Mousa nodded, already turning the drone towards the Chinook’s latest course. Pettigrew was pleased to see that Mousa had increased the drone’s speed without any instruction from him.
After only a few minutes Mousa announced, “Target acquired.” Quickly and confidently Mousa designated and locked the target, and Pettigrew immediately said, “Permission to fire granted.”
The Chinook detected the Sidewinder’s attack less than a minute after launch. By that time the drone had flown close enough that it was visible on Mousa’s targeting display. The Chinook dropped altitude and began weaving, and to Pettigrew’s surprise flares began emerging from the helicopter.
This was good news, in a way. It took care of any small doubt Pettigrew might have had that this could be an innocent helicopter that had just lost its way. Ordinary cargo helicopters didn’t carry flare dispensers.
The flares didn’t work. Neither did the Chinook’s maneuvers. The Sidewinder had been designed to chase down jet fighters, and a cargo helicopter built in the 1960s was simply not a challenge.
The Sidewinder hit the Chinook in its engine exhaust, exactly where the designers would have expected its heat-seeking sensor to lead it. Because of its low altitude, the AIM-9x’s explosion was followed very quickly by the Chinook’s impact with the ground.
The cheers of Mousa and all the other students died in their throats as the image of the crashing Chinook relayed by the Reaper was replaced by an instant of brilliant light, and then total blackness.
Pettigrew yelled, “Hit the deck,” even as he was doing so himself. The other students followed immediately.
Their building bucked under them like a ship at sea hit by a rogue wave, but remained intact. All the lights went out, but after a few seconds returned to life.
Pettigrew slowly stood up, asking as he did so, “Is anyone hurt?”
His students stood up, obviously shaken, but all shaking their heads.
“Based on our distance from the explosion, I’m nearly certain that had to be a nuclear weapon. The power went out for a few seconds because of the weapon’s electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. We’ve only got power back because we’re on a military base where all electronics are shielded against an
EMP, and we have generators that kick in automatically when civilian power is cut.”
Pettigrew paused. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m betting that the EMP took out power to the entire Riyadh capital region. I also think that whoever launched this attack is going to do a follow up on the ground. We’ve got three control displays here. I need three volunteers to help me load and fuel three Reapers to start hunting whatever’s coming our way.”
Every student’s hand shot up.
Pettigrew nodded. “OK, but I also have to tell you I have no idea what kind of fallout is waiting for us outside that door. Size and type of weapon, wind direction- there are a ton of variables that could make the difference between fatal exposure and treatable radiation sickness. All I can promise you is that you definitely will get sick.”
Mousa, grinning, raised his other hand. When they saw this, the other students all did the same.
Shaking his head, Pettigrew said, “Very well. Mousa, Fadil, and Rahim.
The rest of you get on the communications console and try to check in with headquarters. Find out what you can. We’ll be back soon.”
Fadil looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.
Pettigrew cocked his head and asked gently, “Something on your mind, Fadil?”
Fadil slowly nodded. “Yes, sir. What should the men say if they reach headquarters, and they ask for you?”
Pettigrew nodded. “Good catch. Wait to contact HQ until I get back. Just find out what you can.”
Fadil still looked uncomfortable.
Now Pettigrew smiled. “You’re wondering why I’m not contacting HQ first. Well, I’m certain they’d tell us to wait for things like anti-radiation suits to get the Reapers airborne. I’m pretty sure we don’t have that kind of time.”
This was met with vigorous nods and murmurs of agreement from Fadil and all the other students.
“Good,” Pettigrew nodded. “Let’s move out.”
Captain Victor Chernin probably had more combat air time than any other Russian pilot, which explained why he had been assigned to one of the few S-
57 stealth fighters in service. He had flown combat missions in Chechnya, Georgia, Ukraine (though he knew never to admit those last missions) and now Syria. But none of that experience did him one bit of good today.
Because today he was trying to identify, track and destroy enemy air targets. Every mission he’d flown so far had been ground attack, and he had never even seen an enemy fighter.
That wasn’t because Chernin didn’t want an air-to-air mission. Far from it.
But circumstances had not allowed him to use his extensive — and, he was repeatedly reminded, expensive — combat air training. Chechen rebels had no air force. Georgia and Ukraine did, but had with few exceptions decided to keep them on the ground in the face of overwhelming Russian air superiority.
Syria had seen a few dogfights with Turkish aircraft chasing Russian planes that had strayed into their airspace, but those had ended long before Chernin’s arrival in Syria. And just like the Chechens, the Syrian rebels didn’t have an air force either.
Chernin was expected to pit this total lack of air-to-air combat experience against not one but two J-20 aircraft. He had no wingman, because keeping even semi-continuous coverage of the airspace between the Gulf and Riyadh meant switching off with the only other S-57 stationed in Syria.
The bad news didn’t stop there. The Saudis had excellent American-made radars, and were also trained by the Americans both in the US and in-country, where Chernin learned the Americans had been training the Saudis for decades. He had to not only patrol and avoid detection, but periodically turn on his plane’s search radar to try to find two J-20s, which were supposed to be the best stealth fighters the Chinese had produced.
However, there was some good news. At the moment the Saudis’ radar coverage was overwhelmingly directed towards intercepting incoming ballistic missiles from Yemen, so as long as he remained in his current search pattern east of Riyadh, he was more or less safe from discovery.
Also, while his air-to-air combat experience might be nil, Chernin doubted that the Iranians who were flying the Chinese-made J-20s had much combat experience, period. There was no way that any veterans of the Iran-Iraq war in the eighties were still flying. He’d heard that Iran might have done some bombing runs against ISIS in Iraq, but even that was unsure. Aside from that, Chernin was hoping these J-20 pilots would be completely green.
Chernin was also very happy with the Saturn izdeliye 117 (AL-41F1) engine that had finally been installed in the S-57, replacing the Saturn AL-31.
Lighter yet delivering more power, installed in the S-57 it was like trading in a sedan for a sports car.
Finally, Chernin had to grudgingly admit that this time the GRU, Russian military intelligence, appeared to have delivered. He and the other SU-57 pilot had been given a narrow radar frequency range to search that they had been assured would be most likely to reveal the J-20s. Of course, that presumed the Chinese had not subsequently found and fixed whatever flaw the GRU had discovered.
Still, it helped even the odds. And considering that the odds started at two to one, Chernin would take any help he could get.
Colonel Astan Izad was far too senior to be flying a J-20, both in terms of age and rank. High-speed maneuvering in a modern fighter made demands on the human body that were much easier for younger men to meet. Instead, he should have spent his time on planning and monitoring this important mission, including preparation for contingencies in case the mission went wrong.