End Game (35 page)

The PAF aircraft stayed together, closing quickly. The two groups of planes were rushing toward each other so fast that within thirty seconds they were separated by less than ten miles. Mack, descending from thirty thousand feet, had barely enough time to get his gun ready before the closest aircraft raced into his targeting pipper. He slammed his finger onto the trigger, ripping through the left wing root and into the fuel tanks and engine of the aircraft. He pumped his cannon twice more, catching a bit of the wing as the aircraft rolled downward. Then he tucked left, trying to line up to take the stricken Viper's wingman. But the other F-16 had veered back northward, and by the time Mack found him, he was too far off to engage.

He banked
Hawk One
to the east, pushing back closer to
Wisconsin.
He glanced at the sitrep to find out what had happened to the other F-16s. He found out a lot sooner than he would have hoped—a launch warning sounded; he'd turned almost directly in the path of the second element of PAF fighters.

 

T
HE
I
NDIAN
M
I
G
S WERE TWENTY MILES BEHIND THE
M
EGAFORTRESS
, and roughly ten behind Cantor. But rather than closing, the Indians were losing ground. Cantor waited for a minute or so; when the MiGs still didn't make a move to catch up, he decided to ignore them for the time being. He hiked his speed up, then checked the sitrep to see how Mack was doing.

In the exercise Cantor had mentioned, the four-ship formation broke into two pairs. One group flew parallel but in the opposite direction to the course of its target, while the other continued at a right angle to it. The elements would then launch separate attacks from either the sides or, more often, the rear quarter.

While there was no perfect solution, the best strategy for the Flighthawks was to avoid going too far from the Megafortress to take the first attack, even if you had a good opportunity to make a kill. Any defensive move by the fighters would leave the robot too far away to take the second element on.

Mack seemed to have avoided the first pitfall, and had gotten himself tangled up with one of the F-16s in the second group. Meanwhile, his wingman was angling to the north, trying for an end run.

Cantor pushed the throttle guide to max power, leaning forward as he tried to get into position to cut it off.

 

M
ACK PICKLED FLARES AND FLICKED THE
F
LIGHTHAWK TO THE
left, rolling out of the way of the American-built Sidewinder AIM-9s fired by the Pakistani fighter. As good as the Sidewinders were, they couldn't resist the flare, which burned hotter than the Flighthawk's masked engine heat. By the time the missiles exploded, Mack had leveled off and was looking for a way to get at his antagonist.

The Pak jock was still behind him, trying for another shot. Mack started a turn to the right, hoping to use his superior turning ability to throw the F-16 out in front of him. Belatedly, he realized that the Viper's real purpose was to keep him busy while his wingman went for the
Wisconsin
. He was committed now; even if he turned back, he'd never catch the other airplane, which was flashing across the top corner of his screen.

“
Hawk One
to
Wisconsin
—I let one of those suckers get by.”

“I have him, Mack,” said Cantor, breaking in.

Mack was too busy dealing with the Viper behind him to ask how Cantor had managed to get into position to fight the PAF plane. Refusing to get into a turning battle with the Flighthawk, the F-16 fired another Sidewinder and swung back in the
Wisconsin
's direction. Mack went for his flares again, rolling out and changing course in time to get a shot
on the F-16's tailpipe. But the Viper pilot managed to jerk out of the way, and Mack found himself too high and fast to fire again.

 

C
ANTOR SAW THE MISSILE FLARE UNDER THE
F-16'
S WING
just as he got the cue to fire from the computer. He laid into the Viper, signing his name in the left wing and tailplane. The canopy flew off, and the pilot quickly followed, projected upward by the ACES II ejection seat—but not before another missile flew out toward the Megafortress three miles ahead.

“Missiles!” yelled Cantor. “Sidewinders! Watch it!”

“We're on it,” replied Dog calmly.

Cantor felt the Megafortress jerk hard to the right. He saw the aircraft in his screen, a shower of flares erupting from her belly. The
Wisconsin
pushed hard to the left; Cantor saw the Sidewinder that had been fired at it explode about three-quarters of a mile beyond the plane, too far away to do any damage.

