“Royal Air Force pilots have been doing it since before I was born, sir. Risking my life is what I do.”
“Excellent. You’re coming in below the Orion, and your first point of attack will be engines on the same wing.”
“Does it matter which wing, sir?”
“No,” Renard said. “You choose. The intent is to disable each engine on the same wing. You’ll have to aim your cannon at the turboprop engines.”
“I will do that, sir,” Anderson said. “But I suspect that an Orion can still fly with its two other engines.”
“Indeed it can,” Renard said. “But not so if its rudder is damaged beyond use.”
Renard let the pilot digest the meaning.
“I see, sir. I assume that’s where you expect me to run out of bullets?”
“Let me invite the input of Doctor Taylor from Lockheed,” Renard said. “Doctor?”
“Yes, lieutenant,” Taylor said. “Your twenty-seven-millimeter rounds should be capable of disabling the rudder, if you have any rounds remaining from attacking the engines. However, if you need to use the fuselage of your aircraft as a weapon, it’s better for you to use it against the rudder than the engines.”
“I understand, sir.”
“If you’re using bullets, your optimum angle of attack against the rudder is from the Orion’s beam at equal altitude to the Orion,” Taylor said. “If you must use your fuselage, you’re best to approach from above and from the Orion’s forward quarter. A glancing impact should be sufficient, if you can maneuver your aircraft with such accuracy.”
“I can maneuver as well as any pilot, sir!”
“Excellent,” Renard said. “Also remember that attacking a submarine requires complex and precise flight patterns by an Orion. Any damage you inflict might be enough to at least buy the Ambush enough time to escape.”
“I see it!” Anderson said.
“The Orion?” Renard asked.
“Yes, sir. And it’s only using three engines.”
“Which one is off?” Renard asked.
“Number three,” Anderson said. “The outboard starboard engine.”
“Could this be some sort of fuel conservation effort, Doctor Taylor?” Renard asked.
“I don’t believe so,” Taylor said. “They’d want to use all engines for optimum control during anti-submarine operations. That engine must be inoperable or risky to operate.”
“This may be our lucky break,” Renard said. “This may be an artifact of the squadron’s limited access to spare parts and funding.”
“I hope so, sir,” Anderson said.
“Lieutenant Anderson,” Renard said. “On your first pass, concentrate fire on the engine beside the one that’s not running. Don’t expend all your rounds. See if you can disable the other engine on the same wing. Engine number one, starboard inboard.”
“I’ll put fifteen rounds into it and see what happens.”
Background noises seemed subdued versus Renard’s expectations. He had expected more fury from the climbing Typhoon, but its powered and accelerated ascent sounded graceful through his phone.
“Engaging with cannon,” Anderson said.
Renard heard the chirping staccato of bullets followed by Anderson’s voice, which was strained as he withstood the acceleration of a tight turn.
“I hit the target and overflew the Orion. Coming back around for another pass.”
“Any damage?” Renard asked.
“I see smoke from number one engine!” he said. “But it’s still running. Number three engine is still idle.”
“Let’s see how long engine number one holds on with extra strain,” Renard said. “Put ten rounds into its rudder.”
“Hold on, Mister Angel,” Greene said. “Those bullets are best used making sure the engine dies.”
“I agree,” Taylor said.
“Gentlemen, I know what logic would dictate, but I feel it. This Orion isn’t going to remain in the air much longer. Do you not agree Lieutenant Anderson?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got a feeling about it too. Plus, I’m in position now to hit the rudder. I’ll save fifteen rounds for engine number one if I need to make another pass at it.”
“Excellent man! Do it!” Renard said.
“I concur,” Greene said. “You’re trained to make these judgments based upon what you see. Shoot straight.”
As Renard heard staccato chirps in his phone, he realized he had tucked himself into a corner at the edge of the bar’s counter to avoid being overheard.
“Damn!” Anderson said. “Half my rounds missed. The rudder is still intact.”
“But you put holes in it, did you not?” Renard asked.
“About five.”
“That will lessen its effectiveness and strain its structural mounting,” Renard said. “Now another pass on engine number one.”
“It dropped something into the water with a parachute.”
“That could very well just be another sonobuoy,” Renard said. “Even if it’s a torpedo, we’ll trust that the Ambush can evade.”
“I’m coming from below again, making a pass at engine number one. Engaging with cannon!”
When he heard the last bullet fire, Renard realized that the Typhoon had become unarmed.
“Heavy smoke from number one engine!” Anderson said. “The propeller is still turning, though.”
“Damn!” Renard said. “Come back and give their rudder a beating with your jet wash!”
“No, sir,” Anderson said. “I can’t do that.”
“I don’t understand,” Renard said.
“I’m almost out of fuel. I have enough for one more pass. I’m not going to leave this to chance.”
Renard knew that everyone wanted to wish the young man well, but nobody could find appropriate words. The whine of engines vanished, indicating that Anderson decided to protect everyone’s ears from the sound of the impact.
“Are you there, Lieutenant Anderson?” Greene asked.
“I fear we’ve lost him,” Renard said.
“Lieutenant Anderson?” Greene asked.
Renard braced himself for Greene to reprimand him for sacrificing his pilot to a failed mission, but he instead heard the major take on an inquisitive tone.
“Hold on,” Greene said. “We’re receiving a distress signal here. I need to deal with it. I’ll call you back if I need you, Officer McDonald.”
“What could that be about?” Taylor asked.
“Evidently not our concern, doctor,” Renard said. “I thank you for your support. I’m sure Officer McDonald will share with you whatever she can about the outcome once it’s known.”
“Of course, I will, Doctor Taylor,” Olivia said. “I thank you as well. I’m going to secure this line. Angel, I’ll contact you when I learn something.”
The line went dead, and Renard walked back to his chair. He lowered his phone to the counter and, against his upbringing, he gulped his second drink of the night.
After decades of shaping national boundaries, he had forgotten the feeling of helplessness. He struggled to recognize it, but when he did, its presence bothered him. Thoughts of calling his wife for support rose and died as he remembered their agreement to protect her from all awareness of his work.
When the bartender approached, Renard dropped a bill on the counter that far outweighed his tab. He turned and fled for the street where he sought a concierge’s aid in hailing a taxi.
Ducking into the vehicle’s back seat, he realized that he lacked a destination. When the driver queried him, he responded in passable Spanish that he sought any hotel of his choosing across town that cost a fraction the rate of the Four Seasons.
As the driver nodded and motored him into the busy street, the Frenchman leaned his head against the rear window. Beautiful people filled the sidewalks, flowing with the city’s natural beat between dance clubs, bars, and restaurants. With his adrenaline level subsiding, he allowed himself to envision a life of leisure, strolling the world’s finest cities and enjoying his fortune with his family.