One was the kind who believed in their own invincibility, that death only happened to the other guy.
The other was the kind who were quite aware of their own mortality but who were still willing to surrender it to the cause that they served. Amanda found herself hoping that she would have the time and the chance to learn which defined Vince Arkady.
Grestovitch' s fingers were sweat-sticky inside his Nomex flight glove as he called up the latest batch of intercept data.
"Target speed over ground still one eight zero. Altitude still eighteen thousand. Range six miles. Rate of closure sixty knots."
"We still in the groove, Gus?"
"Rog. Target bearing zero degrees relative off our tail. They'll be overflying us in about four minutes."
Arkady reflected that beyond this being the first helo-versus-jet intercept he had ever heard of, it was probably also the first ass-backward one where the bogey overtook the interceptor.
"We still being painted?"
"Negative, Lieutenant. They went active again on their radar a second ago, but all that we're getting is sidelobe."
"Okay, that means we're under their search cone. Time to take her up, ol' buddy."
Arkady squeezed the throttle trigger on the pitch lever and the twin LHTEC T800 gas turbines howled in reply. Rolling back on the collective, he lifted the little helo into a maximum power climb.
This pop-up maneuver was critical. The twin Sidewinder X missiles the Sea Comanche carried under its snub wings were state-of-the-art weapons, but they had a range of only twelve miles, a range that would be greatly reduced if they had to climb after their targets. Retainer Zero One would have to do some of that climbing for them if they were to make a kill.
"There they are, Lieutenant."
Arkady tilted his head back and looked up through the cockpit's overhead Plexiglas panel. The Argentine tanker formation was passing almost directly overhead. Eighteen thousand feet was normally low for contrail effects, but in the chill polar atmosphere, all five of the aircraft drew thin streamers of ice-crystal vapor behind them. They were clearly silhouetted against the royal-blue sky. They were also clearly pulling too damn far away.
Vince checked his altimeter and his airspeed indicator. His forward velocity was fading fast in the climb and he was falling behind his pursuit curve.
"Gus, heat 'em up!"
The air-to-air targeting reticule appeared in the center of his heads-up display and the high-pitched arming tone of the Sidewinders sounded in his earphones.
The tanker flight was opening the range, and they still didn't have the altitude Arkady wanted. There was no help for it. He flared Retainer Zero One back, lifting its nose above the horizon until the helicopter shuddered on the verge of rotor stall. Laying the death pip of his sights into the center of the enemy formation, he squeezed the actuator to give the missiles a look at their target.
The arming tone became a squalling growl.
"I got good locks! This is it! I'm taking the shot!"
Arkady squeezed the actuator again, and then again. At half-second intervals, the Sidewinders sliced off their launching rails trailing fire. He and Gus had done their best. Now it was in the hands of the gods and Ford Aerospace. Arkady dropped his helo's nose, dumped pitch, and dove for the sea.
Fully topped off, Captain Cristobal and his wingman had dropped a quarter of a mile back and to starboard of the Fuerza Aérea Hercules, clearing the way for the next element. Those two aircraft were now tucked in close beneath the tanker's wings and were taking on fuel, a task that would be completed in another minute or so.
Cristobal had been thinking ahead, mentally reviewing the next phase of the operation, when a flickering yellow light and a warning buzzer yanked his attention back to the here and now.
Tail warning radar! Cristobal jinked hard right and twisted around in his seat to check his six. He saw nothing but empty sky and a distant cloud bank.
He eased off on his controls and came back on course.
"Carcel, did you catch that?"
"Sí, Capitán," his backseater replied. "A momentary weak contact on the tail guard system. I am receiving nothing at the moment, however."
Cristobal frowned. His threat board was clear again, but now the warning was sounding in the back of his mind. He keyed his transmitter. "Tigre two, this is Tigre lead. Do you have any air-to-air contacts?"
"Negative, lead. No activity."
Cristobal acknowledged. He was about to shrug off his premonition when his tail warning system sounded again. An infrared return.
He jinked left, wildly searching the sky. This time he spotted a pair of flickering orange sparks, each pulling a faint smoky trail behind it, arcing up beneath the tanker formation. Cristobal crushed down on the transmitter button, groping for words that might avert the coming disaster. He could find none.
The Sidewinders were almost at the end of their range, with their fuel nearly exhausted and their velocity peaking. During the last second of its flight, the multiple targets presented by the C-130 and the two fighters holding formation with it confused the guidance system of the lead missile, making it bobble slightly. Instead of homing on an engine pod, it struck the tanker's belly. Punching through cleanly, its twenty-five-pound fragmentation warhead detonated amid the half-empty fuel bladders in the cargo compartment.
The Hercules dissolved into a ball of flame, a sun-colored blister against the sky that swelled to engulf both of the accompanying Tornadoes and then burst to rain a cascade of blazing wreckage down toward the ocean far below.
Buffeted by the shock wave, the surviving Argentine airmen stared in horror at the churning firestorm falling away beneath them. Someone whispered a supplication to God into the radio circuit.
Cristobal forced his shock-numbed mind to work, analyzing the attack, reconstructing how it must have been set up. The bitch had done it to him again! His curse came out almost as a sob.
His left hand stabbed at the ordnance-control panel, jettisoning his missile load and arming his cannon. Ordering his wingman to do the same and to follow him down, he rolled his Tornado into a split-S maneuver and dove for the sea. His honor had been shattered along with the air strike. This time Cristobal intended to demand a blood price in exchange for it.
"Primary target has blown up!"
Every hand in the Combat Information Center could see and recognize the distinctive "blossom" and rapid fade of a midair explosion on the Large Screen Display.
"Massive RCS dropoff on the target," Dix reported. "Looks like a couple of the fast movers were taken out along with the tanker. Way to go, Vince!"
A ragged cheer started to grow, only to be cut off abruptly.
"Belay that!" Amanda's voice rang out like a rifle shot. "Save it until we get our people home."
Retainer Zero One fled southward out of the intercept zone, its composite frame shuddering from the overload of its racing turbines. Officially, the LAMPS IV Boeing/Sikorsky SAH-66 Sea Comanche helicopter was rated at a maximum airspeed of 195 miles per hour at full war power. If the aircrew was scared badly enough, it could reach 200.
"Pick up your visual scanning, Gus. We still got a couple of fighters out there."
"I know it," Grestovitch replied. He was twisted around as far as his harness would allow, attempting to peer aft past the helo's fantail into their blind spot. "Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, but just how did you figure on getting us out of this?"
"Well, speaking frankly, Gus, I was hoping that the bad guys would just sort of go home."
"Begging your pardon again, sir, but I don't think very much of your friggin' plan."
"I'm willing to concede that this may be a definite flaw in an otherwise sound concept."