“
Hawk One
is clear,” said Mack.

“
Two
clear,” said Cantor. “
Wisconsin
, your tail is clean.”

“Thank you,
Hawks One
and
Two
.”

“Thanks for the assist, Cantor,” said Mack.

“You're welcome.”

“That second element cut back quicker than I thought they would,” Mack said. “Better get Zen to change the programming on that simulation.”

Cantor smirked—but only to himself. “I will, Major. Consider it done.”

Aboard the
Abner Read
,
in the northern Arabian Sea
0540

S
TARSHIP SKIPPED THE
W
EREWOLF TOWARD THE TWO SUBMARINES
, which were moving at three or four knots north
ward. Stopping them without sinking them was going to be tricky, if not impossible. Obviously, the Hellfire was not the weapon to use—he switched to the light machine guns, which were locked to fire in line with the Werewolf's nose. The aiming cue showed he was high; he angled down accordingly and sent two rows of shells across the bow of the sub.

The vessel, continuing on, gave no sign that it was impressed. Starship let off on his trigger and flew toward the craft, buzzing within ten feet of its topside. He could see two men diving into the craft's conning tower as he passed; they went in the side, as if it were a speedboat rather than a submarine. By the time he spun around it had started to dive under the water. It moved forward, gliding down a long, gentle escalator. Starship aimed for the tail of the sub this time, firing his bullets into the water directly behind the disappearing body. When that didn't stop the boat, he fired a long burst at the rapidly disappearing conning tower.

Then he got another idea.

He switched over to the Hellfires and zeroed in on the water about fifty yards ahead of the submarine. Then he fired, hoping the missile would act something like a depth charge, damaging the submarine just enough to bring her back to the surface.

If the missile had any effect—if it even exploded—he couldn't tell.

Starship turned his attention to the other submarine, which was just disappearing underwater. He laced it with bullets, pouring them into the shadow as it slid down below the waves.

“Both submarines are under the water,” he told Eyes. “I can't see them anymore.”

“Stand by. We hope to have Piranha on line any minute now. Be alert for the approaching Megafortress.”

NSC Situation Room,
Washington, D.C.
1940, 14 January
(0540, 15 January, Karachi)

E
VERYONE BUT
J
ED JUMPED TO ATTENTION AS THE
P
RESIDENT
walked into the room.

“No, no,” said Kevin Martindale. “As you were. Keep working. Jed, what's the situation?”

“We have alerts all across the board. India and Pakistan have fired on each other.” Jed pointed to a screen from a Pentagon launch alert system set up to summarize what the analysts blandly called “launch events.” As predicted, the Indians had reserved their longest range missiles, undoubtedly for use against China if she came to Pakistan's defense.

“What's the status of the E-bombs?”

“The Dreamland aircraft with the EEMWBs are on course,” said Jed, gently correcting the President as he pointed to the screen where End Game's status was updated. “The plot here”—he toggled into a new window—“is from Dreamland Command and gives an approximate location of the bombers. It's accurate to within a mile.”

“Good.”

Martindale folded his arms and surveyed the rest of the room. Jed had seen the President in many tense situations; always, he was calm and almost detached. But clearly he recognized the tension in the room.

“The technology down here is great,” said Martindale. He winked at Jed. “But what we really need is a good coffee machine.”

Aboard the
Fisher
,
near Dwārka Early Warning Platform
0543

D
ANNY CLICKED THE CONTROL FOR HIS SMART HELMET
'
S VISOR
, selecting the image from the low-light camera in the
Fisher
's nose. The wrecked platform was dead ahead.

Tommy Chu's voice boomed in his ear. “We're sixty seconds from drop,” said the
Fisher
's pilot. “The Sharkboat is eight miles to the west. The targets are diving. I'm going to drop you approximately five hundred yards ahead of their route calculated by the computer.”

“What happened to Piranha?” Danny asked.

“We haven't reconnected yet,” said Chu. “Ensign English is working on it. Things are pretty hot down there, Danny. Are you sure you want to go ahead?”

