“Try to make it to the border,” Samson said. “Do whatever you need to do to keep those fighters off your back. Make up a plausible story. Use your feminine wiles on them, sweet-talk them, promise them a night they’ll never forget, anything you can think of. They might be surprised enough to hear a woman on the radio that they’ll leave you alone. They might be waiting for orders, too.”
“And what if that doesn’t work?”
“Just hope it does work. Stay calm. We’re right here with you.”
Annie ordered the computer to set the number-two radio to 243.0, the universal UHF emergency channel, and keyed the mike button: “Russian fighter off my right wingtip, this is Annie. How are you tonight?”
“Unidentified American bomber aircraft, this is Unit Two-Zero, Fifty-fourth Air Defense Fighter Regiment, Voyska Protivovozdushnoy Oborony, Zhukovsky,” the Flanker pilot responded. “You are in violation of the sovereign airspace of the Russian Federation. You are ordered to follow me for landing at Zhukovsky. Do you copy? Over.”
“Am I over Russia right now?” Annie asked, with all the feminine innocence she could muster. “My navigation system must be all screwed up. I thought I was over the Black Sea. Oh dear, this is pretty embarrassing. Why don’t you just point me toward the Black Sea and I’ll get out of your hair. Pretty please, commander?”
“I have observed your aircraft launch weapons at V-PVO aircraft, and I observe one of your weapons bays is partially open,” the Flanker pilot replied angrily. “I suspect you of attacking and destroying a Russian air defense aircraft, and attacking Russian military forces. That is an act of war, and I am authorized to divert you to a suitable airfield for detention and interrogation of you, your aircraft, and your crew. You will be given all rights under the Warsaw Convention regarding treatment of airspace violators. I am authorized to take any actions I feel I must take to ensure your compliance. I order you to turn to a heading of one-five-zero immediately or you will be shot down.”
“Hey, honey, you’ve got it all wrong,” Annie said sweetly. “I didn’t attack anyone. I’ve got two engines shut down and major damage to my aircraft. I don’t have any weapons on board — this is an unarmed training flight. Do I look like a fighter plane? I was on my way to land and have apparently gone off course. If you can offer any assistance, I’m sure my company will reward you handsomely. I’ll personally see to that. Just let me turn back toward the northwest, and I’ll see to it that you’re compensated in full. You have my promise, commander.”
There was no response. The Sukhoi-27 Flanker merely pulled up and out of sight.
“Hey, Nancy,” Annie said, “you see where this guy went?”
“He’s at your four o’clock, slightly high,” Nancy Cheshire replied. “Moving to six o’clock, one mile.”
“We got any weapons yet, Dev?”
“Weapons just came on-line,” Deverill replied. To the weapons computer, he spoke, “Ready Anacondas. Target aircraft at six o’clock, one mile. Attack.”
“Warning, configuration error, “ the computer responded. “Warning, bay doors not ready. Warning, airspeed too low for safe weapon release. Stop attack.”
“Override configuration error,” Deverill ordered. “Override airspeed inhibits. Emergency open forward bay doors. Launch two.”
“Warning, configuration error override … warning, weapon airspeed limit override, no safe separation … warning, bomb bay doors not latched.” They received bomb door open indications as the computer merely unlatched the forward bomb bay doors and allowed them to gravity-fall fully open. Warning, launch command received, stop launch…”
“Annie! Dev!” Cheshire shouted over the satellite transceiver. “Get out! Get …!”
It felt as if they had crashed headlong into a brick wall. The Flanker pilot had fired two R-60 heat-seeking missiles at the EB-1C Vampire, and both missiles had hit the only operable engines on the right wing. The engines exploded, igniting jet fuel in the right-wing and aft body tanks.
Both Annie Dewey and Duane Deverill knew the time had come. When Nancy Cheshire issued her warning, their hands were already reaching for the ejection handles, and by the time the fireball engulfed the Vampire bomber, the ejection seats had already cleared the plane and they were blasted free.
FIVE
High-Technology Aerospace Weapons Center (HAWC)
“I’ve alerted the weapons teams, sir,” David Luger shouted as he dashed into the battle staff area. General Samson and John Long were already there, checking computerized charts and satellite imagery of the shootdown area, along with several other staff and operational members from both HAWC and the 111th Bombardment Wing. “They’re ready to upload a full hard target penetration load on every Vampire we got. I’ve got the combat support team putting together an intel package and attack routing scenario to the shootdown area immediately — they can have DTECs and flight plans ready to brief in three hours. I’ve also called a secure dataconference meeting with ISA to put together a plan of action.”
“Wait a minute, Colonel, just wait one goddamned minute,” Long interjected angrily. “You HAWC guys are forgetting — again — that you don’t command the 111th. We don’t just go launching off into space with bombs and missiles and start shooting everybody up, especially the Russians. We need authorization, and we need a warning order and frag order. We need to coordinate our efforts. I’m not going to start launching Vampires without a plan of action.”
“There’s no time for that,” Luger shot back. He went to a nearby computer terminal, calling up the maintenance status of their aircraft. “We can launch three birds in about six hours. In the meantime, we can divert Rebecca and Patrick to a refueling anchor over the Baltic Sea. We can also—”
“Hey, Luger, that’s my job,” Long interjected. “You don’t work for Aces High.”
“Get off your ass, Major!” Luger retorted angrily. “Annie is out there on the ground in goddamned Russia! We need to get her out of there now!”
“Colonel, Major, knock it off, now,” General Terrill Samson cut in. “Everyone relax—”
“Relax? We can’t relax!” Luger exploded. “Do you realize the danger if Annie or Dev gets captured by the Russians? Do you realize what the Russians do to captured fliers? Huh? Do you?”
“Dave, ease off—”
“They’ll twist their minds, empty their brains, use drugs or chemicals or physical or mental torture to make you reject or deny everything you’ve ever believed.”
“What in hell are you blabbering about, Luger?” Long asked. “You been watching too many spy movies.”
Terrill Samson knew what John Long did not — that when David Luger spoke about being tortured by the Russians, he spoke from personal experience. He put a hand out toward his chief engineer. “Easy, David, take it easy—”
“1 will not take it easy, sir!” Luger shouted. “You have got to put out an alert to every intelligence and special operations team within a thousand miles of that shootdown point-tell them to mount up and get a search-and-rescue operation started immediately.”
Long shook his head in exasperation. Look at this hotshot HAWC smart-ass going to pieces, he thought. They’re all a bunch of blubbering candy-asses. “Take a pill, Colonel—”
“Shut up, Long,” Samson said. “David—”