seeing us?”
“No way, Captain,” said the pilot. “I have to clear that ridge ahead or go right past them. Either way, they’ll see us.”
“All right. Go over the ridge as soon as we’re secured back here.” He switched his radio on. “Starship, see if you can slow those guys down a bit. We want to exit to the north.”
Aboard Dreamland Bennett
2207
STARSHIP TOOK HAWK ONE STRAIGHT AT THE LEAD INDIAN
helicopter, a large Mi-8 Hip troop carrier. He got so close to the chopper that if he’d tipped his wing down he could have sliced through its rotors.
He cut over the second chopper—another Hip—then circled around for another pass. If either helicopter pilot had seen him, they didn’t let on; both aircraft continued flying through the valley. They were doing about seventy knots, flying so low that their rear wheels, which hung on struts off the side of the fuselage, couldn’t have been more than a foot off the ground.
“This time I’m going to get your attention,” said Starship.
He pulled into the valley ahead of the helicopters, jammed his stick back and let off a bunch of flares, climbing into the night like a giant Roman candle. Both helicopters immediately set down. Their rotors continued to spin, and the sand-storm that had been following them caught up.
“Helicopters are down, Whiplash,” said Starship. “Get out of there while you can.”
“AMERICAN MEGAFORTRESS! WHY ARE YOU FIRING ON OUR
helicopter?”
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285
“We’re not firing at all,” said Englehardt. “You’re sitting right with us.”
“Cease your fire!” repeated the Indian.
“MiGs are dropping back,” said Sullivan. “Getting into position to fire heat-seekers at us. Air mines?”
Yes, thought Englehardt. Then no.
Anacondas?
He was way out of position for that. He’d have to use the Stinger.
They still hadn’t fired.
“Wait until they activate their weapons radars,” he told Sullivan.
“They don’t need their weapons radars,” said the pilot.
“Hell, they can hit us with spitballs.”
“Starship, where are you?” asked Englehardt. He could feel sweat running down every part of his body, and his colon felt as if it was about to jump through his skin.
“Hawk Two is right behind Bandit Two. Hawk One is back with Indian helicopters.”
“Did you fire at them?”
“Just used my flares to get their attention. It worked.”
“Marine Osprey Angry Bear is up,” said Sullivan.