End Game (13 page)

“Yeah, I see them on the sitrep.”

“Let's go ahead and launch,” said Breanna. “Get
Hawk Three
off the wing before we get too close.”

“Yeah, roger. Let 'er rip.”

Aboard the
Shiva
,
northern Arabian Sea
0430

M
EMON WATCHED THE OIL TANKER ON THE SCREEN IN THE
combat center. The image was blurred and shadowy, but one thing was clear—the tanker was not stopping. The helicopter with the antiship missiles and its two companions with the marine boarding party were now less than two miles away.

Memon had donned a headset that allowed him to switch into the different radio channels being used during the mission. He listened now as the admiral repeated his warning.

“You are ordered to halt your ship. If you do not stop and allow yourself to be boarded, you will be sunk. Those are your alternatives.”

There was a flurry of activity to Memon's right. An airplane coming from the vicinity of Pakistan had been picked up on radar about fifty miles away. Two of their planes were going to meet it.

The voices spiked with excitement—something had flared from below the plane.

A missile launch!

Memon's stomach tightened. The treacherous Pakistanis had lured them into a trap.

The voices calmed—the plane was identified as an American Megafortress, bound for the Indian Ocean near Africa. It had launched a small robot aircraft, not a missile.

“You look disappointed,” said Captain Bhaskar.

Memon pulled off his headset. “How's that?”

“You want a battle, don't you?”

“I don't run from conflict. We must not be intimidated.”

As Bhaskar frowned, one of the officers behind him announced that Admiral Kala had just given the order to stop the tanker.

Aboard the
Levitow
,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0432

“T
ANKER BEING TARGETED
!”
SAID
S
TEWART
,
PRACTICALLY
shouting. “The helicopter is going to fire—Sea Eagle antiship missile, active radar.”

“Jam it,” Breanna told her copilot.

“Captain—”

“Jam the guidance radar, now. Full ECM suite,” said Breanna. She put her hand on the throttle glide, urging more speed from the Megafortress. “
Hawk Three
—be advised Indian helicopters are firing on the oil tanker.”

“Roger that. I see it. What do you want me to do?”

“Just stay close.”

“I'm hugging you,” said Mack.

Breanna reached to the communications panel. But before she could tell Colonel Bastian what was going on, Stewart reported that the ECMs were on.

“They're firing anyway,” added the copilot. “We're not optimized for weapons like that.”

Breanna hit the preset on the communications panel so she could broadcast on the UHF frequency universally used for emergencies.

“This is
Dreamland Levitow
to Indian helicopters. Why are you firing on an unarmed civilian vessel?”

“First missile missed,” said Stewart. “They're going to try again.”

“Where are the Sukhois?”

“A mile and a half south. Aircraft carrier—bear with me,” said Stewart, struggling to sort out the alerts and icons
that were flashing on her screen. “Ship-to-ship—they have a targeting system for SS-N-12 Sandbox antiship missile. Surface-to-air. Short-range—um, SA-N-4 Gecko. Guns.”

The SA-N-4 was a Russian-built short-range antiaircraft missile. Guided by radar, it was not a threat to the Megafortress as long as she stayed above sixteen thousand feet. The guns—they would be 30mm antiaircraft cannon—were likewise not a threat.

“SS-11—Grisons,” added Stewart. “That's it.”

“Also short-range. All right. Concentrate on the Su-33s,” Breanna told her copilot.

Also known to NATO as CADS-1, Dagger and Chestnut Tree, the SS-11 Grisson was a close-in weapons system and was not a problem at present. The Sukhois were the real threat, though Breanna was confident she could handle them.

“
Wisconsin
, this is
Levitow
,” said Breanna, clicking into the Dreamland Command communications channel.

“More missiles!” warned Stewart.

“Continue ECMs,” said Breanna. Even if the electronic countermeasures confused the targeting radar, eventually whoever was piloting the helicopter would simply get close enough to hit the tanker without guidance. It was a pretty big target and it would be hard to miss.