“No doubt in my mind.”

“All right. One of our Flighthawks will orbit to assist if you need it. Thirty seconds.”

“Boston, you ready?” Danny asked his sergeant on the other wing.

“Born ready, Cap. Can't wait to get in the water. Goin' stir crazy here. And freezin' my nuts off.”

Danny switched the screen view to the manpod's rear camera, figuring that would be the one he'd want to use after the drop. Then he took a long breath, gripped the rails near his head, and closed his eyes.

Aboard the
Levitow
,
over northwestern India
0545

F
LYING THE
M
EGAFORTRESS AT HIGH SPEED AND LOW ALTITUDE
was the ultimate thrill ride, the sort of attraction roller coaster designers could only dream about. The scenery north of India's largest city added to the sensation; exotic
rooftops flew by the windscreens, giving way to yellowish fields, then more houses and factory buildings.

Breanna wasn't interested in the scenery, except as a reference point to make sure she was flying as low as possible. The thrills she could take or leave, though at the moment she couldn't live without them.

She hurled the Megafortress forward at 500 knots, counting on her reflexes to keep her out of trouble. They were less than fifty feet above ground level, so close to some of the buildings that if she extended her landing gear she could have scraped off shingles.

“Terrain rising!” warned Stewart.

“Thanks,” said Breanna, even though she was already pulling back.
“Levitow
to Hawk leader—we're approaching Omega point.”

“Roger that,
Levitow.
We're getting ready to say goodbye right now.”

 

U
NLIKE THEIR MOTHER SHIP
,
THE
F
LIGHTHAWKS WERE NOT
shielded against the EEMWB's electromagnetic waves. To avoid the effects of the blast,
Hawk Four
would be sent to a rendezvous point south, piloted completely by the onboard component of its C
³
flight-control computer. The Megafortress would pick it up on the way back. If for some reason they were unable to return within an hour, C
³
would fly the plane westward and ditch in the ocean.

The other aircraft,
Hawk Three
, would stay with the
Levitow
until the EEMWBs went off. That would leave the Megafortress temporarily without an escort, but in theory anything nearby would have been zapped out of order anyway.

“Thirty seconds to disconnect,” Dork told Zen.

“Hard to let go, huh?” Zen asked the other pilot.

“You got that, Major.”

Zen kept
Hawk Three
five miles ahead of the Megafortress, flying at thirty feet. He was so low not simply to avoid detection—the Flighthawk's radar profile was con
siderably stealthier than the Megafortress's—but as a kind of terrain bird dog to alert Breanna to anything unexpected.

“
Hawk Four
is no longer under my control,” said Dork, sounding a little sad.

Zen leaned forward in his seat, eyes scanning the screen as the ground whipped by.

He'd made the right decision. This was exactly where he needed to be.

Northern Arabian Sea
0548

T
HE CONCUSSION THREW THE MIDGET SUBMARINE SIDEWAYS
. Sattari lurched against his seat belt, then fell back, suddenly weightless in the small craft.

He waited for a second blast, sure that the aircraft they had seen above would finish them off. He felt his heart pounding at the top of his chest, near his collarbone.

A minute passed, then another. There were no more explosions. Sattari bent his head and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving.

“Captain, we are losing power,” said the submarine's commander. “We're losing speed.”

The soft light from the instrument panel turned the man's face a brownish red; he looked like a demon.

“We will wait, then.”

“If the Parvaneh has been seriously damaged, we may not be able to stay under very long.”

“Let us examine the damage and discover what else we can do. Trust yourself, and Allah.”

“Yes, Captain.”

 

T
HE MANPOD HIT THE WATER WITH A TEETH
-
RATTLING SMACK
and shudder. The nose—where Danny's feet were—shot downward, then flipped abruptly toward the surface. Danny hung onto the handles near his head, expecting the pod to
spin or, worse, flip over. But it did neither. A buzzer sounded in the cabin as the pod's automated raft system prepared to inflate. He didn't override, and three seconds later a shrill hiss told him compressed air had filled the bladders at the sides, stabilizing the craft.