Finally, they were done. “Devil dogs, on me. Make every shot count,” Thor ordered. He peeled away from the sponge formation, and Hornets lined up in ascending altitude behind him, forming a classic attack V. Each one was locked in place as though held there by an invisible ruler, the formation’s impeccable precision a reflection of their skills. That wouldn’t last long.
“Okay, listen up,” Thor ordered. “No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Except this one. On my order, call your target, break off, and take some Russians out. Simple enough. You get low on fuel or Winchester, talk to the Hawkeye and get a vector clear. Other than that, stay on them until they’re gone. By the time we leave, I want to see nice, sweet clear blue sky with nothing in it but Hornets and Tomcats. Any questions?”
A chorus of yells and cheers, punctuated by the traditional Ooooraaaah! answered him. The boys and girls were fired up, the blood lust running hot in their veins, and just for a moment, Thor pitied the Russians.
After the normal, heart-stopping moment when the Tomcat seemed to hang in the air just forward of the carrier, they were airborne. Tombstone poured the power on, ascending rapidly, and headed for the Tomcat sponge. Fifteen Tomcats were already there, with eleven more expected. But their plans for the engagement weren’t Tombstone’s, and he intended to do all he could to even the odds. Tombstone headed north.
“One zero one, interrogative your intentions,” a puzzled voice said from the Hawkeye. “We seem to have a processing malfunction of some sort. I hold two of you airborne.”
Tombstone cut him off by squelching the radio signal. “Roger, Hawkeye, I know what you’re seeing. Guys, there’s no reason for concern. Just keep track of us and our flight.” Tombstone hoped desperately the Hawkeye understood what he was getting at. The communications circuits were supposedly secure, but the last thing he needed was some Russian with the daily codes who had enough smarts to figure out that everyone was seeing a damn sight more aircraft in the air than had actually launched. “We will all see you on the way back. How copy?”
There was a long silence on the net, and a few questions from the other fighters, which were quickly squelched by the flight leader. Some of them had tumbled to what was up and were making sure their slower shipmates did not queer the deal. Tombstone could imagine the discussion going on inside the Hawkeye, as forty aircraft appeared to be spaced evenly around what they had seen was one contact launching. But the Hawkeye’s mission commanders were smart folks, and they would figure it out pretty quickly.
That was a bitch, wasn’t it, he thought as he waited for the Hawkeye’s response. You could no longer count on secure circuits being secure, not after Walker’s treason had rocked the entire security establishment to its roots.
“Roger, one zero one. Understand your intentions for your flight. Good timing, Stony.” The Hawkeye’s voice was decidedly nonchalant, signaling that the mission commander had the picture now.
Good man. Quick on the uptake — hasn’t said anything that would blow it.
“Roger, Hawkeye. Break, Stone flight, Stone leader. On me as lead.” Tombstone immediately put his Tomcat into a hard turn to the north, easing out of it slowly as though giving the rest of his flight time to form up. All around him, the other Tomcats were watching, now well aware that what looked like forty aircraft on their radar was a single airframe.
“We have to stay out of visual range,” Tombstone said to Jeremy. “If they get a visual honest, the game is up.”
“Already on it,” Jeremy said, his voice slightly ruffled. “There.” With a click, he sent a copy of his recommended flight plan to Tombstone’s HUD. “That should keep us well out of visual range and give us room to go buster if we have to get away from them.”
“Looks good.” Tombstone refrained from saying that his backseater was turning out to be a hell of a RIO. He knew quite well that Jeremy would not have taken it as a compliment. “I figure if we can draw them off at least one hundred and fifty miles to the north, the cruiser and the rest of the airwing can do some serious damage.”
“Yeah, that should work,” Jeremy said, his voice entirely neutral.
The entire point of the plan was to pull enough fighters out of the main formation to even the odds. But what neither one said, although both were thinking it, was that if the Russian Backfires caught up to them, they would have more problems than just blowing the deception. Because then the odds would be forty to one, and even Tombstone wasn’t so sure he could handle those.
Tombstone caught a glint of sunlight on metal to the east. With a sinking heart, he realized that the game was up. If they could see the Backfires, then the Backfires could see them and they could see that instead of forty Tomcats crowded into this airspace, there was only one.
The high-pitched deedle of the ECM alert was coming faster now, more insistent. Then a second beat started, sounding counterpoint to the first. Then a third.
“Here come the players,” Jeremy shouted.
“No, wait!” Tombstone ordered. “They’re too far away — we don’t have enough countermeasures to deal with them all. We’ll have to wait until they all get closer, count on one massive clump of flares and chaff for all of them.”
“Two more,” Jeremy answered, his voice showing the first hint of fear. “Tombstone, that’s five — no, six missiles inbound!”
Too many. There’s no way we can take them on, even if there was a way to put enough chaff and flares in the air. Punch out now? We might have a shot at making it out.
Tombstone put the Tomcat nose over, heading for the ejection envelope. They were too high to survive punching out. As he descended, his thoughts raced. Shit. Forty on one — what was I thinking? Yes, it worked. That’s my only consolation. Over tactical, he could hear the main body of Tomcats howling out in victory as their AMRAAMs dealt with the remaining fighters and then the bombers. The ones that survived were forced inside the cruiser’s missile engagement zone and the cruiser made short work of them.
We did what we came to do. And that’s the point, isn’t it? You lose people all the time in this business. You get used to making the calls for the greater good.
But somehow, as many times as he had made this decision about aircraft and other crews, it was of no consolation when it was his own head on the block.
Tomboy. His thoughts lingered on her, a hard yearning flooding his body. How had he survived so long without her? Was that really her in the intell photos or was he just deceiving himself. And what would be the odds that he could go on without her? If she were truly gone, then there was precious little to hold him here, was there?
“We’re in command eject,” Jeremy said precisely, his voice now under control. “On your order, sir.”
Sir. That’s who I am when the chips are down. Not his buddy, not his friend — I’m “sir.” None of us are ever really willing to die for the greater good, no matter what we tell ourselves. But we do it anyway, because of who we are. Jeremy is still young enough that he believes he’s immortal. Oh, he knows he’s not — but he doesn’t believe he can die here and now.
He won’t. I won’t let it happen.
A fierce determination swept through him, a deadly fighting rage. He might be willing to eject and take his chances, looking forward to a reunion with Tomboy, but he wasn’t willing for Jeremy to do the same. He was a youngster, still with his whole life ahead of him. They were going to make it out of this.