“Breanna?” said Colonel Bastian, coming on the screen.

“We have a situation here—Indian helicopter firing missiles at an oil tanker. There are Sukhois—other helicopters. I can't let them kill civilians.”

“Stand by.”

“Sukhois are changing course,” warned Stewart.

“
Hawk Three
—Mack, we have their attention.”

“Good.”

Aboard the
Abner Read
,
off the coast of Somalia
0435

B
ASTIAN
'
S VOICE BOOMED IN
S
TORM
'
S EAR AS HE SWITCHED
into the channel.

“Indian aircraft are attacking a Pakistani oil tanker,” said Dog. “One of our aircraft is in the vicinity.”

Typical Dreamland, thought Storm. Always getting their bull necks into the middle of a firefight.

“Explain it to me simply, Bastian.”

“I just did. The aircraft is
Dreamland Levitow,
an EB-52 with Captain Stockard in command. You can speak to her directly on the Dreamland Command line.”

Captain Stockard—aka Breanna
Bastian
Stockard. A chip off the old renegade, trouble-seeking block.

“I'll take care of it,” he said. He had one of his radio operators make the hookup. In seconds he had the pilot on the line. “This is Captain Gale. What's going on?”

“A helicopter gunship launched two radar-guided missiles at a civilian oil tanker. We've blocked them with our ECMs but they're maneuvering for another shot. Two Sukhoi jets changing course to intercept us.”

“Indians?”

“Roger that.”

Storm knew the aircraft must be from the
Shiva
, India's new, so-called superweapon.

“Don't interfere,” said Storm. He could just imagine what Admiral Johnson would do to him if he got into a pissing match with the Indians.

Not that he wouldn't mind taking the
Shiva
down a few notches.

“Stand down, Captain,” he told Breanna. “We're not at war with the Indians.”

“This is a civilian ship—”

“What part of ‘stand down' do you not understand?”

“Can I defend myself?”

“Get your butt out of there.”

“Yes, sir,” she snapped, and the connection died.

Aboard the
Levitow,
over the northern Arabian Sea
0435

M
ACK CHANGED COURSE
,
BRINGING THE
F
LIGHTHAWK TEN
miles ahead of the Megafortress, on a direct line with the mother ship's nose. The two Sukhoi Flankers were forty-five miles ahead, flying abreast of each other, one on his left wing and one on his right. They were climbing at a good pace, but both Mack and the Megafortress were more than ten thousand feet above them.

“Weapons ID'd on Sukhois,” said Stewart, passing along information that had been gleaned from the Megafortress sensors. “Air-to-surface missiles, long- and short-range. Only air defense weapons are Archer heat seekers; four apiece.”

The Archers were short-range weapons, similar—some said superior—to the American Sidewinder.

C
³
's tactics section offered up a suggestion—fly north, tackle the bogey there, then hit number two.

“Yeah, like number two is going to be stupid enough to suck his thumb while I'm zeroing out his buddy,” Mack told the computer mockingly.

“
Dreamland Levitow
to Flighthawk leader—Mack, we're going to cut north.”

“
Levitow,
tell you what—I'm going to take
Bogey One
,” said Mack, using the ID on the screen. “Suggest you pound
Two
with a Scorpion missile.”

“Negative, negative, Flighthawk—we're ordered to disengage.”

“What do you mean? Run away!”

“Yeah, well, those are my orders. Stay with me. Do not attack.”

Mack jerked the control stick to the right so hard the aircraft took almost eight g's, skidding through the sky as it tried to follow his instructions.

 

B
REANNA CONTINUED TO STEW AS SHE HELD THE
M
EGAFORTRESS
on the course north, tracking toward the Pakistani coast. To allow a civilian ship to be fired on was unconscionable.

But so was disobeying a lawful order from a superior.

Zen would say screw it. Zen would say you do what you gotta do, and deal with fallout later.

And her father?

He wouldn't have handed her off to Storm if he didn't think she should do what he said. They were under Captain Gale's command.

