Grestovitch's threat board began to flash a warning. "Heads up, we're being painted. Two Tornado air-search systems. No locks, but they're coming up fast."
"Right, I'm going to fishtail. Try and spot 'em."
Vince rocked his rudder pedals, slewing the helo slightly to give his systems operator a better view aft.
"I got 'em, Lieutenant! Two fast movers at seven o'clock descending… Hell! They're turning in on us! They got us spotted!"
"Right. We're going evasive."
Arkady enabled and lit off his own radars and radios. No sense in fooling around with emission control now. He started tracking the incoming bandits on his HUD and tried to call up what he could remember of the Army's helicopter air-combat course he had taken TOY at Fort Rucker.
"Engagements with enemy fixed-wing assets are not to be undertaken lightly…"
No shit, Dogface.
Arkady continued to seesaw lightly on his rudder pedals, maintaining his wavering flight path as the Argentine jets bored in. If they had missiles, he could counter with flares and his anti-IR systems. If they went to guns, all that he had was his maneuverability.
As the range closed to critical, Arkady flared the Sea Comanche into a hard right pitch-out. He held the rackingly steep turn for a couple of heartbeats, then dumped gee and reversed back onto his original heading.
Whom! Whom! The Tornadoes blazed past overhead, buffeting the helo with their passage as they pulled out of their run. A short distance off to port, a quarter-mile-long curtain of spray was starting to disperse. It had been struck off the ocean's surface by the cannon shells of the strafing Argentine fighters.
"They're starting to come back around, Lieutenant!"
"Rog. Stay on 'em and call 'em out. I'm going to start yelling for some help."
"Retainer Zero One to Gray Lady. Be advised we've got a problem out here." Arkady's voice rasped from one of the overhead speakers. "I confirm one tanker and two fast movers are down. I also confirm that I've got the two survivors all over me. I am on the deck and fully defensive. Can you give us some cover?"
"Push the primary and Airborne Early Warning arrays to full output," Amanda snapped. "Give me a tactical of the engagement area. I want to see what's going on out there!"
An electronic outline appeared around the block of space on the Alpha Screen that contained the air battle winding up. The image showed Retainer Zero One's beacon hack crawling southwest with agonizing slowness, while the blips of the two Argentine fighters buzzed around it like angry hornets.
"Dix, do we have range on those aircraft yet?"
"Yes, ma'am, they are within the LORAIN engagement envelope."
"Very well, then. Designate the Tornadoes and commence firing."
The Missileer bent over his console. Seconds passed, too many of them.
"Dix, what in the hell is the problem?"
"She won't lock up!" Beltrain replied feverishly, his hands playing across the fire-control matrix. "They're too damn low. They keep dropping out of our line of sight and we lose designation."
"What about Zero Two? Can we target over the horizon through her?"
"Negative. Her AEW pod is search-capable only. It doesn't have designation capacity and her integral radar systems don't have enough range."
Amanda slammed her palm down onto the arm of her chair in frustration. Overhead, the speaker came on-line again.
"Retainer Zero One to Gray Lady. The Argys just made another run on us. I don't want to be an alarmist, but we could really use some help out here."
Amanda had the answer to her question. Arkady's voice was level and controlled, yet she could hear the fear underlying it. He knew that he could die. At that moment, he was expecting to.
She let her reasoning mind race, assessing potentials and assembling possibilities.
"Dix, fire a flight of LORAINs across the engagement zone. Four missiles at ten-second intervals launched on fixed bearings at medium altitude. Fan them out across the entire area."
"Captain, I don't have target designation!"
"Just do it, Dix! Communications! Give me a patch through to Retainer Zero One."
Arkady slammed up on both the pitch and collective levers. The helo flared back like a startled partridge, using the full lift of its main rotor to kill off its forward speed. A split second later, the sea ahead of it boiled into foam under another storm of cannon fire. The Aeronaval jet veered off like a disappointed barracuda.
"To evade fighter attack, execute a tight figure-eight flight pattern around two adjacent hilltops…"
If somehow he got out of this alive, Arkady was going to kick the living hell out of the next army flight instructor he ever laid eyes on.
He nosed the Sea Comanche down and started to regain his airspeed, trying to ignore the flashing "Transmission Overheat" warning. The Argentines had split up and were coming in on him independently, reducing the time he had to recover between attacks. Sooner or later, one or the other of them had to get lucky. The SAH-66 had Kevlar armor protecting most of its critical systems, but it was proof only against rifle-caliber gunfire. It wouldn't take many hits from an autocannon to knock them down.
"Retainer Zero One, this is Gray Lady." Pushed by the Cunningham's powerful transmitter, Amanda Garrett's voice came through into his helmet phones with amazing clarity. "We can see your situation and we are sending you something to fight with. We are launching a flight of LORAINs over your position. You will have to provide target designation and terminal guidance. Time to target will be about three minutes. Do you understand me, Arkady? You have got to stay alive out there for another three minutes!"
The small solid-fuel booster of the Raytheon/General Dynamics LORAIN (LOng RAnge INterceptor) ignited as it shot clear of its VLS cell. Six seconds and six hundred miles per hour worth of acceleration later, the booster burned out and was jettisoned. Bat-ear air intakes opened at the base of the missile's forward set of cruciform fins and the sustainer engine fired. A high-efficiency, high-thrust ramjet, burning an exotic boron-slurry fuel, it smoothly pushed the missile through the sound barrier and up to its 3,000 miles per hour cruising speed.
The LORAIN was one of the showpieces of the current American arsenal, the most advanced, naval area defense SAM in operational deployment. But as it arced out over the South Polar sea, followed at intervals by three of its sisters, its sophisticated hunter/seeker systems were inert. It was only a machine. It still required a human to aim it and to tell it to kill.
Captain Cristobal had found the American helicopter to be a frustrating target. First, he had discovered that its stealth characteristics had rendered his radar gunsight useless, and then its pilot had proven to be a superb combat aviator.
Repeatedly the Norteno had reversed back under his fire streams, or had danced his machine laterally out of his sights. Already Cristobal had expended over half of his ammunition futilely.
It was time to shift tactics. He ordered Tigre Two to orbit above the copter, keeping it in sight while he swung wide to the north. Bringing the wings of his Tornado full forward, he dropped his flaps and landing gear and throttled up to full war power, converting the strike fighter into a comparatively slow and stable gun platform. Dropping down low over the waves, Cristobal began his final run in.
"That's the game plan, Gus. The Duke will give us a countdown as the missiles come in overhead, then we turn into the Argys and designate them with our own radar."
"It'd help if we had more altitude, Lieutenant."
"Yeah, but that would turn us into a sitting duck. You'll have to do the best you can."
"Aye, aye, sir. They seem to have backed off a little. Do you think they might be packing it in?"