“What?” Rodriguez asked, peering over her shoulder at the tactical display.
“Ivan has some kick-ass jamming rig on his new TU-162s,” Bunny said. “We can forget radar. Need to go optical and IR.”
Rodriguez looked over her shoulder at Bondarev, “Anything else about these beasts you haven’t told us?”
“I’m not an expert on the jamming systems of the TU-162,” Bondarev said. “They haven’t been implemented on any other type. We have been told though, they are very effective against both infrared and radar homing missiles.”
“So, we’re down to optical,” Bunny said. “Great. Need to see the whites of their eyes.”
“And they are rumored to have some sort of secret close combat defensive weapon,” Bondarev said. “I have never seen it trialed. It may just be a rumor.”
Bunny moved her bandaged hand off her mouse and tried to tap a key on the keyboard with her right forefinger but missed the keyboard completely. Cursing, she slammed her hand on a crate beside her and began kneading it with her left hand.
“You OK O’Hare?” Rodriguez asked with concern.
“Yes ma’am!” O’Hare growled back at her, a little too loudly. “Going to kill this bastard even if I have to unlace my boot and start typing with my right foot.”
“Mayday mayday,” Alekseyev’s systems officer was calling on the radar. “This is Molotok Flight, under enemy air attack in sector 34 West, requesting immediate assistance.”
The Tupolev was indeed a bastard. It’s four Samara NK-321 turbofans put out 245kn of thrust at emergency power, accelerating it from normal cruising speed of Mach 0.9 to Mach 2 or 1,300 miles an hour, in less than 15 seconds. The pressure from the sudden acceleration would have been enough to cause spinal injury if the seats and pressure suits of the crew hadn’t been designed for it. Couple that acceleration with an inverted low banking turn as the combat AI sought to present a difficult targeting solution to the incoming missiles, and it was no wonder his co-pilot lost his lunch into the space between his legs.
Alekseyev hated the feeling of helplessness more than he hated the nausea and narrow vision. Giving control of his aircraft over to a computer system because the designers didn’t believe his own reflexes could save him and his crew, it left him impotent to do anything except try to keep his eyes on the threat warning screen and watch as the American missiles, for that was all they could be, speared toward him and his wingman.
Where the hell had they come from? A stealth fighter, obviously. But how had it penetrated so deep into Russian held airspace? It was probably a drone sent on a one-way mission, but how could it have reached them so quickly, flying all the way from the US mainland? The answer was, it couldn’t have. So either it was loitering, like a trapdoor spider waiting for an unlucky victim to wander past, or it was launched from close by. Which was also impossible!
Two of the four American missiles winked out. His systems were unable to pick up the fighter that had fired them. So, definitely a stealth fighter. There was no AWACs coverage available, so they had been relying on their now absent escort to scan the airspace around them and locate any threats. But they had become complacent.
The Tupolev reversed its roll and began a sweeping high-speed turn, dropping even lower. He heard a clunk as the missile launcher thumped back into place in the weapons bay. It had withdrawn as soon as the bomber started evasive maneuvers.
“Molotok Flight, this is Krolik flight of four Su-57s, we are the closest to your position, we will be within range in twelve minutes,” Alekseyev heard a voice say in his ears.
“Acknowledged Krolik flight,” Alekseyev said into his mike, breathing heavily as he fought the G-force. “Please hurry, we may be dead by then.”
Or maybe not, he thought with sudden optimism, as he saw the remaining two American missiles on his screen spiral out of control and self-destruct.
Bunny’s mind raced. The two Tupolevs had separated now, and were accelerating away from each other. She couldn’t get within visual range of both of them, and unless she took her shot within the next few seconds, at least one of the bombers would have time to make a missile run again.
She decided. The optical targeting system on the all aspect Cuda allowed for full 360 degree off boresight fire. That meant that she could have her aircraft pointed at one of the bombers and fire at the other, even though it was behind her, as long as she could see it and lock it up with her magnified weapons screen. She put a nav lock on the Tupolev in front of her, which was thankfully completing an evasive turn or it might have been able to outrun her. Leaving her flight AI to keep up the pursuit of that bomber, she concentrated her attention on her Cuda targeting system, swinging the crosshairs through the sky toward the now small delta winged shape of the other fleeing Tupolev. As the crosshairs jerked over the bomber, she got a tone, and the white crosshairs turned red, indicating she had an optical lock. Before she lost it, she fired two of her remaining missiles at the locked Tupolev!
The missiles dropped out of her weapons bay and lowered their noses, turning 180 degrees before they accelerated to Mach 2.5. Even though the Tupolev was accelerating away at Mach 2, there was no question the missiles would catch it. So it just remained to see if it had any other tricks up its sleeve.
It didn’t. Twisting like a snake, desperately firing clouds of tinfoil chaff to try to spoof the incoming missiles, one of the Cudas made direct contact with the Tupolev and detonated. The other found itself in what seemed to be a double cloud of foil chaff and also triggered its proximity fuse, without effect. One direct hit on the central fuselage of the bomber would have been critical, but this one hit just below the Tupolev’s weapons bay. It disappeared in a flash of aviation and rocket fuel as its fuel tanks and ordnance exploded.
If missiles could think, the second Cuda would have had a single thought as it dived into that double cloud of chaff. And its thought would have been, ‘This is not chaff’.
“Splash one!” Bunny said.
“Yes!” Rodriguez yelled, unable to help herself.
“Closing on second target,” Bunny said out loud. “Two missiles remaining. Guns up.”
“You have Russian fighters closing from the south,” Rodriguez pointed out. “ETA about eight minutes. I don’t think you’ll catch it before…”
“I see them,” Bunny confirmed. “It’s going to be close. Wait. What?” Rodriguez saw Bunny swing her head around as she looked at multiple virtual screens within her virtual-reality rig. “Oh shit, this is not good. He’s decelerating.”
“What? Why would he be doing that?” Rodriguez swung around and called over to Bondarev. “The second bomber is slowing down. It’s stopped running. What is happening?!”
“The commander is doing what I would do,” he said. “He is trying to complete his mission.”
The Tsirkon missile could not be launched at speeds above Mach 0.9. Any attempt to lower the rotary launcher above that speed risked it being ripped off, damaging the airframe as it pulled away.
Alekseyev had already made his decision before he saw the ball lightning-like flash on the horizon that had been his wingman. Whatever was pursuing them, drone or human piloted fighter, or fighters plural, it made no matter. He had survived their first attack, and he was still alive. For now. He had no way of knowing how many US aircraft were hunting him or where the next attack would come from.