“We're going back south,” she told her copilot. “Open the bay doors. Maybe we can bluff them.”

“But—”

“We're not firing,” added Breanna. She punched up the weapons panel, activating the AMRAAM-plus Scorpion missiles' radar herself. “I have the weapons screen on my station.
Hawk Three
—we're changing course. Keep an eye on those Sukhois.”

“Now you're talking, Breanna.”

“Hang on,” she said, pulling the Megafortress south.

 

T
HE
S
UKHOIS HAD TURNED BACK WEST WHEN THE
M
EGAFORTRESS
went north, and were slow to react as it swung back. By the time they turned to meet the Megafortress, Mack already had
Hawk Three
on a dead run at the leader's nose.

As he closed to within a mile, the Sukhoi's radar finally found him. But that was far too late. The Indian pilot threw flares and electronic chaff in the air, probably mistaking the radar indication or the blur speeding toward him for a mis
sile. He also inexplicably jerked his plane in Mack's direction, perhaps panicking in his sudden haste to get away. The move would have been fatal had Mack been allowed to fire his cannon; the Sukhoi presented a fat target, and even a quick burst would have riddled the fuselage with bullets.

Instead, Mack went after the second Sukhoi, five thousand feet below and a mile southwest of his leader. Jamming his stick in that direction, he managed to skid through a turn and point the U/MF's nose at the bogey. Here was one advantage of flying a robot plane: The aircraft took somewhere over nine g's in the maneuver, which would have scrambled the brain of anyone sitting inside, even Mack's. C
³
used the entire airfoil as a brake, pitching the airplane's tail up and then spinning onto the course like a knuckleball floating toward the plate.

And here was one disadvantage of flying a robot plane: Mack got a disconnect warning from the computer. He was eighteen miles away from the Megafortress, and would disconnect in five seconds if he didn't get closer.

“Twenty, twenty, I'm supposed to have twenty miles,” he grumbled. Hoping the computer was just being conservative, he stayed on his course toward the Indian aircraft.

“Disconnect in three seconds,” said the computer.

Cursing, Mack pushed the stick in the direction of the Megafortress to the east, but it was too late; the main screen went white and black letters appeared at the center:
CONNECTION LOST
.

 

T
O
J
AN
S
TEWART
,
IT SEEMED AS IF SOMEONE HAD HIT THE
fast-forward switch on the world. Icons on her configurable screens popped up in rapid succession. She no sooner interpreted one and began to act on it when two more flashed on the other side of the dashboard. The radar operators were jabbering in her ears, and she was also trying to listen to the radio channel used by the Indian pilots as well.

“Flighthawk is no longer under direct control,” she told Breanna. “Uh—on course to return.”

“Roger that.”

“You want to launch the second one?” asked Stewart.

“No time. It'll be back inside a minute anyway if we're still on this course. Hail the Indians again and tell them not to attack.”

“I've tried. They're not acknowledging us at all.”

“Where are the helos?”

Stewart looked at the sitrep screen but couldn't find them. She start to change the zoom but her brain froze; she couldn't remember how to do it, even though it was something she did maybe ten times an hour on a normal flight.

“Shit!” said Breanna.

“Don't yell at me,” snapped Stewart, but as she raised her eyes from the screens to the windscreen, she realized Breanna hadn't been cursing at her at all—a black-rimmed fireball rose from the oil tanker ahead.

They were too late.

Aboard the
Shiva
,
northern Arabian Sea
0436

W
HEN
M
EMON REACHED THE BRIDGE
,
HE FOUND
A
DMIRAL
Kala receiving a report from the air commander. Two of the jets patrolling above the tanker they were stopping had encountered an American aircraft, probably a B-52. They believed they had been fired upon without warning.

Memon was shocked by the report. While the United States was not technically a military ally, the two countries had many economic and diplomatic ties. This was a betrayal of the worst sort.

“The aircraft is now flying back in the direction of our helicopters,” added the air commander. “It is acting in a hostile manner.”