“Yep, that’s what I thought. He must have us on look down shootdown, so let’s go.”
Ruby pulled back the stick hard and pushed the throttle through the afterburner gate. The F/A 18 pulled up and climbed, and she pulled partly inverted to give Rusty a look.
He scanned the sky with the APG-79 ASEA radar. It indicated a potential threat framed in a red circle and crosshairs. It was falling fast, heading their way.
“Got him, type confirmed. We’re painted by his V-004 but no fire mode.”
“This engagement’s down to you, Rusty. It’s as black as a panther’s ass up here, so we might just catch a glimpse of him.”
Ruby knew that they’d a formidable opponent out there. The SU series of fighters was formidable. He’d have two crew sat side by side, was heavy but very powerful, and had that Sukhoi manoeuvrability you hated to go up against. They had a fight on their hands.
She knew energy was the key, that and situational awareness. Know where your enemy is, and you have a big advantage. But it was the night and that made it a bastard.
He knew this too, of course. She thought he expected her to pull into another climb. She didn’t have a lot of kinetic energy, so she’d climb and he’d get in behind on her six. Ruby wasn’t having that.
She pushed the stick down slightly and aimed. The two aircraft closed at 1,200 knots.
“Jesus, lady, this is fucking chicken,” Rusty groaned. “You don’t play chicken with a Russian at 1200 knots. Do you know what these guys play Roulette with? A fuckin’ Makarov.”
“Makarov’s an auto. They probably use a UDAR 94.”
“Ok, Miss Smartass.”
He watched the range close in: half a mile, quarter of a mile. The closing rate was staggering.
“Oh, fuck.” The two jets rushed by, just 150 yards apart. She pulled up hard and the Gs came on, pushing them down; she felt the G-suit gripping her. She strained herself and held her breath, fighting off the grey out as the blood drained from her brain. She was slowly winning; as they pulled out, the G eased.
“That’s woman stupid, No Bone.”
“Get him with the radar and stop puking.”
He set for scan and lock.
“Got him. He’s below and on our twelve.”
She was inverted, so rolled through 180 to climb again if needed.
“Vampire, vampire,” shouted Rusty. “Archer; shit, he’s hit release.”
Rusty selected the AN/ALE countermeasures dispenser. It would throw out flares to distract the Archer’s IR seeker head.
“I’m going to jink when it’s here. Tell me when.”
He watched the missile approach on screen at 600 yards; the flares flew out to both sides of the aircraft. 400 yards, 300, 200. “Go.”
Ruby pulled hard to the right and down. The world spun to the left and the G came on.
“Missile warning,” shouted Rutsy. “Another Archer. Wait, No Bone, wait ready to jink left. Go.”
She pulled hard left. The missile had been confused by the flares, but not totally so. It exploded. Ruby heard shrapnel pepper the aircraft, and as she pulled level it didn’t feel right. It was hard to keep the bird from rolling left. The rudder worked, but she realized rudder authority was going.
“Look at the fuel, No Bone. Bastard’s leaking bad. Shit.”
She looked and they’d be empty in less than two minutes. She throttled back and pulled up to 700 feet. That was it. She hated doing it, over the icecap like this, but there was no choice.
“Sorry, Rusty. Eject, eject, eject.”
Rusty pulled his seat lanyard; the cockpit came off and she followed. She drifted down in the biting cold wind. The seat came away and soon she came down in the snowfield and rolled. She pulled out her bivi suit and put it on. Her beacon locater’s LED flashed every five seconds.
“No Bone!” It was Rusty calling to her, thank God. They met through the blowing light snow.
“We gotta find us some shelter: a snowbank or something.”
They wandered on for 30 minutes and spotted a bank. At least they could get out of the wind; it’d depend on the beacons now.
They reached the bank and Ruby started to dig a snow hole. It would offer some protection.
“What the fuck?”
“What is it, Rusty?”
“There’s someone here. A woman. I think she’s dead.”
Ruby scraped away at the snow covering her. She was flight crew, Russian. She moved her head to look at them.
“She’s alive.”
She was very cold and near death, so Ruby got down next to her and hugged her. Rusty laid down to her other side and hugged her.
“Who are you? Do you speak English?” Ruby asked.
She tried to speak, and slowly Ruby heard her.
“Lieutenant Elena Orlova, Russian Air Force. SU-34 down. You help? Cold.”
Ruby grinned. “Elena, we have distress beacons. Help is on its way.”
They were there for nearly three hours, and Ruby was frighteningly cold. How this woman could last all the hours she must have been here, she couldn’t imagine. At last, she heard rotor blades, beating closer. Soon, two men in Arctic whites and carrying rifles stood over them.
“Joker flight? We’re CSAR.”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Who’s this?” he said, pointing at the Russian.
“A friend of ours. Help us.”
A third man appeared, and they were all carried to the waiting chopper and put aboard. It lifted off on its way back to the carrier and the loadmaster gave them hot energy drinks. He had to lift Elena’s head up and feed her, and for the first time in many hours she smiled.
“Dosvidanya. I am lucky. Thank you.”
The boat plunged into the Barents’s deep. Now below 2,000 feet, she sought an escape from the airdropped APR-2 Yastreb torpedo. The deadly fish raced in from the right.
“Terminal, terminal,” called out Benson in a high-pitched voice.
“Blow all forward, steer hard port, release countermeasures to starboard,” barked Nathan.
The boat rolled hard left and came up by the bow.
“All speed ahead, Planesman.”
There was a loud explosion to the right, and the boat was pushed hard left. The control room crew were harnessed in, but back aft it was a different story. Men and women were thrown from bunks; in the galley, pans spilled soup and sailors fell off their benches, then food spilled onto them.
The boat bucked to and fro and pitched as the sea boiled. Emergency red lighting came on after seconds of blackness. The boat settled as it climbed away from the explosion site.
“Ease back, all ahead one third.” Nathan watched the depth gauge; they reached 300 feet. “Planesman, up bubble ten, make for periscope depth.”
“Periscope depth, aye.”
“Chief, damage control report.”
“Hit was astern; some hull fracture. Portable x-ray sensor indicates two minor cracks. Engineers say depth limited to 1,000 feet, sir; if we must. Some lines detached and leaking, most by-passed. An hour will see them fixed.”
“Thanks, Chief. Nikki, get the mast up and get the ugly bird staring at that Helix.”
“Sir, one fried bird, coming up… Weaps, get Vulture’s Stare up and looking,” said Nikki.
“Sir.”
It didn’t take long.
“Helix to the southwest, range two miles, approximately 300 feet altitude. Heading north, sir.”
Nikki walked to the conn and activated weapon view. She looked through the aiming scope at the top of the mast. She placed the aiming reticule on the Kamov helicopter and selected track. “Power up Vulture’s Stare.”
“Aye, sir.”
The viewscreen was displayed to Weaps. The boat’s huge banks of Lithium Ion batteries were routed into the mast’s circuit.
“On and ready, slaving full battery power, Vulture’s Stare on track. We have him.”