The response was silence, but Coyote kept trying. After an endless moment, he heard a faint voice over the headset. "Bushmaster, this is Hawkeye Tango Two-one. What is the nature of your emergency, over?"
Coyote felt a warm thrill, an irrational surge of hope. "Tango Two-one, this is Bushmaster! I need a line to whoever is flying CAP for Cavalry One!"
The static-crackling silence told him his message was being considered. His initial elation was dampened somewhat by the knowledge that the Hawkeye crew would not take what e said at face value. They might think that Coyote was an English-speaking Korean, one who had picked up the appropriate call signs by eavesdropping and was using them now to trick the Americans.
"Bushmaster, Tango Two-one," the voice replied after what seemed like years. "We cannot comply without authentication codes. Can you authenticate, over?"
Oh, God. "Tango Two-one! This is Lieutenant Willis Grant, VF-95, U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson! I was shot down four days ago and taken prisoner, but I was rescued by the SEAL team called Bushmaster! The SEALs have the codes you want, but they're not available right now! Do you hear me? I can't give you the codes!"
"Bushmaster, Tango Two-one. Wait one while we confirm, over."
The silence dragged on and on. Coyote could definitely hear the sound of helicopters in the distance. He held the starlight scope to his eye once more, and saw the turrets of the visible ZSUs swinging around, bringing the guns to bear on the approaching sound. They would probably hold their radar until the last possible second, to avoid alerting their prey.
Maybe he should have tried to talk to the SEALs first, to get the proper codes and call signs from them.
"Bushmaster, Tango Two-one," the emotionless voice said after an eternity of waiting. "Can you tell us your wife's maiden name?"
"Wilson!" he screamed into the handset. "Her maiden name was Julie Wilson!"
The thaw in the Hawkeye radio operator's voice was immediate. "Good to hear from you, Lieutenant. Maybe we won't have to file that AWOL report on you after all."
"Never mind that!" Coyote was frantic with the need to hurry. "Patch me through to Cavalry One CAP! I'm looking at three ZSUs sitting right where the helos are coming in any minute! For God's sake, hurry!"
"Bushmaster, switch to three-three-eight-point-eight. Squadron call sign 'Shotgun.'"
"Copy, Two-one! Switching to three-three-eight-point-eight. And thanks!"
He punched in the new numbers on the digital display and immediately heard the terse crackle of fighter pilot conversation. "Shotgun Three, Shotgun Leader. Come to one-eight-zero, angels twelve, on my mark-"
"Breaker, breaker! Shotgun, this is Bushmaster! Emergency! I have three Zulu Sierra Uniforms parked on the road next to Cavalry One LZ. I say again, three ZSUs and the choppers are inbound!"
There was a stunned pause. Then, "Who the hell was that?" The voice sounded like Price Taggart's.
"Price! It's me, Coyote!"
"Coyote!" That voice was Tombstone's, sharp and unmistakable. "Coyote, you bastard, if that's you…! What's the name of the girl who chose the worst man?"
"Julie Wilson, you son of a bitch! Now get your ass in here and give us a hand before I shoot you down myself!"
The sound of Coyote's voice over the radio caught Tombstone completely by surprise, but he managed to control the surge of excitement he felt. "Roger that," he said, his voice all business now. "What's your situation?"
Coyote filled Tombstone in, giving him the landmarks he needed to locate the ZSUs on a map of the op area clipped to his thigh pad. At least three antiaircraft vehicles were strung out along the north-south road directly adjacent to the Nyongch'on LZ. Tombstone didn't know if their position was calculated or accident, but they could not have chosen a better site from which to ambush Cavalry One.
"Copy, Coyote," he said at last. "Hold one."
"I've got Cavalry One's channel," Snowball said over the ICS, anticipating Tombstone's order. "You're on."
"Cavalry One, Cavalry One," Tombstone said. He had his F-14 in a steep inverted dive now as he dropped toward the invisible North Korean mountains. "This is Shotgun Leader. Wave off on your Lima Zulu. Repeat, wave off…"
"Radar!" Captain Sun snapped from the open turret. "Nearest target!"
"Target bearing zero-three-four!" the radar operator replied. "Elevation fifteen, range six-five-zero-zero! Comrade Captain, They are changing course!"
Sun smashed his gloved fist down on the turret deck. Ai chain! Close enough for a radar lock, but too far for a hit. The Americans must have picked up his radar emissions and guessed he was waiting for them!
"Very well," Sun said. "We will wait!" If the Yankees were trying to rescue the criminals at Nyongch'on, his ZSUs were perfectly positioned. He considered sending his vehicle into the camp. On the road he was vulnerable to enemy air strikes. Inside the camp, though, they wouldn't dare attack him.
"Comrade Captain!" the radar operator shouted. "New targets, high speed, inbound at twelve thousand meters!"
"Shut down!"
"Yes, Comrade Captain!"
"Radio the others! We will enter Nyongch'on-kiji!"
The driver gunned the engine and the ZSU swung off the road, heading east.
Tombstone pulled out of his dive at two hundred feet and rocketed south, following the road which climbed sharply toward the gap in the mountains. He eased back on his stick, bleeding off airspeed until his wings extended in the max-lift, minimum-speed configuration. For once, he needed to go slow; ground targets simply couldn't be seen at Mach 1. "Desperado Leader, this is Shotgun Leader! Do you copy?"
"This is the Triple Nickle, Shotgun," Jolly's voice replied. "What can we do for you?"
"We have ground targets in Sector Hotel niner-seven. Multiple Zulu Sierra Uniform, two-three mike-mike quads!"
"Roger that, Shotgun. Descending."
"Skipper!" Snowball cut in. "I had something there for a moment, but it's gone."
"Keep looking!"
The ZSUs were playing it cagey. Their radars, code-named "Gun Dish" by NATO, were difficult to pick up at the best of times, and it would be worse here with the clutter of rugged terrain and buildings. If the ZSUs' commander was using his radar only intermittently, it would be impossible to lock on with anti-radar missiles.
And an area attack with bombs would be risky because of the proximity of the SEALs and POWs at Nyongch'on.
"Cavalry One reports they are holding four miles northeast of the LZ."
"Right." He reopened the channel. "Desperado, this is Shotgun. Follow us in."
"We're right behind you, Shotgun. Three Desperados, range four miles."
The ridge heaved skyward just ahead, outlined by patches of fire to one side. That would be the base. Tombstone could just make out the shape of the road rising beneath the F-14's nose. His thumb nudged the weapons selector switch on his stick, and the glowing reticle for his cannon floated on his HUD.
Tomcats were not really built for strafing runs, but the only other weapons he carried were air-to-air missiles, and there was no way to effectively lock them on a ground target. All he could do was open fire with his Vulcan cannon and hope for a lucky hit. Sharp in his mind was the knowledge that Nyongch'on camp lay only a few hundred meters east of the road. If he got the deflection wrong, he could pump six thousand rounds per minute into the SEALs and the rescued prisoners.