"Good. Start hitting them with air force and carrier assets as soon as possible. We'll step it up when the second carrier is on station. We'll use whatever we need to get a handle on this problem. Everything is on the table — theater nukes if we have to go that far."
Khaliq Farkas remembered seeing the rare float-equipped Caravan circle the Bryce Canyon airport. He was certain it was the two American operatives. They were like a plague, continuing to torment him. While Farkas tried to think of a way to escape his pursuers, he coaxed the bomber to climb at 150 feet per minute. With only one engine operating, he didn't want to get too slow and lose control of the airplane.
Farkas pressed the intercom button to talk to his crewman in the back. "Where's the plane, can you see it?"
"It's directly above and behind us."
"Can you get another shot at it?"
"I cant lean out far enough to take a shot. The wind blast is too strong to aim precisely."
Farkas knew his time was limited. "If they try to pull alongside again, shoot at their engine."
"Fll try my best."
"You better do your best," Farkas growled. "These people will kill us."
Knowing Farkass explosive personality, the crewman remained silent.
They were nearing Red Lake, an isolated dry lake, when Farkas made radio contact with the helicopter pilot waiting to fly them to safety. They quickly decided on a course of action. The helicopter would land next to the B-25 an(^ ^ ^ people in the Caravan attempted to interfere, the gunner in the helo would shoot them down. That seemed like a reasonable solution, but Farkas had another plan. The timing had to be right, but he knew the risky idea could work.
"He turned the float into a sieve," Jackie said, and looked into the passenger cabin. Two windows were shattered, and the interior was riddled with rounds from the AK-47. "That definitely eliminates a water landing."
"That's why we have wheels too — options, lots of options."
"If they aren't damaged," she countered.
"Remember the word optimistic?"
"That's not exactly the word that comes to mind at the moment."
Scott glanced at the bomber. "I believe we need some firepower, take out the guy in the back."
"The MP-5?"
"Yeah, that should do it."
She handed him the compact submachine gun.
"You have the airplane."
"I've got it," she said.
He lowered his seat to make himself more comfortable.
"Don't shoot through the prop," she warned.
"Not a chance."
"Right."
Scott opened the small triangle-shaped vent window in the forward section of the pilot's door window. "If you come up on his right side, say about a forty-five-degree angle, 111 have a clear field of fire if he shows himself."
She smoothly added power.
"Easy, looking good." Scott checked to make sure the weapon was in the full automatic position and then stuck the short muzzle through the vent. He braced the submachine gun against the back of the small window.
Jackie moved into position and stabilized the Caravan close to the bomber. She kept one hand on the yoke and the other on the thrust lever, constantly making small corrections.
After a few seconds, the unwitting man appeared with his AK-47 braced against his shoulder. Before the terrorist could take aim, Scott squeezed the trigger and the man staggered backward and fell over. He tried to get up, but only managed to get to his hands and knees before he collapsed next to his assault rifle. Jackie maintained position for another minute, but no one else appeared at the opening.
"Okay, let's move back," Scott said as he kept the submachine gun trained on the B-25.
Jackie eased the power. "Nice work, neat and clean."
"I have an idea," Scott said, as he raised his seat and placed the submachine gun on the floor. "I'll take the airplane."
"You have it."
"Now stay with me," Scott said, as he stabilized in position behind the bomber. "I think we can stop him right now."
"You think we can shoot up his other engine?"
"No, not with what we have."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not liking this idea."
"Jackie, these floats—"
"No, we're not going to stick a float into the prop arc, not even going to think about it: absolutely stupid."
"You have to trust me on this," he said, moving forward over the bomber. "This will work. We have to force him down."
She caught his eye. "This is over-the-edge stupidity."
"Thats why I thought of it. Keep the faith."
Still leery she stared at him for a moment. "Have you noticed the twin tails, the two obstacles sticking up at the back of the fuselage?"
Scott concentrated on positioning the Caravan directly over the bomber. "Our plane is about twelve to fourteen feet shorter. The Blues fly with three feet of wing overlap."
"We re not the Blue Angels," she protested.
"Relax."
Jackie cinched her seat restraints. "If we live through this, I'm going to find some professional help — for you."
"Hey, we've flown tighter formation than this."
"Not with someone who has a fervent desire to kill us."
Scott had to move fast before Farkas figured out what was happening. When the forward third of the huge left float was even with the B-25's propeller arc, he eased the Caravan down a few feet. Steady, keep it coming. Another foot down, and only inches separated the float and the spinning propeller. Scott deftly eased the yoke forward I'm close, hang on, be smooth.
The violent collision produced an anguishing combination of screeching and thudding. Metal flew in every direction, puncturing the fuselage of the bomber and the belly of the Caravan.
At the moment of contact, Scott snatched the yoke back. The moderately damaged Caravan shot straight up, rolling away from the bomber. After clearing the B-25, Scott rolled the airplane wings level and moved toward the mortally wounded warbird.
"Farkas has a B-25 g^der," Scott exclaimed, as the bomber's smoking left engine came to an abrupt stop. Three twenty-inch stubs protruded from the propeller hub. "He's finished. We got him!" Then Scott looked at Jackie. "Are you okay?" he asked, noting her ashen complexion and wide eyes. "You can start breathing now."
"I need a double martini. It's an emergency."
Scott turned to watch the bomber gradually nose over and begin a steep, spiraling descent. After several revolutions, the doomed B-25 Mitchell crashed two miles from the isolated dry lake. Having taken off with a light load of fuel, when the bomber slammed into terra firma, there was a bright flash from the explosion but little fire.
"Farkas is finished — history!" Jackie was jubilant. She looked at the twisted wreckage. "We finally nailed him!"
"That we did," Scott said, as he banked the Caravan. "His luck finally ran out — maybe ours too."
"The loose nukes?" she asked.
"Yes. But Shayhidi knows where the other four bombs are located."
Flying in a wide circle around the wreckage, Scott was surveying the crash site when two ANG F-16s from the Tacos pulled alongside. The pilots, Major JoEllen Janssen and Captain Ernie Underwood, had seen the bomber crash.
When they were abreast of the Caravan, both were amazed at the damage it had suffered. Along with a multitude of holes in the fuselage, the forward third of the left float was gone. What was left of the big float was open to the wind and had jagged edges all around the opening.
Adjusting the trim due to the yaw caused by the open float, Scott was startled when he glanced out and saw the F-16s. "We have company, and I dont think they're too happy."
"Where were they five minutes ago?" Jackie asked, switching the aircraft radio to 121.5 VHF, the civilian emergency frequency monitored by military aircraft. Jackie recognized the F-16's tail logo. "Tacos, Caravan November Three-Twenty-Three Fox Lima on guard."