“What do you recommend?” Stoica asked.
“Several things: a larger and higher-pressure nitrogen bottle, bigger feed lines to the launch tube, redesigned replacement seals inside the launch tube, perhaps a faster-acting shutter to protect the tube, and perhaps some extra titanium sheathing around the muzzles to protect the wing,” the maintenance chief said.
“How soon can we get these things?”
“Not long at all — if we were at Zhukovsky,” the maintenance chief said. “Out here in the middle of Transylvania, there’s probably not a piece of titanium anywhere for three hundred kilometers. It will take time to obtain and fabricate these parts. And if Mr. Kazakov moves us again, it will only delay repairs even longer.”
“Can we still use the interior launchers?” Gennadi Yegorov, the Mt-179’s weapons officer, asked.
“You see how much damage was done after one launch, Mr. Yegorov,” the maintenance chief said. “One more launch could severely damage the composite wing, and then we’re looking at a long and complicated repair job. If it damages the structure around the launch tube, we could be looking at replacing the entire inboard wing section — that could take weeks, even months.”
Yegorov looked at Stoica, then shrugged. “We can keep the tubes loaded in case of emergencies,” he suggested, “and depending on our mission, we can load missiles on wing pylons.”
“How much do loaded wing pylons increase our radar cross-section?”
“Ya nee znayoo, “ Yegorov replied. “I would guess about ten to fifteen percent — more if we had air-to-ground missiles. But if we needed the stealth capability more than the missiles, we could always jettison the pylons and we would regain our stealth cross-section, and we’d still have air-to-air weapons on board in case of emergency.”
“The internal launch tubes that you did not use on your last flight are loaded with R-60s and they’re ready to go,” the maintenance chief said. “We need to clear the damage from the other launch tubes before we can load missiles in there. We can get the shutters to retract, but we need to find out if there’s any internal damage.”
“You’d better get started, then,” Stoica said. “I don’t know what the boss has in store for us, but I’d like to be ready to fly as soon as—”
Just then, one of the planning officers ran up to them. “Did you guys hear? There’s some kind of air defense emergency declared on the Russia-Ukraine border. The Russian Air Force is scrambling dozens of jets. Sounds like a war going on!”
They all hurried over to the operations office, where they monitored several UHF, HF, and satellite channels belonging to the Russian Air Force and other Russian military agencies, courtesy of Colonel-General Zhurbenko. It did indeed sound as if a full-scale air war was in progress. Several Russian aircraft and air defense sites had already been destroyed. The entire southeast military district was under an air defense emergency.
“Vi shooteetye!” Yegorov exclaimed. “I wish we were up there! We could show them all what a real fighter jet can do!”
Stoica shrugged, then looked at the maintenance chief. “Well, let’s go. Load those missile pylons on board, give us a full load of missiles, and let’s see what happens.”
“You’re crazy!”
“We need to test what our detection threshold is for pylon-mounted weapons,” Stoica said. “We still have some darkness left — we’ll be back over the Carpathians well before daylight. Let’s do it.”
Everyone had the same thought — what will Pavel Kazakov do when he finds out we launched his stealth fighter without permission? — but everyone was game if Ion Stoica was willing to okay the flight. If he was going to take the beat, that left everyone else off the hook.
The maintenance crews already had pylons ready to upload — they just had to transfer weapons from the weapon storage area: several steel and concrete containers flown in by transport plane — to the maintenance hangar. Stoica selected two R-60 heat-seeking air-to-air missiles on each pylon, plus one R-27 radar-homing missile mounted on the bottom of the pylon. The R-27 missile, developed at Metyor Aerospace, was designed to attack airborne radar aircraft and electronic warfare aircraft from long range — the missile could home in on enemy radio, radar, or jamming transmissions, as well as be guided by the Mt-179’s fire control radar.
Although the Tyenee with its long forward-swept wings, seemed to completely engulf the mounted weapon pylons, the externally mounted weapons also obviously spoiled the stealth fighter’s smooth, sleek lines. “It’s certain our stealth characteristics are going to suffer,” Stoica said. “But we need to find out by how much. If we can penetrate Belgorod airspace and cruise around undetected, we know we have a good system.”
“And maybe we’ll bag ourselves a Ukrainian or Turkish fighter,” Yegorov said happily. He waved a sheet of paper. “I’ve got the latest radar plots and fixes on the unidentified aircraft-we can be there in twenty minutes.”
Aboard the Ukrainian Mi-8 helicopter
Just as the first rays of light were peeping over the horizon, the Ukrainian helicopter crossed the Russian border. “Dave, how are we doing?” Briggs asked via the satellite transceiver.
“Five degrees right, then straight ahead, thirty-one miles,” Luger replied. “Belgorod early-warning radar is forty miles south, but I think you’re below their coverage. Continue terrain masking. Dewey and Deverill are on the move. Looks like they’re in a vehicle, heading southeast toward Belgorod. They might be on the highway, judging by how fast they’re moving. They’re about twenty miles north of the town of Jakovlevo. We’re trying to get a good satellite image of the area to see if we can identify the vehicle, but I don’t think there’s time. I’ll vector you in as close as I can, and then you’ll have to take it from there.”
The chase took only a few more minutes. The highway they were following was growing quickly — it was the main highway between Moscow and Sevastopol, running almost the entire width of western Russia. Traffic was increasing rapidly as the workday began. “This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Briggs said grimly. “We can see several dozen vehicles out here.”
“Twelve o’clock, five miles,” Luger said. “Speed forty-eight knots … four miles, straight ahead … three miles … speed forty-five knots …”
Briggs used his electronic visor to scan every vehicle. Traffic was starting to get busy as they got closer to town, so everyone was slowing down together. There were no military-looking vehicles apparent.”
Annie, this is Hal secure,” Briggs radioed. “Don’t answer. I can’t see your vehicle. I need you to do something to distract the driver and make him swerve or slow down or pull off the road. Scream, throw a tantrum, swear, anything. We’re just a few seconds out.”
“Two miles. You got them yet, Hal?”
“Nothing. Every vehicle was in line. No one pulled off the road, no one swerved, no one sped up or slowed down.”
“One mile,” Luger reported. “Distance and speed are getting more unreliable, guys. The system just isn’t precise enough to give you an exact bead on them. See anything?”
“Nothing. Nothing that looks like a prisoner transport, or a military vehicle, or anything unusual at all. A few buses, a bunch of station wagons, a bunch of minivans.”