“You listen up if I start yelling, you hear?” Gator said over the ICS. “No hotdogging.”
“I hear.” Bird Dog taxied forward, pivoted to his left and saw the broad expanse of runway stretched out before him. A few moments later, the tower cleared him for takeoff. He slid the throttles forward smartly and let the Tomcat accelerate smoothly through one hundred and forty knots. Finally, as he could feel her straining for the sky, the sensation of the wheels light underneath him, he pulled back and eased her into the sky. As soon as he was clear, he retracted the landing gear, slammed the throttles forward and headed for the open sky.
“They’re coming, Pamela.” Xerxes touched her gently on the arm. “We need to take cover.”
She pulled away from him. “We’re far enough away from headquarters for it not to matter.” She glanced around the lush hills. “Besides, there’s nothing around here that would keep a five hundred-pound bomb from killing us. Let’s keep going.”
She’d spent the last hour trekking back toward the camp, still furious at Xerxes for dragging her out in the boonies. Getting the little woman to safety — god, would this crap ever end? What, he didn’t think she’d be able to get away from him, figure out where she was and get back some way? Short of hog-tying her, there was no way that they could stop her. After a few vehement protests, including a pointed reminder that he’d evacuated his own staff, Xerxes had finally given up. He’d tossed her in an all-terrain vehicle, hopped in the driver’s seat, and simply taken off. As soon as he’d stopped, she’d jumped out of the truck and started hiking back toward the camp. Xerxes followed, alternately pleading and threatening.
There was a grumble off in the distance, like thunder over the horizon. Pamela paused, straining to hear. As it grew louder and more distinct, she nodded authoritatively. “Tomcats. Couple of sections at least.”
“You’re right. Please, Pamela… at least until the attack is over, let’s stop.”
“Are you kidding? This is the perfect time. Come on, that hill over there. We’ll get some altitude, maybe see them make their run.” She set off at a brisk trot, her Nikon banging against her leg. Maybe she couldn’t shoot rolling footage, but a couple still shots right at the exact moment would have to do.
Xerxes kept pace with her easily, leading her to reassess her earlier guess of his age. They trotted up the gentle lower slope of the hill in tandem, slowing only at the steeper craggy slope near the top. Finally she had a good view of the surrounding countryside. She turned to glare at the Macedonian commander. “You could have told me we weren’t that far away.”
He shrugged. “You know how long the ride was out here. Can I help it if you didn’t notice we went in circles?”
She swore silently, acutely aware that she’d been distracted. Xerxes, the ass. Why had she let him get her talking, started sharing some of his own stories about Greece with her? It’d been a ploy, all of it. If she’d been paying attention, she wouldn’t have spent the first two hours lost, would have known how to get back to the camp.
The Tomcats were visible on the horizon now. They were coming in low, nap of the earth stuff, flying that Tombstone had always said was the best thing since Disney World. Automatic terrain navigation capabilities enabled the Tomcat to stay a set distance from the ground, relying on its auxiliary radar to hold the aircraft in position. She watched them porpoise in over the low hills, eerily following the exact contours of the terrain.
The camp — yes, that was the target. Good intelligence — they knew exactly where they were headed. Tomcats first, four of them. Thirty seconds behind, the smaller form of the Hornets boring in. Then more Tomcats. Then…
She held her camera up and focused in on the campsite area spread out below her. It was well camouflaged, with netting and brush spread over every part that could conceivably be seen from above.
All to no avail. The aircraft clearly knew exactly where they were going. Unhesitatingly, they inchopped the valley between two hills and seemed to pass over her so close that she could make out the pilots’ faces.
The first two went by, their thunder washing over her like a storm. She looked up to gauge their speed and when they’d be over target, and noticed the tail markings — the Greeks first, it seemed. Well, that made sense. It was their fight, after all.
When it started, the spitting hum of antiair rounds were almost swallowed up by the sheer fury of the Tomcat engines. At first she thought it was an insect, then turned to see the tracers spiking up from the trees on the opposite hill.
The lead Tomcats were well out of range, but not so the Hornets immediately in the Tomcats’ wake. The first Hornet cartwheeled in the sky, tumbling forward along its former course completely out of control. She saw the canopy fly off in a different direction, then the chute emerge. So close to the ground — could it possibly open? It did, billowing out against the blue sky, lines invisible from this distance but not the green figure suspended below the chute as though by magic. For just a moment, she thought they might make it.
Then the chute completed the arc it had been making, swinging its cargo up and over it. The pilot hung overhead for a moment, suspended above his parachute. Then he descended on the opposite side, pulling the parachute over with him and spilling the air out of its folds.
She cried out a warning, knowing already that it was too late. The pilot was still alive, waiting, knowing that any second he would start that last fatal uncontrolled descent to the ground. At least a thousand feet up — was there any chance he could survive it?
Suddenly the distance between the pilot and the chute increased dramatically. He’d cut the useless chute off and was deploying his backup. But was there time for it to deploy, to fill with air and brake his descent? She watched as the chute streamed down through the remaining eight hundred feet, never completely billowing out.
Maybe it had been enough. It had to have been.
The second Hornet was jinking around the sky, weaving and bobbing as it tried to evade the antiair fire while still remaining on course and on time for its mission. She watched it maneuver, wondering whether the pilot would make it.
Thor swore automatically while he mentally worked out the trajectory of the antiair fire. That hill over there — he double-checked his memory and kept swearing. It was the same one that Tombstone had questioned Arkady about.
So much for the effect of letting the Greeks go first. Whether they’d needed time to acquire the targets, had had a start-up fault or what, the antiair site had let the first two aircraft pass without attacking, lulling the Americans that followed into a false sense of security. His wingman, Marine Captain Buddy Murphy, had just paid the price for that false sense of security.
The Hornet was a light aircraft, much nimbler than the Tomcat. It was also a single-seater, and the primary reason that Thor had chosen to go Marine rather than Navy out of the Academy. There was something primal about fighting the battle alone, even surrounded as he was with a host of sophisticated electronics, the LINK picture, and all the decision and targeting aids embedded in the complex black boxes that lined the interior of the fuselage.